I awoke to the sun rising over Europe, and although I had to lean over the sleeping woman next to me, the beauty of the Alps made me forget about the jet lag that was beginning to set in. My flight was late leaving the States, and as we landed in Rome I realized that I had 10 minutes to reach my connecting flight to Venice. Several Italian men were in front of me blocking the walkway. Another American girl noticed my situation and yelled “Scusi Signores,” and they moved. As I sprinted through the airport, reading the departure screens, I spotted a woman in a stylish flight attendant’s outfit and politely shoved my ticket in front of her. She spoke no English. But she helped me find out where to go, and with the one English word she spoke, threw her arm up into the air and shouted “Run!” I made it to my plane in time. When the Italian-speaking flight attendant wheeled her cart in front of me, instead of asking in Italian for an orange juice, all I could think to say was “orange.” As I sipped orange soda, not “it succo d’arancia,” the technical term for orange juice in Italian, I laid my head on the headrest and thought about my day, knowing that my journey had not yet even begun.

McKenzie Eddy, Hilton Head, S.C.

University of South Carolina, mass communications major