Bergamo to Vienna
Started my morning at 7am. Woke up, brushed my teeth, and out the door I quietly went to the train station. Walking in the early Florence morning is peaceful. Not many people out, sun rising. Only trucks deliver shipments to stores and restaurants. Arrive at the train station, get an espresso and croissant. Strict itinerary to get to Bergamo airport by 12pm. My train from Florence to Milan arrives 25 minutes late. I anxiously stand and wait for the gate to appear on the holy electronic sign. I have negative $136 in my bank account. What am I doing? The train arrives. I sleep a bit, and when it gets to Milan I am the first one off to find the bus I am to take to Bergamo airport. I get on at 10:25am, I leave at 10:30am. Not packed. 40 minute ride. I sweat, acknowledging I need to shower. Deodorant and a change of socks maybe? I arrive to the airport and make it through security quickly. Stress relieved. I walk to my gate and look for something to eat. I surmise that with my negative amount of money, all I have is McDonalds money. I get a double cheeseburger, fries, and a coke. It was both fantastic and disgusting. Now sitting at my gate, my back to the wide windows showing the tarmac, and beyond that, Italian foothills. Beginning of the mountains. Freeing.
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My own agenda, my own mind. Truly free in a foreign place ready to gain new experiences with wide eyes and a smile. Very lucky I am able to do this. This is the goal in life. Go strike up conversation. There's a man with a joker tattoo on his forearm. Not for comedic purposes, he is serious. A woman next to me facetimes relatives in Africa. Babies cry, then are lulled. What do they want! I think babies will be happy in Vienna. Two women sit and enjoy and aperitivo both wearing flowing floral dresses. There are shelves full of wine behind them. They seem happy. Boarding plane. Watching the previous fliers deplane. Quick process. Wondering to myself how do they turn it over so quick? Maybe there is less cleaning than one would think. Sounds exhausting. A baby begins to cry. Reading the Hotel Years by Joseph Roth. I feel alive for the first time in a while. Out of my comfort zone. Everything is new for me to figure out. A day in which I have no idea what I'm doing. Baby howls. I am being poked onto a conveyor belt thoughtlessly produced to my next location of awareness. Everyone is loud. Safety demonstration occurs right in front of me. I am well versed. Maybe I want to feel unsafe? I want to feel alive. Take me off the conveyor belt. Just drop me in austria while the plane is still moving.
