Free At Last
We left. We’re done.
We. Are. Out.
It was the right time. We’d been planning to leave for Belgrade for a while. For months, actually. Since April or so.
At first we wanted to ship out in the summer. But things kept happening.
The car needed new struts and brakes. Then my arm blew up like Harry Potter’s aunt. (I got a blood clot in my shoulder. Long story.)
We got tired of excuses though. Our jobs were a joke. We’re young. We don’t have kids. Or a house. Or any real responsibilities.
Why were we waiting until we had some imaginary number in our bank account?
It didn’t make any sense. We had to either make the jump or quit talking about it.
So we said screw it and bought the tickets.
We flew out of Chicago on Alitalia and had a layover in Rome.
Alitalia is a nice airline. The attendants were great. They were all tall and slender women between the ages of 35-55 and wore neat green outfits with tightly braided buns.
And they all knew what they were doing. Damn good service.
Italians are intense people. We got to Rome an hour early because of a powerful tailwind, got off the plane somewhere on the runway, and took a bus to the terminal.
When we got to the actual airport, it was impressive how dressed up all the workers were. Even the blue collar ones. All their haircuts looked expensive, and their clothes did too.
It must be an Italian thing.
While we sat at our gate waiting for the Air Serbia flight we’d be taking to Belgrade, people watching got intense.
We were right in front of the two smoking cabins. They were each about the size of a large bathroom and had walls made of glass.
And then one of them broke. That’s when things got interesting.
Watching men in bespoke suits wearing tennis shoes and women in designer skirts wait in line to smoke a cigarette in a little glass box drove home just how addictive nicotine is. It was sad to watch and made me feel better about quitting smoking.
Easily the best-looking stewardesses that I’ve ever seen. Good for them. (Though I think that might be because they don’t have any hiring laws…)
So Now We’re Here
We’re here. We live in Moira’s Grandmother’s old house. She passed a couple of years back, and I only got to meet the woman a couple of times.
But I remember her being extremely kind. She also approved of me. Because I drove such a “large truck” (’95 Dodge Dakota.
We don’t know how long we plan on being here, but we’re thinking at least six months. Maybe eight.
It’s gonna be a wild ride, and I hope to get a post up at least once a week.