Super helpful travel tip straight from my experience #2: don't change your money in a train station.  Ever.  They rip you off so hard that it feels like you're being raped, and then tell you that they're giving you a good price.  Bull.  Shit.  Seriously.

Today was very frustrating for a lot of different reasons.  One of the main ones is that I found myself in the middle of a line in a Roman central train station sweating my face off underneath twelve shirts, three scarves, three pairs of pants, and six bras.  Another reason is the afore-mentioned rip off.  Another is the time I spent on trains getting into Rome, being bolstered on either side by surly Italians who didn't have the decency to realize that the large thing strapped to my back wasn't easy to maneuver.  I can go on anachronistically, but it's probably best to start at the beginning.

We woke up at around nine.  I'd awakened a few times before that, though always returned to sleep, because it wasn't yet time to get up.  The lazy day yesterday had me fairly rested, so when it was finally time to get up, I was ready to face the hellish day of travel that loomed before us.  We went to breakfast, ate our usual dry crackers with jam and butter and jam-filled croissants with powdered sugar, and drank our large pot of tea.  Today, we watched the Italian MTV Top Ten, and discovered that J-Lo is, in fact, still alive, and definitely attempting something like music.  Her ass dance was entertaining. 

Once back in the room, I set to dressing, which today meant layering, because Ryanair (the company with which we were flying) has a strict weight limit on baggage.  10 kg, or about 20 pounds.  My bag was overweight last time we weighed it by about 2 kg, so the plan was to wear five pounds of clothing to the airport, weigh the bag, and then change out of the clothes in time to get on the plane.  It sounded simple enough in theory, but I quickly discovered that five pounds of clothing means six bras, 9 shirts, three scarves, three pairs of pants, and two sweater/hoody contraptions to cover everything up.  I looked in the mirror and it was as though I'd gained twenty pounds, or a good two to three inches all over the top half of my body.  On the bright side, I was tickle-proof.  On the not so bright side, I was completely desensitized and had six different bra straps digging into my shoulders.  We sat in the hotel room reading until it was time to check out.  I started The Golum, which is quite good so far.  All about life in a Jewish ghetto in Prague some centuries ago, and the evil beast that inhabits the subconscious of the people who live there.  Light vacation reading.  Then, we left the hotel room to the brightest, sunniest, and warmest day we'd had so far in Italy.  Just my luck.

We caught the bus, and then the two trains required to get to the airport without major incident.  It was really uncomfortable to be so much more heavy-set, and I couldn't breathe very well with all the underwire from my bras digging into the top part of my ribs, no to mention the unyielding, unsympathetic Italian commuters who had no regard for my large pack, or the fact that it was obviously difficult for me to move.  They insisted on trying to squeeze past me to leave the train, though there was a perfectly easy way to do it without disturbing me at all.  Murpy's Law, I suppose.  I was sweating profusely by the time we got to the last train station, and that was the one where we needed to climb up and down stairs unendingly to find our way to the airport, which wasn't the main one in Rome, so there was no Air Shuttle. 

We ran around the entire station, looking for an information booth, and finding a great deal of nothing.  To mix things up a little bit, I stood in a huge, hot line for a good fifteen minutes with my overweight pack, multiple bras, and PDA-happy Italian couples while Gill looked around for another Information booth.  The people there told her that we needed to get to the airport shuttle, but I was so fed up at this point that when we couldn't find the airport shuttle outside, I agreed to the idea of taking a cab to the airport, and started hunting down kiosks where I could change my money.

We found one, but they were busy changing thousands of Euros for some people who probably owned a small country in the Middle East, so we went to another bureau.  I asked them to change forty out of the hundred that I handed them, but they said they couldn't give me change for a hundred, and proceeded to exchange the entire bill for 47 Euros and some change.  The exchange rate for dollars to Euros is about 1.5, so we looked at the receipt, sure that they'd made a mistake.  No such luck: their flat fee for exchanging your money just happens to be 20 Euros, regardless of the amount they're changing.  Absolutely livid at how screwed I got in this transaction, I wordlessly walked with Gill to the nearest cab outside, got in, and we were on our way to the airport.  Finally.

