The Closing Chapter

Yesterday, I flew home.

I was hoping my flight home to be a relaxing and stress-free one.

That wasn't so.

 My first flight was from Paris to Brussels.

An excerpt from my thoughts while on the plane:
"Hm...Brussels. Where is Brussels? Oh my gosh, Katrina! How can you forget where Brussels is!? What happened to your geography? If only Gavin was here right now. GAHH where am I going!? Maybe it's Germany again. All my other layovers were in Germany, it's gotta be Germany! Yeah. It's Germany."

So I get to Brussels, certain I'm in Germany, when I walked into the lounge and saw the words "Belgian Chocolate".

Oh....

Needless to say, I was very excited to be in Belgium and immediately bought a box of Belgian chocolate.

Brussels to Montreal was my next plane.

It was 10:20am when I took that picture. I questioned (for about two seconds) how on earth we were going to 3,454 miles in only one hour. In my defense, I had only slept 3 hours in the last 36 hours.

I was so happy when I saw my first bit of Canadian soil after 5 weeks away. There really is no place like home. However, my first few hours back in my home country were not very pleasant.

After a rough touchdown, we got off the plane and had to go through customs.

When I left from Paris, they told me I could pick up my luggage would go straight to Toronto and I could pick it up there.

So I go through a bunch of stuff and walk past the baggage carousels and through an exit towards the next lineup. I get there and the lady asks "where's your bag?"
Me: "uh...isn't it on the place to Toronto?"
Lady: "No. You need to pick it up and bring it here."
Me: "Oh.....so...do I go back?"
Lady: "No. Go to the customs office and they'll get it for you."

So I leave the secure area of the airport and go to customs where they find my bag. But I have to get drilled by a scary looking officer before I can pick it up. Picture his voice in a threatening and accusing voice.

Officer: "Why'd you leave your bag?"
Me: "The person that checked my bag in Paris said it would go directly to Toronto."
Officer: "What's in the bag?"
Me: "My clothes, souvenirs, a bottle of wine, some biscuits."
Officer: "Why were you in Paris?"
Me: "Visiting family."
Officer: "Where else did you go?"
Me: "Uh...Rome, Paris, London, Cardiff."
Officer: "How long were you in each city?"
Me: "Um...two weeks in Rome, about a week in Paris, a few days in Cardiff, and a week in London."
*Officer stares at me*
Officer: "Okay, that's all. You can go."

Personally, I think I got it easy. There girl before me, who made the same mistake, had the same questions, but then they made her open her luggage and lets say she packs like a proper girl. With bras, underwear, and assorted clothing spilling out of her overstuffed bag.

So I had to do a full check in and go through security again because of that. At least I still had an hour to spare afterwards.

My trip of Montreal to Toronto was uneventful until I went to pick up my luggage.

Annnd it's gone.

Hopefully it shows up soon...I want my stuff.

It was a bittersweet moment leaving Europe. I've enjoyed my adventures so much and while there were good times and bad times, I will always cherish each moment. I learned so much and experienced so many things, but I am glad to come home. Spending so much time on another continent, I learn something very important: While it is good to see and learn about different countries and their cultures, there is no place like home.

Proud to be Canadian

Flying to Italy!

This blog is dedicated to all my stalkers out there (*cough* Rachael *cough* *cough*). In it you will find my adventures and misadventures on the wonderful continent of Europe.

But first, my flight. 

My last Timmies <3

 For the most part, It was a good flight. I did, however, learn something very interesting.

I'm afraid of take off. 

I was fine getting on the plane. And then we started to taxi. 

Me (thinking) - "Yay, I'm finally leaving! This is going to be fun."

Captain - "(blah blah blah blah....)We'll be leveling off at thirty-five thousand feet."

Me (thinking) - "thirty-five hundred....that's not so ba.....wait...omg THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND???? Okay....not a big deal. We'll probably have to take-off really fast. Hm....what if there's not enough landing strip...or is it a take off strip...we'll crash and burn! Or what if the wheel breaks and we go nose first into the asphalt! What if the tail breaks off! I'm pretty close to the front....maybe.... oh crap. the wings. What if a wing snaps while we're half-way up! We'll spiral back down to earth in a burst of fire! *looks out window* What if another planes hits us. That would definitely kill us. *plane accelerates* OMG I'M GONNA DIE!!!!

 *starts crying and hyperventilating*

Then the guy beside me looks at me and starts laughing....

At least I got a really pretty picture of Toronto

After we leveled off, I was fine. Landing is also frightening for the same reasons, but it comes so suddenly I don't have time to panic. It was great that I had to do it three times. 

The flight from Montreal to Germany was reaaaaally long. We had these cool screens in front of us where we could watch movies, tv, listen to music, or check our status in the flight. 

-36.4 F..... it went down to -70. Parkas anyone?

I had the BRILLIANT idea to watch Taken. For those of you who haven't watched it, it's about two girls that visit Paris and then are kidnapped and sold into prostitution. Yeah....genius.

I stopped in Germany and that was a horrific event. There were so many people and I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to go. I asked the guy at the information desk (thank GOD he spoke English) and I needed to line up for passport check. 

Just trying to get there was difficult; I kept apologizing for bumping into people. After bumping and apologizing to another person, this guy behind me said "These darn Canadians." I turned, horrified! But he said he was joking. Those darn Americans.

Anyways, I'm proud to say I got my first stamp on my passport! *happy dance* :D

After the passport check and customs, I had 30 minutes to get to my gate. It took me 20 minutes running to get to my gate. TWENTY MINUTES. I was so sad. They were selling legit German sausage, and I wanted so bad to try that but there wasn't time :( I cried a little on the inside. 

While on the plane there were some really thick clouds and this was the conversation in my head. 

"Oooooh pretty. So fluffy! I could just jump on them like in the Pooh Bear movies. Hm...it's just vaporized water though...it wouldn't be able to hold me up. I'd fall. Like a rock. 35,000 feet into the mountains beneath them. Splat. Like a fly on glass. I wonder if I'd be able to scream. Or would I be even able to scream? Hm...."

Enough of my morbid thoughts. 

Arrival in Italy!

I finally landed in Italy and realised I will not be wearing any of the long-sleeved shirts I packed. It's very hot here. Very hot. 

Because I was waiting for the roommate to arrive I wandered around the airport a little, found out it costs money to use wi-fi, so I ordered what I thought was an iced coffee. Turns out I ordered a coffee made with whipped cream. like...soft coffee ice cream. but Good Lord, that was the most beautiful thing I have ever eaten. I can't even explain it. So light, and so coffee-ish. Glad it was my first Italian food.

My roommates plane was late so I found a seat so I could sleep a little. To protect my stuff while I was asleep I placed one arm on one suitcase, my other arm on my purse, a scarf over my head (to shut out the light a little), and my head on my big suitcase. I woke up 20 minutes later in so much much pain. A very bad idea. And people were looking at the weird Canadian girl funny. 

We finally were on our way to the apartment and I learned that Italians do not know how to drive.

Or maybe they're really good at driving so they just appear reckless

 First, no one follows the lines. Why bother putting lines on the road if you're not going to follow them! Seriously! There was this one guy in front of us that was straddling the line the entire time. Second, no one follows the speed limit. It was 70 km and the driver was going 120. It was 30 km on this itty bitty curvy road, and he was doing 90! I was praying to God we wouldn't crash. I survived intact except for my nerves. Those were deep fried in butter.

That's all I'm gonna write for now. 

Next post: Lost in Rome