When in Rome-1

Everything was ready. We had cleaned out the fridge, the house, and called the post office to hold our mail. Arrangements were made for the yard and the recycling and finally we were simply on the road. The Anderson's were kind enough to drive us to O'Hare in return for which we told them that a crying baby and endless traffic is its own reward (I mean, who doesn't want to sign up to play the Alphabet game while well-manicured Chicagoans flip you off for not observing indigenous highway customs?). We arrived at the airport well past the time we had intended and though we had to endure the moralizing remonstrations of United Airlines (why did you deliberately choose to be late?) security was relatively quick and painless (like death by decapitation) and boarding was not a problem.

The economy class of United Airlines seems to have taken its structural blueprints from various high-quality cattle-cars and seamlessly merged them into the perfect cost/benefit arrangement for seating. In other words, smashing a million people together is all benefit and no cost for them. They wisely gave us all screens to look at to distract us from the diminishing functionality of our circulatory systems. Little Stephen was a champ and very popular. He liked being held up high for his airplane subjects to heap adulation on him. Passengers and attendants alike fell before his lethal cuteness. He even slept for a few hours of our eight hour extravaganza. Also of importance, I introduced Catherine to X-Men: First Class, the greatest comic book, James Bond, Cuban Missile Crisis  mash-up ever committed to the cinematic medium.

As we exited the airplane, we scanned the crowd for someone with a sign. We had been under the impression that a car would be picking us up. But upon finding only a few sign-holders at the entrance we thought we might be mistaken. However, subsequent air-trains, baggage claims, and much wandering later brought us to a flock of tablet waving, sign-holding taxi and car drivers. A tall Italian man with a suit, holding a sign with "Sims" on it and evincing no desire for sustained communication (Italian being, apparently, the language of choice here in Italy) swiftly took our bags and drove us to our apartment. (Pictures will be forthcoming in this area).

The road to Rome had palm trees and what looked to me like skinny evergreens (you know, like the ones that line the house of Maximus from Gladiator in his hallucinations) and others that reminded me of Saharan vegetation where the greenery is absent until the very top of the tree. As we came closer the signs also notified us of exits to Florence and Aquila which was a strange feeling. Another item of note: I thought this driver was going to kill us. Roman driving is a bizarre game of perpetual chicken. Will that taxi keep going through the intersection?/can I swoop around this bus?/it is appointed for man once to die. It kept things interesting, for sure. And, with the casual nonchalance of announcing a convenient Starbuck's, our driver suddenly brought us into visual range of St. Peter's basilica ( I suppose I was hoping for an orchestral swell and sudden fireworks.) Nevertheless, the impression was overwhelming in a way that no skyscraper could be. It was like suddenly seeing another city in the sky, a Miyazaki moment of discovering a castle in the clouds or a sleeping giant.

By the time we brought all our luggage in we were basically melting from exhaustion. So, we snatched some cat-naps in between trying to console Stephen, who had lost his tiny baby mind. Later that evening we made a quick excursion and ended up eating at a lovely little ristorante adjacent to our apartment. A few glasses of Syrah, some carbonara, delicious lamb, and a cannolo will keep us sane enough to set our plans in order and survive the next 24 hours or so of jetlag. But hey, we made it and we're finally here. Missing everyone!