Tag: airport

Aloha! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been pushing out the ole travel stories. But I’m going to do my best to pick up where I left off and try to catch up as quickly as I can to present day (mis)adventures.

C + I have wrapped up a fantastic wedding experience and a pretty damn idyllic week. Definitely a highlight of the trip so far. But it’s coming to a rushed close as we need to get back to Lamezia Terme for flights out (I’m headed back to Albania, and C is headed back to Paris).

For the most part it’s relatively uneventful. Ice Cream man is a gem and finds us a friendly old Italian man to give us a lift back out to Tronca. Actually incredible that we survived the whole trip without renting a car. We have a final night in Tronca, and manage to catch out bus and train back to Lamazie Terme the next day without any issues.

Our flights out are the following day, so we settle into a bed and breakfast for one last night. The bed and breakfast is about a 7 minute drive, or, a theoretical 20-30 minute walk, from the airport. Theoretical is the key word.

I wake up at around 3am for my 6am flight. Sky is still pitch black. Uber doesn’t exist in Lamazie Terme, and taxi’s are more or less non-existent.

But in my infinite wisdom, I figure that, with just my laptop bag, and small suitcase that I can wear as a backpack, there’s no need to navigate the transportation system; clearly I should have no issues walking to the airport and be able to catch my flight back to Albania with plenty of time to spare.

I give a bleary-eyed C a goodbye hug and kiss, putting a wrapper on what’s been a wonderful week, and boldly strike out on my own into the darkness, armed with my sense of direction and a fully charged phone primed with Google Maps, airport bound.

I’m so confident that I know which direction to go, that I don’t even bother to request walking directions; rather, I’m just using the map as general guidance to know I’m headed towards the airport.

The city (if you can call it that) is completely dead at this hour, but everything is going smoothly as my little blue dot on the map chugs slowly towards the airport. Of course, nothing in life is ever that easy.

What I’ve failed to notice is that in the direct walking path to the airport, the very last section between city and airport is a highway overpass. A long highway overpass, with no sidewalk. Oops.

Now, with my flight departing in about 2 and a half or 3 hours, I’m faced with a critical decision. Walking 10 minutes along a highway in pitch black darkness seems like a good way to wind up as a splattered hood ornament for one of the many senior residents here, and I’m starting to worry that if I just go back to the hotel to try and figure out how to get a taxi, there may be no taxis in operation at this time of night.

The highway overpass has been constructed to allow transportation across a narrow river (perhaps 40-50 feet wide) flowing through a gulch immediately below me. While the river doesn’t seem like the greatest obstacle, and I consider just plunging through and attempting to beeline it to the airport, it’s impossible to tell just how deep it gets in the darkness, and I don’t really feel like getting soaked for nothing if I’m forced to turn back.

I finally cave and request walking directions from my phone… something I probably should have done from the very beginning. Maps spits out a walking path that runs along the ridge I’m on, parallel to the river for about 20-30 minutes, has me crossing the river across a bridge, and then trekking the last 15 or 20 minutes to the airport along a road on the other side of the river. Seems simple enough, right?

I decide this is going to be the easiest way to get to the airport on time, and without too much hesitation, I start following the little dirt footpath on the ridge alongside the river.

Five or ten minutes into my walk, any semblance of the dirt path abruptly ends, giving way to shoulder-high reeds still wet from the morning dew. Keep in mind, it’s still pitch-black; I’ve been navigating with my phone’s torch light, able to see only a few feet in front of me at any given time. The end of any definitive path is rather disturbing; as I slowly wake up, I’m starting to realize that Google Maps is out to get me. There’s no fucking path… who knows when Google last updated their maps for this off-the-grid sleepy Italian town.

I’m acutely aware of the fact that if I double back, I’m going to have to sprint back to the hotel, annoy any staff (if they even exist at this hour), and pray that some sort of taxi is in service in order to make my flight on time.

I’m also painfully aware that this Italian stint, while completely worth it, has eviscerated the paltry remains of my savings. If I miss the flight, and have to book new accommodations as well as a new last minute flight, I’m going to be up shit creek without a paddle.

