Christmas in Italy
Conclusion: A trip to the crossroads
By Sydney Kornegay
skornegay@hotmail.com

Sydney Kornegay and her new friend, Black, take a walk in Courmayeur.

"Are you sure you want to go?" my mother called after me. "You can still turn back if you're scared!"

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the security check. Of course, I wanted to go. Ever since Francesco, an Italian exchange student who I had befriended during my junior year at Flora, had invited me to spend Christmas with him in Italy, I had felt nothing but excitement. Sure, I was a little nervous about traveling internationally without my parents, but I shrugged it off as pre- trip jitters.

As I left my parents in the Columbia airport, I envisioned me, Sydney Kornegay, a 10- day exchange student, venturing into an unknown country armed with little more than my Italian- English dictionary. Onward, intrepid Explorer!!

Twelve hours later, I was calling home.

It wasn't navigating the Newark airport that scared me. I wasn't afraid of flying alone. But I was terrified of business class.

I always fly economy. This trip, however, my ticket had been bought through a special Frequent Flyer Miles deal, landing me a seat in business and consequently, a pass to the VIP Lounge. But as I stood in front of the formidable steel walls labeled "Special Admittance Only," my former gusto was rapidly dissolving.

Courmayeur rests at the foot of Mt. Blanc in Italy.

What was in there, I wondered. Once inside, could I leave if I wanted to? Would there be bathrooms?

After a few passes in front of the doors, I finally decided to enter. The noisy Newark airport gave way to a business class oasis, complete with big screen TVs, comfortable chairs, and best of all, clean restrooms.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" asked the receptionist in a thick European accent.

I froze, confidant I'd been caught and would be kicked out. She knows I am an imposter, an economy class passenger amidst a group of Million Milers. But I showed her my ticket, and she waved me on.

Needless to say, that out- of- place feeling accompanied me throughout my two- hour layover in Newark, and on the flight as well. Is this how Francesco felt as an exchange student, I wondered, out of his comfort zone and unsure of what to do? The steel doors to the Crown Royal were daunting enough. What was it like for Francesco, entering a room full of teenagers who didn't speak his language?

By the time we landed in Milan, and I was greeted with Francesco's familiar " Ciao! " I had gained a whole new respect for my friend. The respect would grow over the next ten days as I experienced Christmas in Italy and numerous occasions of feeling just a bit out- of- place.

(Next week: Touring Milan)