The stale humid air dissipates as the automatic sliding doors unleash a brisk refreshing breeze from the terminal. An omnipotent female voice echoes off the spotless white tile as she rattles off gate numbers. An orchestra of crestfallen parents bidding their child adieu chimes in, as reunited excitement begins to crescendo. As you stand, overpacked and stiff, you can't help but soak in the airport atmosphere.
You're hastily nudged from an ill timed individual who is running late, while the early observer reacquaints their eyes to their cell phone screen. The panoramic maze of stanchions herd people like sheep as their hooves fumble clumsily with their travel documents. In the foreground, you blankly stare at an orange hard shell suitcase being engulfed by saran wrap only to notice the Asian family at the check in counter repacking their wrapped luggage to meet the 50 pound requirement.
The masses consider flying solely as a mode of transportation, the transition between A and B. Although I am a firm believer that it's actually quite symbolic. It is the commencement of a thrilling and unpredictable journey. To be an influence on how the trip begins, is an honorable opportunity that very few have the chance to be part of. Whether it be a routine business trip or a child's first time on an airplane, I intend to enrich their experience so that they can expect greatness on their adventure. From long layovers in Maple Syrup land, to sunny beaches in beautiful Mexico, you'll be able to track my progress as a new flight attendant. I've slept, bathed, and gone through enough duty free sections to know my way around an airport as a passenger, but now I have a new perspective. I hope to explore off the beaten track, meet members of the mile high club, and most importantly...eat copious amounts of free peanuts.
A heated argument between me and Chef Boyardee left me empty inside, literally...starving for gelato and gluten. Going to the promise land, I intended to eat my way through Italy, but instead became distracted by the unimaginable beauty of the country. The southern coastal region was soaked in sunshine and the colorful buildings that lazily sat upon the cliffs basked in the light as their bright colors tanned into pastel shades.
Being a solo traveler, I met (paid for) a Canadian companion at the hostel that was down to explore the beauty of Cinque Terre. While I assisted in his maple syrup rehabilitation, and taught him what sarcasm was, we got along swimmingly, comparing our experiences of how the world perceives us white washed Asians. (Insider scoop: No one ever believes we're from North America. Curious onlookers will follow up their "where are you from?" question with, "but like...where are you originally from?" While my reply of, "from my mother's vaginal region" doesn't seem to satisfy their thirst of my conception, I'll proceed to tell them "jkjk...Hogwarts." While I sympathize with their ignorance, I find that it's important to enlighten common muggles of my wizardry background). Annyyywhooooo, my new Canadian companion and I slowly morphed in the the same person:
Exchanging our memories
Our clothing
Our poses
Our asses
and our fluids...wait...what?
But like all good things, our short lived bromance ended with a romantic dinner.
Our cheap seafood spaghetti appetizer was followed by the main course; free bread and a side of over populated white people in the small touristy restaurant. While couples lined the walls, I would like to think that we blended in as an exotic centerpiece.
The next day I continued my solo journey toward the Amalfi coast taking photos of:
Dramatic Cats
Rebellious Monitors
And Dyslexic Medical Personnel
Feeling a little more luxurious, I decided to stay in a B&B where I got lost in the complexities of the bathroom. Adjacent to the toilet was a dwarf like sink...thing. Confused by its function, I spent the next four days trying to solve its mysteries with intricate math equations and speaking with worldly shamans.
The Thing
I could urinate in it
I could wash my face in it
I could defecate in it...with unsuccessful flushing
Overcome with grief by this miniature object, I finally left my room to explore the coastal towns of southern Italy. While intentionally getting lost in the streets of every city, I observed things that I hold to be true about all Italian culture.
Everywhere is a parking space, all it takes is wishful thinking
Geometric terms like "Parallel" don't exist in Italian
They are a passionate people. Direct message and you can have their exclusive sex video for 3 easy payments of $4.99
They feed their lemons protein powder and small children
Dieting is a breeze
From city to city, I traveled along the cliff's edge on buses that barely scraped by one another. My stomach felt like 300 Spartan soldiers holding back the Persian army, as the winding roads and sharp turns were a death trap to any novice driver. In case you were wondering, this is what I mean...
In each destination I would wander to the farthest depths of the city until rustic buildings were replaced by green covered mountains. Then I would navigate my way to the highest point in an attempt to get a bird's eye view of the city and curse the gods that made the numerous steps to get there.
Positano
Ravello
Minori
Maiori
Atrani
Amalfi
Averaging around fourteen miles a day and 8 naked photos, it's with utter disappointment that I must admit my ass is still petite and amorphous. Taking in all the beauty came with a steep price though as my attempt to get home was foiled three times. A twelve hours stint spent at the Leonardo Da Vinci airport reflected my entire dating history. Denied every time from the beautiful (in a resting bitch face kind of way) gate agents, my standby passes were not enough to get me on any plane home. Like solving a crime show murder mystery, I had mapped out every flight leaving from Europe back to Trump land. With friends in the industry letting me know what the occupancy level was on each flight, my best chance was to fork out the money to pay full price (I know, being Asian and paying full price for something doesn't really go together) for a ticket to Amsterdam. And thats just what I did. Luckily my friend there let me crash on her couch for night and I was able to get on a flight home the next day.
Filled with absolute joy and elation from receiving an actual ticket, I drank the complimentary red wine until my belly was full and ate numerous airplane meals until I reached food coma status. While paying solely the taxes and fees, I have to question if it's worth the time in life to be a standby passenger. But on a completely unrelated note, I'd like to leave you with some stereotypical hand gestures performed by authentic Italians after this van reversed into this moped.
