Today was simultaneously the longest and shortest day I’ve had in awhile.
As I sat on the plane, ready to depart from Catania, Sicily back to my “home base” in Milan, I noticed something strange. I looked to my right and noticed a dark liquid smudge spraying the windows.
“Huh, that’s strange. This plane must have been really dirty,” I thought to myself. It had been raining non-stop all morning, so I didn’t rule out that maybe it was dirt kicked up by the storm.
A few more minutes passed as everyone filtered into the plane and took their seats. Then a few more minutes passed. Then a few more. Finally, the captain came over the loudspeaker and gave an announcement in Italian. Based on the collective gasps of shock that I heard, I concluded: this cannot be good. After a lengthy explanation in Italian, the captain repeated the message in English. Mount Etna was spraying volcanic ash, the flight was delayed, and everyone would need to get off the plane.
Initially, panic set in. Was it normal for Etna to spray ash like this? Should I be worried? Will this flight still take off later? Will I be able to get to Milan today? My mind spiraled into a dozen rapid-fire questions, one leading to the next like falling dominoes.
The following few hours consisted of a cascade of bad news followed by more bad news. First, they were saying that the flight was delayed. Then, they said it was canceled. Then, they said there were no other flights going to Milan today. I watched the fellow passengers of my flight—a tour group of seniors from England, a reserved German couple, a young Italian family—all scrambling back and forth, searching for answers, waiting.
After some thoughtful consideration and two calls to my mother, I made a plan. I was going to get to my aunt and uncle’s house in Palermo because my best chance of getting a flight to Milan was from Palermo.
But things went from bad to worse. I tried to catch a bus to Palermo using my Eurail app, and then missed that bus (if it even existed) because there were no signs in sight for this supposed bus. I went to get another ticket—this time with a bus service that definitely had a bus stop in sight—and waited in line. I made it about 10 people from the front, when they announced that all of the buses were full, and there were no tickets left going to Palermo.
At this point I became desperate.
I saw a man waving a ticket around saying that he was trying to sell it. He was selling it at face value (14 euros), and he seemed sincere. He spoke English decently well, and he dressed well. I was busy chatting with an exceedingly kind English couple from London, when they said to me, “You know, if we were alone like you are, we would buy that ticket from that man.” I realized this was my last chance. I walked up to the man, sent him 14 euros on PayPal, got the ticket from him, and prayed that he was not scamming me and that it would all work out.
I should mention that as all of this was unfolding, my clothes were soaking wet, slowly but surely air drying throughout the day. I had gotten caught in heavy rain earlier in the day on the way from my Airbnb to the airport. I distinctly remember the moment when I told myself, “You can deal with a little discomfort. It’s just water. You’ll be back in Milan soon enough.” It was now 10 hours since I had had that thought.
Considering how my day had gone so far, between the rain and the volcanic ash and the chaos, I tried to frame it all in my mind in the only way that made sense. This was a test.
I thought I had made some serious mental and emotional progress over the past few weeks. I was finally starting to feel comfortable abroad. I was getting used to my surroundings and feeling more confident in my ability to navigate. I was even getting excited to travel to more places because everything was going so well.
But today pulled the safety net right out from under me. I felt like a one-armed trapeze artist with poor depth perception.
The irony is that just yesterday I had written about prayer and meditation, highlighting how effective these activities can be to settle the mind. Today was almost as if the universe was saying, “So you wanna be calm, huh? Let’s see how calm you can be after THIS.”
And the truth is—I was not calm AT ALL. I was worried, frustrated, panicked, and helpless at various points throughout the day. I talked to people in ways that I would never normally speak to them. For example, I snapped at the Expedia customer service employee over the phone when she was not being clear about what alternate flights were available (I said something along the lines of “You know what, just cancel it and give me the refund. I don’t have time for this.”).
I reflected on the fact that when it comes to traveling, I am a bit of a control freak. And when that control was taken away from me, I acted no better than a baby whose pacifier was taken away. It’s all well and good to speak about the benefits of meditation when you are in the comfort of your home, but how effective is it when volcanic ash just painted your flight with mud?
This day, which is still not over, was a test. Though I didn’t fail, I barely passed.
I realize I have a long way to go.
