There are many iconic things that let me know I’m back in Italy. It starts when the plane is landing at Fiumicino and I see the umbrella pines swaying in the wind. Then the madness begins as the flight crew announces that we’ll be de-boarding from both the front AND back doors of the plane. Chaos ensues as confused Americans struggle with this new concept while the seasoned travelers and Italians bolt for both exits at once. Then there are the STAIRS down from the giant Airbus we arrived on… and then a BUS to take us to the terminal.  Bienvenuti!

I quickly pass through passport control and glide past the scary cavernous baggage claim area since I have only carry-on. I learned the hard way that this is the only way to go.  Fiumicino is a bag-eating menace. Many bags just refuse to get on the plane to go there and re-route themselves to other cities only to arrive at Fiumicino serveral days later and disappear into Kafkaesque storage rooms reminiscent of the military storage bunker in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” where miles and miles of nearly indistinguishable items climb on shelves to impossible heights.  My wedding dress once ended up in one of these rooms. I was grudgingly admitted to this inner sanctum  by a shrugging and uninterested peon who left me alone with literally thousands of bags in seemingly no particular order.  I was lucky. I found my bag and my dress and only suffered minor emotional damage. But, lest you think that was a lone incident– I can think of at least 4 others just off the top of my head.  So, consider it a word to the wise.

And then it’s out through Customs where no one gives you a second look and then into the fray. Into Italy. The belly of the beast. Right away there is a mass of people. Drivers meeting flights with signs that say things like “Mzeiwicz” or “Perillo Tours” or “MRS Windemere” all dark haired and serious in dark suits, white shirts, and light blue ties. Plus the family and friends of arriving travelers milling around looking anxious. On one of my early trips here a man sidled up to me and said, “Macchina veloce a Milano” in a godfather-like rasp (fast car to Milan)…   In spite of it’s somewhat beleaguered appearance with many unmarked doors, closed shops, and general disarray– I can get all of my necessities taken care of before I leave the airport. I get some cash from the Bancomat (ATM), and I top up my phone with credit at the bookstore since I know my phone will be buzzing with text messages like it never does at home. And of course I have a cappucino to clear the overnight flight cobwebs.

Leaving the airport by car is a challenge. Once you clear the box hotels and airport billboards and zoom onto the autostrada, the magic of the countryside takes over.  Castles peek from behind overpasses and goats graze in the fields. Poppies bloom everywhere.

My first meal consists of mozzarella and tomato, a salad, and tuna. Then I get a sip of homemade nettle beer which has a haunting flavor. Now I’m working on updating the Art Monastery Website with Christopher and over my right shoulder and out the window I can see the sloping hillside with tall grass waving and gnarled olive trees.

Mars is kinda nice.

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