I just went to my hometown to visit family. I often find out through the grapevine that many of them have been through my current town at some point in the last year, but didn’t even think to call.
So with a few exceptions, if I didn’t go back home I wouldn’t see any of them outside of Facebook.
If you have never spent time in a large Italian family, I would say approach with caution. The food is good, the conversation is personal, and the volume is deafening no matter now many, or few, are in the room. You will be offered wine to drink and something to eat to tide you over … until we eat. Traveling home has always been a journey. Last year there was so much flooding on either side of the town we had to cancel. This year, there was so much ice, I promptly put the car into a snowy ditch. (For the record the only thing injured was my gentle, gentle pride.) I don’t know what it is about me but I feel as though I have a punch card for crap travel. For every five amazing trips, I get an awful one free (technically not free as it cost me $235 to get the car out of that snowy ditch). Last year on my way from Victoria to Saskatoon, there was a problem with a plane which caused me to be delayed by eight hours. Now, do you think it was the two-hour flight from Vancouver to Saskatoon, or the 16 minute flight from Victoria to Vancouver that was the issue?
I think you might have guessed correctly. What was the issue on the 16 minute flight you might ask? The toilet was broken on the plane. That’s right! The toilet on the 16 minute flight was broken and so we were delayed 90 minutes (causing us to miss our connection). Who cares if the toilet was broken? Its a 16 minute flight! Who wants to use the bathroom on a plane that small anyway? Is anybody sitting at the gate thinking, ‘Oh God, I hope we board the plane soon, I really need to pee!’
Couldn’t we all as adults just make a pact that we would hold it for the 20 minutes it would take us to get from gate to gate? As it turns out, no. I’m 6’7 and 300+ pounds, I can barely use the washrooms on a regular flight. I tried one time, we hit some turbulence, and I accidentally joined the Mile High Club with myself. What was I talking about before I started talking about planes? My hometown! Right! Back on track! I’m not going back to my hometown ever again.
Well, that might be a little strong. I’m not going back ever again … in the winter.
I grew up in a small town in the Rockies and, while I love my home town, I wish it was closer to where I live now. Today we drove at the top speed of 40 km/h through the mountains while avalanches fell behind us chasing us like some kind of geriatric Michael Bay movie. In the summer it is a joyful place with purple mountains, vast ranches and the sun on your face. In the winter, it is hours of travel through the slush-covered, ice-coated nightmare that is the devil’s frosted taint of the world.
Next year when I have a week off …Cancun.