08 Oct Limousine Service
Travel days can be more difficult than you think.
Especially when you add in early mornings, no sleep, heavy bags, and misinterpretation of signs every which way.
With the excitement of a new place brings the daunting task of how we’re going to get there.
It can be challenging to attempt to figure it out beforehand without any real idea of what the airport/bus stop/train station is like. However, we always attempt to figure it out when we have wifi, write down all of the instructions, and screenshot the messages from hosts.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But don’t get me wrong – we laugh our way through our blunders every single time, even when we accidentally extend a walk five extra miles. But that’s a story for another time.
Regardless, we get a little stressed when the directions seem daunting.
Fast forward to a message we received from our Airbnb host that contained instructions on how to get to her place.
Since we were flying in, we had quite a few options. Take a taxi from the airport that can range in price from 45 – 65 euros (depending on the traffic), order a limousine service through our host which will cost 55 euros, or take public transportation that has a million instructions and directions for about 10-15 euros. Public transportation almost always takes twice the amount of time, and this instance was no different.
Typically, Chloe and I are all about the deals and cheapest options (but not with food – we never skimp out on food).
We would normally opt for the public transportation – and that was my first instinct. But the more that we thought about it, the more we realized how nice it would be to have an easy travel day – especially since the drive from the airport to the Airbnb takes about an hour. And helloooooooooooo. Limo service? That’s a dream come true.
“Should we just take the limo?” I asked Chloe, a few days before our departure of Lisbon.
“That’s what I was thinking,” she replied, and by the end of the night, our limo ride was set up for our arrival in Rome.
And that’s then I started getting EXCITED.
Like, I got way too pumped up for this. Limo service? In Rome? I had fantasies of a man in a suit holding a sign with our names (well, Chloe’s name, I sadly remembered, since she was the one who booked it) picking up and Chloe and me (who are probably sweating way too much due to our heavy bags, dressed in yoga pants and sweatshirts).
I had dreams of us hanging out of the roof of the limo, laughing with the sun shining on our faces, and champagne bottles in our hands – yes, a scene straight out of a movie. The thought of a limo seemed to get better and better. For less than 30 euros each, we get to ride in a LIMO for an HOUR. First off – what a bargain, and second off – we would be straight up ballin’.
“I don’t care how much a bottle of champagne is,” I told Chloe the day before we left. “I’m buying us one. Or two. Even if they are 20 euros each. We are getting that champagne life!”
The thought of a limo helped me roll out of bed at 3:30 in the morning, after an hour of restless sleep.
You know, the kind of sleep where you close your eyes for two minutes and then snap them open, worried your alarm didn’t go off. But regardless of how tired we were – we had a limo to pick us up in Rome. Hollaaaaaaaa.
“I. Am. Way. Too. Excited,” I told Chloe as our plane touched down in Rome.
“I know you are,” she laughed back at me. I knew she was excited, too (obviously). Champagne, here we come!
After grabbing our bags, we walked out to the terminal, scouring the crowd for a sign with our (well, Chloe’s) name on it. No luck. The crowd dispersed after about ten minutes, leaving few people wandering aimlessly. I looked to my left where a guy dressed in a suit had just appeared. He was holding a sign with ‘Chloe’ on it.
YES! Limo HERE WE COME! CHAMPAGNE BE POPPIN’!
We walked five minutes out of the airport, following our man in a suit towards our limo. We headed to an area of a parking garage filled with black … minivans. I look at Chloe. Whaaaa?
Maybe ours is a limo. We walk towards an oversized box minivan.
Maybe ours still has seats that circle around the interior. I open the door to the backseat, which is filled with four rows of seats. At least it was still a 12-seater.
Maybe there is still a roof to open and scream out of. I glance up – no sunroof.
I look at Chloe again. “It’s okay,” she mouths to me, seeing the disappointment painted all over my face.
I climb into the glorified minivan, buckling myself in.
Maybe there will still be champagne?