rambing

so even though i am an english major, i will readily admit to being a less than ideal reader--long ago i perfected the art of skimming whilst still retaining some sort of grip on content, and sort of ran with that. so reading long chunks of prose unnerves me a bit, as i am sure it does you, whoever may be reading this thing, because you are probably expecting pictures of me meeting the pope, skiing the Alps, suntanning on the Italian Riveria, and, you know, i get that. and have all of these events photographically documented, so don not even worry about it. however, my computer charger is of the american variety, rendering me unable to post any pictures (and jesus i take a lot..because i am a supertourist..i will explain in a bit) and thus forcing me to submit to rambling. but really, if you arent interested (and thats cool, you know what else is cool, not using apotsrophes because i cannot find them on this italian keyboard, so sad) feel free to...skim.

so i would like to say something about traveling. the physical act of traveling is difficult particularly if you are, like i am, hyperaware of some surroundings whilst being extremely unware of others. what i mean is, i trip a lot in airports, or run over peoples feet with my gargantuan suitcases, and then i immediatly look around and construct an imaginary conversation which always either involves me apologizing or me brushing my hair back and talking about french films like, damn, i am so well-traveled, if not a bit clumsy.
but my journey from new york, to heathrow, to gatwick, to catania, has rendered me a complete, as the brits would say, clusterfuck. this is because i packed two massive suitcases, and they do not match like every European ive seen thus far, so sorry bout it, but it is kind of embarassing. so ive been doing downright American things, like dropping my suitcases in front of buses and struggling Roloff-style to recover, or telling the coach driver that i was going to terminal n, i mean north, i mean n, i mean north...before realizing that terminal n and terminal north are (duh) the same thing. im not angry or anything, i just find it amusing that in the presence of such..what? why are these people special? because theyre not american, i guess, i suddenly lose it and regress back to toddler-style coordination. in fact, all the way to heathrow this morning, as my suitcases flew around the floor of the bus and i pretended they werent mine, i kept having to remind myself that i had a right to, you know, exist, in this entity, i had the same right to exist in this entity as the business guy with the leather shoes and the slicked-back hair and the tiny microsuitcase (WHAT THE HELL FITS IN THOSE TINY SUITCASES? NOTHING. THAT IS THE ANSWER.). i have this right because i paid, you know, i laid down my euros for this bus, and this flight, you get the idea, but also because i am a rather decent human being, for example i made sure the hotel room was clean before i left it this morning, and i always say sorry when i amputate someones pinky toe with the wheels of my 70 pound suitcase. so you know.

i took the coach from heathrow to gatwick (terminal north, thanks) this morning, and discovered upon arrival in gatwick that they like to play games with you. for instance, they dont tell you your gate number until a designated time before your flight takes off, or when they feel like it. in fact i looked down at my boarding pass and the little spot next to gate was empty. so theres this one huge lounge-type area, and everyone who is going on any flight is crammed into it, rubbing elbows, wondering what the hell is going on. every so often an annoucement comes on like all passengers on flight so-and-so to some exotic locale, lets say nice, we have important information for you, yes you heard that right, we are going to unveil your GATE NUMBER. I REPEAT, SURPRISE! YOURE LUCKY WE WERE HERE TO REPORT YOUR GATE NUMBER TO YOU, SO THAT YOU MAY FIND IT AND BOARD THE FLIGHT YOU LAID DOWN MAD MONEY FOR. now be advised that the gate you want, the gate youve been waiting for, the gate youve been forgoing food and water for so that you dont miss the little flash on the departure screen, the gate that was cruelly witheld from you for the sake of our fun, is a 15 minutes walk from here, and your flight leaves in seven. CHEERIO!
okay, it wasnt really like that, but close. and i ended up missing my own surprise announcement, because i just could not believe how clean the bathrooms in this place were. they were like palaces, and i felt like i shouldve paid admission. seriously. but anyway, i eventually made it to my gate, and thats when all english waned, replaced by rapid, loud Italian. i am going to stereotype right now, and these are two of many Probably Untrue But Still Obvious Stereotypes to come.
PUBSOS #1- all Italians have beautiful hair, skin, and nails.
PUBSOS #2- no Italians wear backpacks.
a little unnerved by the foreignness of of it all (if i didnt mention it before, i dont speak a word of italian..oops), i focused my energy on these four boys about my age, wondering if they were quadruplets (they werent. duh). which seemed to take the edge off. the flight was fine, but the sickest part was waking up and looking out the window to find were right above the alps, truly one of the most beautiful sights ive seen, ever. the second sickest part was customs--im telling you, these people are chill. this guy lokoed at my passport and waved me through. and after all that work for a visa..
so now im at my hostel in catania, which literally looks like that 70s show threw up on a national historic building, you know, which is sweet. i just went out and walked around a bit, it was dark because its 10 or so here, and many mental notes were taken: cars dont stop for you, street signs arent always present, restaurants dont open until something like 23:00, and middle aged men stare are you. all. the. time. PUBSOS? yes. i cant help it.
welp, thats it from this end of the atlantic. ill post some pictures when i can procure one of those adaptor things, and till then, take care and ciao (okay, i know one word, which is actually nice because it means both hello and goodbye. aloha!)