Our driver was terrifying.  He'd swerve, not use turn signals, and accelerate from fifty to eighty or ninety miles per hour at will.  If we hadn't hit traffic, I'm sure I would've been screaming like a small schoolgirl at the unbelievable stress he put his passengers under.  Then again, I was feeling the effects of the large amount of clothing I'd been wearing, as well as the heat of the day, and the slow-cooking fury at the stupid money exchange people for capitalizing on my misery.  We drove through all of Rome for one last time, and I saw pretty much everything we'd walked through now in rapid succession through the window of the cab.  Finally, we were at the most cheap airport I've ever seen.  I think it has a total of about ten runways, only one approach, and flies exclusively Ryanair and Easyjet, so only within the EU, and only airlines who are a pain in the butt for travelers, but with super cheap fares.  I'm talking about 20 pounds total for a ticket. 

We checked in, me still in my ridiculous layers, and were let into the security line with no hassle.  They insisted that I had a second laptop in my backpack, and when I assured them that I did not, they asked me to open the top of my bag, where I had cords for my one laptop.  I also set off the machine with the copious underwire from all my bras, and was patted down, though I didn't feel anything.  They let me go, which just goes to show that I'd make a pretty amazing terrorist.  Once we got through passport control, we couldn't see any large scales, so Gill convinced me that it was now safe to remove my layers, which I did with great gusto in the ladies' bathroom downstairs.  The extra clothes I was wearing fit into my emergency carry-on bag, which is sad.  I re-packed my bag in the airport, and got around to relaxing, enjoying overpriced airport chocolate, and reading.  By the by, The Golum is pretty worth reading, and gives a cool portrait of the Jewish Ghetto in Prague before electricity, most indoor plumbing, and general civilization.

It was finally time to board, and I was worried about them weighing my bag, because it was now certainly over the weight limit.  Luckily, my cool, ignorant face saved me from undue attention by the flight personnel, and we boarded the shuttle to the airplane unmolested.  We found seats next to each other, stowed our bags, and relaxed. 

Two and a half hours later, we'd landed in London, gotten our bags, and walked through passport control with no grilling questions.  I knew the address where I'd be staying this time, so I didn't even get a lecture, which was a big plus.  I'm distracted while writing this.  There's too much going on in my head, and I can't really express it properly without betraying myself or hurting someone, and that's stupid.  The point of having an outlet is to blow off steam, and allow yourself to be completely honest.  I don't think I'm very good at doing that.  The more I think about it, the more I realize that people live their lives equivalently, in every direction they attempt.  If you're successful at one thing, you're successful with everything.  Not because you're naturally talented at everything you attempt, or because you have hands of gold, but because of your attitude.  If you're used to winning, and devoting yourself fully to everything you attempt, then you're successful by force of habit.  You follow the same steps everywhere, and exert the same sort of pressure on the world until it yields to you.  I think I'm just ready to give up and go home.

We got into London without incident.  Diogo drove us into the city, and we sang and jammed out while in traffic, to the great amusement of drivers next to us.  It was nice to see signs in a language I could read.  Then we dropped off our huge backpacks in Gill and Diogo's flat, and went out for some Chinese food next to the tube station.  We met Rashed there, who is also staying in Gill and Diogo's flat, and ate some yummy comfort food.  I had veggie udon, which was slightly bland, but I added hot sauce, which made it better.  Then, since it was eleven or so, and waaay past my travel bed time, once we got to the flat, I made a beeline for bed, and fell asleep, which is why this is being posted this morning instead of last night. 

The plan for today is copious laundry, since I've run out of even remotely clean socks, and dinner tonight with everyone.