If you haven’t read the first installment of the Rome fiasco, then I highly suggest you do so here
We made it through the airport and onto the easy jet plane. Oh what a delight they are. I genuinely want to meet the man who has conned 571 million passengers to sit in a cramped tin can for up to five hours, with no leg room, a second mortgage on the house if you want a bottle of water and got us all thinking this is a good deal. Regardless, I sat in my portion of the Japanese torture chamber with no further embarrassment, other than noticing at least two people who had witnessed my little show at the security desk. I also made it through customs unscathed, arriving in Rome’s Leonardo Di Vinci (Fiumicino) airport fairly successfully…until the arrivals hall.
Waiting for our airport transfer rep to appear, I had time to indulge in one of my favourite activities: People Watching. Do you know what I noticed about these people, watching the waves of arrivals eagerly? A solid 75% of them were nuns. This is nothing spectacular considering I was in the Catholic capital of the world, except the fact that I didn’t realise there were so many types of nuns. My only knowledge of Nuns comes from Madeline which I assume is wildly inaccurate. I would have enjoyed watching them until our rep arrived; only they had started staring back at me. A gaggle (what do you call a group of nuns? A Clan? Must find that out,) of them are all starting to point at me and their voices are getting louder and more excitable and they are unashamedly staring at me. The next thing I know, one of them has broken away from the pack and is dragging me down to her height to hug her. She’s kissing me on both cheeks and babbling in rapid Italian. I’m not going to lie, I was rather frightened and sure I had just been inducted into the clergy or something. This little nun, who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, clocks the confused look on my face and in broken English asks me if I am *insert unpronounceable name here*, whilst still trying to whisk me away towards her group. I firmly shake my head, telling her I am not the person she thinks I am. She quickly apologises in two languages and goes back over to her group of nuns like nothing had ever happened. Dazed, confused and starting to laugh, Grandma and I continue to wait for our rep. Whilst we were waiting there, we see this group of nuns swarm one of the arrivals, the person they were actually supposed to meet, the person who they confused me with. She was a four foot nothing, middle-aged, Japanese nun, dressed head to toe in robes . I was not overly flattered about the mix-up. How they had gotten us confused I will never comprehend.
So, in one airport experience, I had displayed my skills as a walking disaster, almost had my passport stolen, had my ass go so numb on the flight, I was in danger of being unsure if I had wet myself or not (I didn’t) and almost got kidnapped by a nun. None of that happened to Lizzie McGuire.
Originally posted 12/11/2014
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