I’m sitting in the taxi when I see the email: Your flight to Krakow is cancelled. “Unfortunately, it’s no longer possible to travel according to your original schedule.” This all happened last summer, but even now I want to submit a complaint to the airline for using “unfortunately.” I find it lacking in warmth.
No use fretting: My fingers furiously tapping my phone, I requested the option the airline gave me of flying through Warsaw instead, noting I would be forced to pay the hefty difference.
I had spent the previous week in Northern Israel with a friend who was house and dog sitting while I worked on the curriculum project for my master’s in Holocaust & Genocide Studies. Most cool evenings we walked on the beach, not far from Nahariya. Once we watched newly hatched sea turtles reach the sea, buoyed by a crowd of cheering Israelis — and every evening involved Anne securing a diaper on the dog, warning her to avoid drinking too much water before bed. There were cats that hung out on the back patio I would take breaks to greet. These Israelis cat would greet you too, should you ever meet them.
With the curriculum finished I was ready to depart Israel. But a cancelled flight: this can’t be right. A tour of Auschwitz was booked the next day and a beautiful Airbnb reserved. At the airport, the line for the Warsaw flight moved about an inch an hour. I checked my phone, but no confirmation.
My heart started to sink. I looked around, slightly resentful of the people in line, envious of those whose plans had not been muddled with but were pristine, like a crisp dinner cloth napkin, prepped for the perfect meal. I was also sifting through the grief of losing connection with the person whom I would typically have been communicating with about the situation. The weight of that grief was closing in.
Did these people know my heart was about to crack? Would I cry in this cold airport terminal, surrounded by strangers speaking Hebrew and Polish? When you have a physical injury, you can ask someone to call the paramedics — when it’s a cracking heart that no one can see, well, that’s a different story. In the next moments, a few things happened. I prayed — yes, I wanted to get on that flight to Warsaw but first I needed comfort. That’s what I asked God for.
Next, I discovered I wasn’t on the passenger list to Warsaw so I knew Poland wasn’t in the cards for me. I decided to buy a cup of coffee and a pastry, sit down, relax, and pick another European destination. But where? And how? And when? The how was easy: find a reasonable flight. The when was even easier: Immediately. The where was the tricky part.
But coffee in hand, watching the planes, I felt a burst of excitement. Maybe this spontaneous change was a good thing. Maybe the comfort I was asking God to deliver was on the way. Copenhagen, too expensive. Budapest, the times weren’t right. Lisbon, the flight was full. Istanbul, I’d been there twice.
And then, I found it. Naples … the Amalfi Coast. A flight out at 8 that evening and it was as reasonable as if I had purchased the ticket weeks previously. Italy — a country I love dearly and this a region I had never explored. Could it be? Naples instead of Krakow? A break from Holocaust research perhaps? Gelato and swimming in the sea instead?
I booked the flight, found an amazing guest house (also reasonable) in the nearby chill seaside town of Ercolano and it was set. Something wonderful was going to happen. I would arrive that night at 2 a.m., after delays (no surprise there) — where an Italian coast welcomed me with open arms, almost as if the country sensed I needed rest that only a place like Italy could bring.
Sometimes the unexpected cracking of our travel plans is what we need. The process of the cracking may be difficult to navigate and there might be fear and worry at first — but when the smoke clears, sometimes you turn around and realize the place you needed to be the most is where you end up.
I needed a hug that day standing in line at the Tel Aviv airport, desperate to get on a flight to Warsaw. I received it later, as a surprise, in the shape of the Amalfi Coast.
