PIK >>> CIA : April 2, 2009

I was a vision.

I arrived to Glasgow's Prestwick airport proud of two weeks packed into a tiny rolling duffle bag.
Unfortunately, the woman checking carry on bags was less impressed. She forced my little duffle onto the scale, weighing in at 13.4 kilos, 3.4 over the carry on maximum. Her large shoulder pads raised as her hand rested on her hip and the other pointed to the check in counter. I inquired how much it would cost to check my bag for my Ryan Air flight to Roma, and the young attendant with bright eyes responded, "40 pounds".

I resorted to my only affordable option: I placed my bag on a scale and started pulling out clothing until the digits fell under 10 kilos. After zippering my 10 kilo duffle, I put on two pairs of leggings, two pairs of shorts, a pair of jeans, three tank tops, three t-shirts, a dress, two headbands, a hat, and three scarves all over my tights, skirt, and jumper. I pulled my jacket over and stuffed the pockets with jewelry and adapters.

I was a vision.

I then raced to the front of the security line, where a friendly Scotswoman let me skip the line in order to make my flight. Large shoulder pads didn't even weigh my bag.

I spent half of the three hour flight undressing in my seat and packing. I spent the other half of the flight getting chatted up by the Canadian who watched me during the first half.

Liz greeted me at Ciampino, the world's dinkiest airport, and we proceeded to take a bus to a bus to train to a train to her flat.

Life is about the journey, not the destination.