So steeling myself, I decide that the best option is to plunge onwards into the darkness. While there’s no path, there are sections of the ridge that are less reedy, and by navigating around the thicker clumps of shrubbery, I’m able to make decent progress towards the bridge.

It does cross my mind that stumbling down the ridge into the gulch would be bad, as would getting jumped by a random serial killer in the pitch black, but I’m comforted by the thought that to my knowledge there are no bears or wolves in Italy waiting to hop out and chomp me. Thick spiderwebs would also be a dealbreaker for me, but I’m fortuitous enough not to run into any of those either.

After another 20 minutes of making my way carefully forward, I can see on Maps that I should be getting quite close to the bridge. There’s just one problem; I can’t see a fucking bridge.

That’s right, I’ve just walked 40 minutes through wet shrubbery and weeds in the pitch-black darkness, trusting Google Maps with my life, only to find out that the bridge doesn’t exist. I do, in fact, see evidence that a bridge once existed; a single strong, wooden pole rises out of the ground in front of me, about twenty feet high, at the ridgetop overlooking the river gulch, a thick set metal cable dangling loosely from the top of it.

But that’s it. There’s no bridge. No fucking bridge, and no fucking time, there’s absolutely no way that I can retrace my steps and make my flight, and there’s no way to get into any part of the town proper on this side of the river, due to metal fencing and more highway. I can see a proper road with sidewalks on the other side of the ridge, but getting there could be a problem.

So once more, it’s big boy decision time. The drop-off to the river from the ridge-top is only about twenty feet, and at this point, the river has thinned out to only be about fifteen or twenty feet wide. It’s impossible to gauge exactly how deep it is, and there’s no guarantee I would even be able to get back up the ridge if I head down to check it out, but I’m pretty much out of options at this point.

Still carrying my luggage, I face backwards away from the river, and slowly start lowering myself down the ridge, which is steep, but not impossible to traverse, holding onto bundles of reeds as I lower myself down. Against all odds, I manage not to slip and fall, and clamber down til I’m next to the river.

The river gurgles lazily, and doesn’t seem that deep. But everything is too deep when you’re wearing shoes and jeans. I take off my shoes and socks, stick them in my bag, roll my jeans up past my knees, and start slowly blundering my way across the river, bare-footed, in the darkness.

For the first few feet, the water is only up to my ankles. As I continue to make my way forward, it starts to creep up my shins. By the time I get to the middle of the river, I’m standing knee-deep in slow moving water. The water isn’t super fast, but losing my balance and dropping my laptop into the drink would spell disaster and certainly result in the end of my trip.

Halfway there, there’s only one option; I keep plunging forward, and fortuitously, the water never makes it higher than my knees. The rocks under my feet are a sharp and slippery, but with adrenalin pumping, they are nothing more than an inconvenience, and somehow, I make my way all the way across to the base of the ridge on the other side.

I put my shoes back on, manage to drag myself up the muddy ridge using more reeds one step at a time, and finally find myself on the other side of the gorge, covered in dirt, water, sweat, and exhausted.

But it’s all worth it, I see a roadway, and by the gods, a lamp-post with a lit street-light. CIVILIZATION! I’m not out of the woods yet; I still have a good twenty or thirty minute walk to the airport from this side of the river, needing to re-traverse all the steps I took away from the airport along the riverside. My plane takes off in less than 2 hours.

So, crusted in mud, water, and sweat, with all of my luggage, I start jogging my way towards the airport. It crosses my mind as I near the airport that I must look like a dirty, homeless, crackhead, and as the airport comes into view, I slow my pace to a fast walk, trying to catch my breath.

Luckily no one seems to care. I make it to the terminal with an hour and a half to spare, clean myself up as best as I can in the airport bathroom, and though I get a few odd looks from other sleepy passengers, there’s no security interrogation, and against all odds, I manage to board my flight.

I’m Albania bound! Italian Wedding Survived!