We left the beautiful city of Siena for Rome early in the morning. A taxi ride and a few train transfers later, we were pulling into Rome's central station on time at 10:15am, a full forty-five minutes before my parents planned to arrive.
My parents were coming to Italy on the last leg of our trip for Thanksgiving. They'd be traveling with us from Rome, to Florence, to Venice, where we'd have Thanksgiving Dinner with both my parents and Karina's. (Probably not turkey.)
I had my phone on, expecting a call or text message from my parents when they landed in Rome. Their landing was scheduled for just before 10am, so I wasn't too worried when I hadn't heard anything at 10:20. It takes awhile to get organized after landing in a foreign country; customs, passports, baggage, language barriers, money exchanges.
The plan was to meet them at Rome's central station. A good central location to meet up, buy our tickets and reservations for the next part of our trip to Florence, and then hop on the subway to the place we'd stay in Rome.
Karina and I found a spot to sit in the busy train station - one of the busiest we've been to on our travels - and waited to hear from my mom and dad. It was 10:40 at that point. We had checked the airline's website and found out the plane had landed on time, about 45 minutes prior. Hmm. Still no call, no text.
My dad, to my recollection, had maps of Rome printed out, a couple of Rick Steves books, and new shoes purchased for the long walks on cobblestoned streets. Surely he would have made sure either his or my mom's cell phone would work. In fact, I seem to remember him telling me he specifically called his cell phone provider to make sure his phone would work.
So why haven't they called? Or text messaged? Surely there was some downtime between landing and taxiing to the gate that would have given them ample time to contact us just to say they've landed. Anything. "The Eagle has landed." "We've made it across the Atlantic Ocean." "We are alive and in the same city as you for the first time in months." Anything would have been acceptable. So why had they not contacted?
We had faced a lot of complications on the trip thus far, but a rendezvous was not something we were used to orchestrating. As it neared 11am, our scheduled rendezvous time, with no word from them, my paranoid imagination took hold. Did they miss their flight, but were too embarrassed to tell me? Were they detained once they landed for some reason? Were my parents, all this time, just figments of my imagination and they never existed in the first place?
Central station was a dizzying beehive -- arrivals, departures, different languages and luggages. I couldn't sit anymore so I walked around the station, scanning faces for likenesses to my mom and dad. It seemed like a futile attempt to locate them, but I figured with so many people criss-crossing the terminal, one of them had to be someone I'd recognize. My efforts were for naught, and at 11:20, I started to think of what Plan B would entail. Can't stay in the train station forever. I should also mention that I was not at all confident that we knew the location of our where we were staying. So, not only were my parents missing, but we were potentially homeless in Rome.
We switched our location to a food court on the second floor - well, I guess it would be referred to as the first floor in Europe; higher ground to scan the main floor, on the lookout for two Midwestern Americans. My hand stayed on my phone so that I'd at least feel it vibrate if I failed to hear it. A few minutes later, antsy as ever, I decided to do another one-man search-and-rescue. Another walk around the massive station, past the ATMs, the ticket machines, the payphones, the restaurants. Nothing.
I made my way back up to the food court and, as I sat down, took my hand off my phone for a couple of seconds. Reaching back into my pocket, I pulled my phone out and set it on the table and couldn't believe my eyes. In those few seconds my hand was off my phone, I had missed a call from a foreign number. Without a doubt, I knew it was them.
My mind raced. Can you call payphones back? I tried to no avail. Just then, a voicemail popped in our Google Voicemail box; Karina got the transcript of the message sent to her phone immediately. As anyone who has this service knows, the transcript prepared automatically by Google can be a little off...
"Jake, it's dad and mom. We're here in the term. Any. But my phone but we have no service. So HI We're gonna go back down in standby track. 27 and hopefully you can find out okay alright. We're gonna go down there to track 27. Love you. Bye bye."
Time was of the essence. I told Karina to stay put while I would run to Track 27, where ever that is. I needed to get there before they determined it was futile and just left for our place. I was that guy you see sometimes in train stations and airports, running. Did he forget something? Is he going to catch his train? Is he saying one final goodbye to someone? Nope, just trying to find my parents.
I saw a sign that said Tracks 23-27 were 400m away. Over four football fields to run, dodging travelers left and right. I made it to Track 27 in a flash - in fact, I probably passed them on the way, as they weren't anywhere to be found. I walked briskly to the end of the track and back, no sign of them. Did Google transcribe it incorrectly, as is its wont? Maybe it wasn't Track 27 at all.
Then I saw them. They didn't miss their flight. They weren't detained. They do exist. Rendezvous successful. I came up on my mom and scared the crap of her before she recognized me. Hugs were exchanged as relief set in. We met up with Karina, more hugs, bought our tickets to Florence, and then we were off to get settled in our apartment. It was downpouring at this point, and ancient cities aren't the easiest to navigate.
The plight of travel continues! (with pictures next time, promise)
