Vacation Gone Bad by Caitlin Kyaw, 2nd Period

My vacation in Rome, Italy did not start out as amazingly as expected. When my mom and I took the trip about three years ago, problems arose as soon as we touched down in Rome. After getting off the British Airways plane that we had been in for a little over half a day, a sense of claustrophobia was lifted off of my shoulders. We walked briskly through Italian airport, making a beeline to the baggage claim. Several suitcases started coming down the chute, and my mom and I waited anxiously for any sign of our olive green and purple suitcases. A crowd began to form around the suitcase carousel, and I earnestly tried to see around the taller adults. Suddenly, a glint of green caught our eyes, and my mom dashed off after her suitcase. As she pulled it off the conveyor belt, I searched nervously for any sign of purple. Ten minutes passed, and the crowd started to evaporate, leaving only a handful of suitcases-- none of which were mine. A purple suitcase (belonging to some guy named Devon) went around and around, tormenting me with the fact that it wasn't mine. Panic filled my chest as hopeless thoughts filled my mind. What if somebody ran off with it? What if I never see it again? My heart sank as I realized that the only pair of contacts that I had packed was in that purple suitcase. After about twenty minutes, my hope was nonexistent, and I turned bitterly to my mom. "Hopefully it will turn up later," I said dejectedly, slinging my carry-on backpack over my shoulder and onto my back. My mom nodded, and called a cab for us. Soon, we were on the way to our hotel close to downtown Rome. I gloomily stared out the

window of the cab, looking at gray blobs that were probably buildings. Everything was a bit too blurry to make out. At the hotel, I collapsed on the soft, welcoming bed, exhausted and weary. The room was decent, containing two orange beds, a nice looking bathroom, and a counter with a small TV on top of it. Too tired to walk and find something to eat outside, we ordered room service, and in no time, I fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, my mom shook me awake, telling me to get ready so that maybe we could catch a mass at the Vatican Church. Minutes later, we were on the streets of Rome, walking towards the Vatican. My hands were stuffed in my jacket pockets, slightly shivering from the cold. As we walked, I was amazed at the amount of cigarette butts on the ground. The walk wasnt too far, and we were outside of the church within half an hour. A long line awaited us, and it seemed that many people, tourists and citizens alike, had the same idea to attend the mass that day. After what felt like an eternity, we were finally inside the church, sitting in ancient-looking pews. I squinted to see my surroundings, trying to look at the colorful paintings on the ceiling. Several priests walked to the front, and all the chatter slowly died down. Suddenly, one of them spoke, greeting all of us in a language I couldnt understand. I frowned slightly, confused. What language is this? I whispered to my mom. Its Latin, she said. After an hour of listening to a mass I couldnt understand, we explored Vatican City. There were so many things to see. Before we knew it, it was dinner time. The sun was starting to go down, and the streets slowly got more and more crowded. Tourists and locals dotted the sidewalks, and many people in cars started to fill up the streets, making crossing an intersection more hectic and frightening.

My stomach grumbled at the smell of Italian food, and I looked hungrily at a nearby restaurant. "Do you want to eat something?" asked my mom, seeing the look on my face. I nodded appreciatively, and we walked towards the closest restaurant in sight. We were seated in the corner, looking over the extensive, complicated-looking menu as a tall, round-looking Italian waiter walked towards us, a cheery smile on his face. He took our orders, and in no time, we were eating delicious Italian food. By then, the sun had gone down, and the two of us left the restaurant, full and sleepy. My stomach felt satisfied from the large amount of Fettuccine Alfredo that I had eaten. A small voice in the back of my head chided me for eating so much, but I ignored it. After all of the problems that I had run into today, I deserved that nice dinner. The cold started to come back to us, and I shivered slightly, wrapping my jacket closer around me. There were barely any cars at that time, but the amount of people walking had stayed the same, if not increased. We continued walking in the general direction of where my mom was sure the hotel was. After a while, even with me as blind as a bat, I started to realize that this was anything but the way to the hotel. Mom? I think were lost, I said, squinting at my surroundings. I think were headed the right way, she replied, and I shrugged, feeling sure that we were headed in the wrong direction. A few minutes later, we came to a large fountain. It was beautiful, yet simple, with Roman statues in the center. Thousands of coins dotted the bottom of it, no doubt tossed by tourists like us. Frowning, I fished a euro from my pocket, contemplating whether I should throw it in or not. I squeezed it tightly in my frozen palm, feeling slightly foolish as I wished that this vacation would get better. Tossing the coin into the fountain, I stuffed my hands back into my pockets.

We continued walking, passing by several impressive-looking monuments. I paused to take pictures, awed at how amazing they looked. There was a tall one, about fifty feet in height, looking similar to the Washington Monument. We also passed by many nude statues, which emitted sniggers from several college kids nearby. Wait! Isnt that the restaurant we were at? I asked suddenly, a surge of hope coursing through my chest. Theres the bridge that we crossed to get here, right? I asked, pointing towards a bridge a few hundred feet away. The little lion statues that lined the bridge looked the same as the ones that we had seen coming over here to the Vatican. Excited, we followed the bridge back to the main city, dodging traffic to try to get back to our hotel. We started to recognize more and more of our surroundings, and walked closer and closer to the hotel. Soon, we found ourselves standing in front of the building, tired and cold. We made it! cheered my mom, as we high-fived each other lazily, ignoring the strange looks that passerby gave us. We have fantastic navigational skills, I said sarcastically, as we walked into the bright, familiar looking building. Inside, a tall, broad-looking man greeted us. He had a bright, shiny bald head and an impressive-looking handlebar mustache. Welcome back, my friends. You are the Kyaws, correct? he asked, peering over his wire rimmed glasses. We nodded, curious. Your other piece of luggage has arrived. My face broke out into a huge smile, and I laughed, completely and utterly surprised. Youre joking, right? I asked in disbelief. The man smiled back at me, shaking his head. That would be cruel to joke about, he said, winking. We thanked him, and I happily raced to our room, seeing the purple suitcase sitting near the door.

At that moment, as I wheeled the suitcase into the room, and everything seemed like it would work out okay. That is, until we got the email that the British Airways strike was going to cancel our flight home.