These messages are from a series of e-mails written after our vacation to Paris and Italy, in the summer of 2002. The events recounted in this internet diary occurred on Wednesday, July 3.
--Jim McQueen
Our trip home began at 8:00 AM in Rome when a mini-van picked us up. We gotten up at 7:00 to shower and have one last continental breakfast. I was planning to get to the airport by 9:00 AM, two and a half hours early. Everybody in Rome thought we were nuts, but security had taken longer than that in L.A., and this was a flight we didn't want to miss.
The van ride was uneventful, until the airport. The driver didn't have change for a 50 Euro note -- the only money we had, and he didn't take credit cards. He asked some nearby taxi drivers with no luck, then I ran into the terminal and found a currency exchange, where the lady was nice enough to break a 50 for free.
The wait to check our bags took about an hour, with Italian soldiers pacing overhead with submachine guns. By the time we cleared security, we had another hour to kill before boarding. Fortunately, there were four different duty-free shops. We didn't buy much, but there was plenty to look at.
My back was still sore, and I wasn't looking forward to the first leg -- a 10-hour trip to Chicago. But the plane took off on time, and we were lucky enough to get exit-row seats, with a little extra leg room. We were all eager to get home, which made the time pass quickly.
In Chicago we claimed our bags to clear customs, then gave them back to the airline for our final flight. We had plenty of time to make our connection, which was good because the shuttle trams were jammed -- we had to skip the first two because no one else could fit through the door.
But we made it with time for a little snack, and after the long flight across the Atlantic, the final flight felt quick and easy.
For the ride from the airport, I'd splurged a little -- for about twice the price of a shuttle, we were met by a chauffeur with a black stretched limousine. The ride through the tail of rush hour wasn't any faster than a shuttle van, but the driver had cokes and beer on ice in the back. The boys were thrilled by the luxury, and enjoyed sliding along the bench seat whenever the driver hit the gas or the brakes.
At 8:00 PM, 21 hours after our van picked us up in Rome, we opened the front door to two excited dogs, and our vacation was over.
Love,
Jim