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Today was simultaneously the longest and shortest day I’ve had in awhile.
As I sat on the plane, ready to depart from Catania, Sicily back to my “home base” in Milan, I noticed something strange. I looked to my right and noticed a dark liquid smudge spraying the windows.
“Huh, that’s strange. This plane must have been really dirty,” I thought to myself. It had been raining non-stop all morning, so I didn’t rule out that maybe it was dirt kicked up by the storm.
A few more minutes passed as everyone filtered into the plane and took their seats. Then a few more minutes passed. Then a few more. Finally, the captain came over the loudspeaker and gave an announcement in Italian. Based on the collective gasps of shock that I heard, I concluded: this cannot be good. After a lengthy explanation in Italian, the captain repeated the message in English. Mount Etna was spraying volcanic ash, the flight was delayed, and everyone would need to get off the plane.
Initially, panic set in. Was it normal for Etna to spray ash like this? Should I be worried? Will this flight still take off later? Will I be able to get to Milan today? My mind spiraled into a dozen rapid-fire questions, one leading to the next like falling dominoes.
The following few hours consisted of a cascade of bad news followed by more bad news. First, they were saying that the flight was delayed. Then, they said it was canceled. Then, they said there were no other flights going to Milan today. I watched the fellow passengers of my flight—a tour group of seniors from England, a reserved German couple, a young Italian family—all scrambling back and forth, searching for answers, waiting.
After some thoughtful consideration and two calls to my mother, I made a plan. I was going to get to my aunt and uncle’s house in Palermo because my best chance of getting a flight to Milan was from Palermo.
But things went from bad to worse. I tried to catch a bus to Palermo using my Eurail app, and then missed that bus (if it even existed) because there were no signs in sight for this supposed bus. I went to get another ticket—this time with a bus service that definitely had a bus stop in sight—and waited in line. I made it about 10 people from the front, when they announced that all of the buses were full, and there were no tickets left going to Palermo.
At this point I became desperate.
I saw a man waving a ticket around saying that he was trying to sell it. He was selling it at face value (14 euros), and he seemed sincere. He spoke English decently well, and he dressed well. I was busy chatting with an exceedingly kind English couple from London, when they said to me, “You know, if we were alone like you are, we would buy that ticket from that man.” I realized this was my last chance. I walked up to the man, sent him 14 euros on PayPal, got the ticket from him, and prayed that he was not scamming me and that it would all work out.
I should mention that as all of this was unfolding, my clothes were soaking wet, slowly but surely air drying throughout the day. I had gotten caught in heavy rain earlier in the day on the way from my Airbnb to the airport. I distinctly remember the moment when I told myself, “You can deal with a little discomfort. It’s just water. You’ll be back in Milan soon enough.” It was now 10 hours since I had had that thought.
Considering how my day had gone so far, between the rain and the volcanic ash and the chaos, I tried to frame it all in my mind in the only way that made sense. This was a test.
I thought I had made some serious mental and emotional progress over the past few weeks. I was finally starting to feel comfortable abroad. I was getting used to my surroundings and feeling more confident in my ability to navigate. I was even getting excited to travel to more places because everything was going so well.
But today pulled the safety net right out from under me. I felt like a one-armed trapeze artist with poor depth perception.
The irony is that just yesterday I had written about prayer and meditation, highlighting how effective these activities can be to settle the mind. Today was almost as if the universe was saying, “So you wanna be calm, huh? Let’s see how calm you can be after THIS.”
And the truth is—I was not calm AT ALL. I was worried, frustrated, panicked, and helpless at various points throughout the day. I talked to people in ways that I would never normally speak to them. For example, I snapped at the Expedia customer service employee over the phone when she was not being clear about what alternate flights were available (I said something along the lines of “You know what, just cancel it and give me the refund. I don’t have time for this.”).
I reflected on the fact that when it comes to traveling, I am a bit of a control freak. And when that control was taken away from me, I acted no better than a baby whose pacifier was taken away. It’s all well and good to speak about the benefits of meditation when you are in the comfort of your home, but how effective is it when volcanic ash just painted your flight with mud?
This day, which is still not over, was a test. Though I didn’t fail, I barely passed.
I realize I have a long way to go.
