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I moved through the days
before my departure in a frenzy: projects for work to finish,
clothes, equipment and supplies to buy, books to read, and
a language to learn.
I tried to think of everything, and
follow all the good advice I had gathered. I changed
$50 US for Lira at Thomas
Cook before I left so I wouldn't have to deal with changing
money straight away. I called my health insurance
agent to make sure I would be covered in case anything
happened to me. I made two photocopies of all my important
documents: passport, driver's license, plane ticket,
rail pass, traveler's check receipts, credit and ATM cards
(one copy tucked away in my pack, the other to stay safe at
home).
Then, the day before I was to leave,
disaster: I woke with a toothache. I called
the airlines to see if there was any way I could postpone
my departure. No dice. That plane was leaving, and it was
taking my dreams of Italy with it.
I called my dentist, who said "You
may need a root canal." and got me an emergency
appointment with a specialist. I was so keyed up I could barely
keep from sobbing as he examined my teeth. Finally he asked,
"Have you been under stress lately?"
I nodded. He continued, "You must
have been clenching or grinding your teeth in your sleep,
because there's nothing wrong." Flushed with relief,
I wanted to kiss and hug the dentist, but
settled for an enthusiastic handshake and a sincere "Thank
you!"
That night there was no time
for sleep--by the time I put the finishing touches
on my last major project for work and packed my bags, there
was barely enough time left to get to the airport.
I was still re-checking the calculations
on my quarterly sales tax return when they made the final
boarding call for my flight. I signed the form, sealed the
envelope, and strode across the gangway into the unknown.
Next:
Italian Lessons...
Arrivederci, San
Francisco! |
