Monuments, Memories and Marinara: Aleksandra Mesaros
Sweat poured down our faces as we waited for our luggage. Our eyes monotonously scanned countless bags dancing around the luggage carousel and into the arms of their relieved owners. Finally, as the last of the bags were loaded, we spotted ours shimmying down the runway. A deep breath resounded; we had made it safely to Rome.
The trip had not started off well. The plan seemed simple enough: meet my parents at the RyanAir counter at Stansted Airport, London. But my heart raced when I arrived and discovered the numerous check-in counters stretching, for what seemed like miles, in both directions. How would I ever find my parents in this pandemonium? I glanced at my watch: 12 o’clock. There was nothing to do but wait and hope for the best.
I anxiously watched the minutes accumulate into hours. Where were they? It was time for check in and they still hadn’t arrived. Starting to panic, my boyfriend and I decided it would be best to alter the plans, check in first, and then meet them at the gate. After pleading with security to send out a page and leaving a note at the check-in counter, we juggled the weight in our carry-on bags back and forth through security, trying to meet the mandatory 15 kg limit.
We arrived breathless at our departure gate, disheartened when there was still no sign of my parents. What if they didn’t make it? Had we done the right thing by checking in without them? The thoughts buzzed around my feverish head as we lined up to board. Finally, I spotted them running toward us, and in an explosion of hugs, kisses and explanations, we rejoiced in our reunion and good fortune.
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