Creator1

I was, at once point in my life, a member of the greatest fighting force in the world. I’m sure plenty people who will (or won’t) read this were also a member of the military and can understand that lifestyle incurs a lot of travel, it does. One of the ways the military ensures that everyone is always where they need to be when they need to be there (usually painfully early), is punishment for being late. In this instance, I was needing to meet an aircraft carrier that was doing circles in a very specific gulf, (I won’t say which one, you can figure it out), and I missed my plane out, and almost got fired. But, I have a good reason, or at least a good story about it!

The plane began to circle the large swaths of concrete runways broken up by dark green grassy patches. The Runway looked refined, the surrounding city a confetti of oranges, terracotta, cream white houses, butted against a deep blue ocean. As we descended and landed, the world became more flat, and the vast city had disappeared, leaving only scorching runway and a few airport buildings in site. We taxied our away from the main airport, and to the Northwestern side of the facility.

We deboarded the plane and went int the single terminal lobby, this was normal on military flights. The woman rounded behind the front desk to greet us, she had a crisp NSU uniform on and a cheerful demeanor.

‘Welcome to NSA Naples!’ she smiled, everyone groaned, not me. I was happily riding out a Sangria buzz I had picked up back in Rota, Spain before this flight.

I was enroute to one of my deployments, we were to meet a group in the middle of the ocean, but first, we had to get to the right side of the world. I had been traveling with a friend I had met years earlier in my service, we had been on the same plane the entire flight across the Atlantic, but didn’t realize our journey’s matched until Spain.

There’s something incredibly fascinating about traveling alone, you relish in the independence, the solitude, the things that are just for you. I’m not referring to any secret thing or place one goes to, it’s a head space. There’s something ephemeral for me, knowing that this place, at this exact time, this exact breeze, the food, the ease, is all for me to experience. Nobody else on planet Earth (unless they are with me) can share in it, it’s all for you to take in. There’s something magical yet isolating about that, much like when you crest a peak of a long hike. I often ask myself, ‘Is it worse to be someplace awful when you’re alone, or someplace really nice, a place you can’t share with anyone?’ I don’t have an answer to that question, but traveling alone makes it seem easier. That being said, seeing a familiar face fills you with a warming sensation, one could say love, but it’s more like affection.

Regardless, when I saw Judkins, we both lit up, let out cheers and exchanged hugs, as one does seeing a shipmate. Immediately sharing Sangria’s, again as is protocol in these situations.

As passengers trudged in with their seabags, they began making themselves comfortable on the terminal floor. Piles of seabags became furniture for all passengers, being slung into piles and rearranged in what looked like a couch. Most people remained silent looking at their phones, and checking in with their families. I followed suite texting my wife (she was asleep in the US.)

‘I’m afraid, our flight will be delayed by an hour as the plane needs some maintenance. Then we will be headed to Bahrain.’ The woman behind the desk stated.

‘There are a few places to get food down the road, maps are here, and please don’t leave base.’ She pointed to some maps.

Myself and Judkins went and explored the base. I could smell and feel the humidity in the air. The kind of thing that someone from the mountains could feel when they get off a plane in a coastal area. The buildings all seemed to be several stories tall, and seemed to have covered walkways, which made the sun more bearable. We eventually found our way into a building with food options. Unfortunately, the only option for us that was Subway, we reluctantly got subs. I remember shamefully I got a meatball marinara sub, insulting, almost criminal thinking back on it.

‘You ready for this? another seven to nine months without alcohol!’ I joked. Judkins exhaled shaking his head.

‘At least we will have port calls.’ He countered. Most Sailors will spend about 90% of their time in port drinking as they don’t get this luxury on the ship. I find this a waste of your travels, but it’s an easy trap I’ve found myself in multiple times, and I would find myself in again. The man behind the subway counter overheard us, we were the only people in the shop.

‘There’s a bar, if you follow this hallway all the way down and turn right, follow that all the way down, and tell them you’re officers.’ He said, making eye contact and smirking, then looking back down, as if to preemptively say, ‘don’t mention it, bud.’ We expeditiously wrapped up our sandwiches and thanked him, we could eat while we waited to board, the bar couldn’t go on the plane with us. We made our way to the bar, which was empty at 1PM on a weekday. WE were greeted by a burly, tall man behind the bar, who was cleaning glasses.

‘What can I do for you?’ The man said, with a very thick Eastern European accent, likely Ukrainian.

Judkins requested a beer, I requested a Long Island Ice Tea, I wanted as much alcohol I could get knowing I was headed to Bahrain next. the bartender smiled and asked, ‘Do you want man size or kid size?’

‘Dafuq I look like, give me the man size!’ I eagerly say. The man nods, turns away and returns with a pint filled to the brim with the requested beverage. I begin drinking, we had less than thirty minutes left. The bartender played his game of asking extremely detailed questions about our flights and deployments and we played the game of politely deflecting those questions or pretending too inept to know the answers.

‘We better get back to the flight line.’ I said, we had ten minutes left. We paid and made our way back to the terminal, we had made it in time and were lounging int he seabag waiting room. After about fifteen minutes passed departure time, another woman came out from behind the counter. This time, an elder civilian, with kind eyes greeted the room.

‘I’m sorry, but due to maintenance issues, the plane will be delayed another 45 minutes.’ Judkins and I smiled at one another, confirmed it would be at least 30 minutes and made our way back to the bar. Judkins got two more beers, and I graciously accepted another man-size long island. We enjoyed watching a local soccer match and asking about where to eat there. We quickly finished our drinks, said our salutations again to the bartender.

‘You’ll be back again my friend! This happens once a week!’ The bartender shouted as well left.

As much as he was a purveyor of spirits, he might as well had been a fortune teller, too. Surely enough, we entered the terminal and again, the woman was talking to higher ranking personnel who were waiting.

‘There’s been a further delay. Something about the hydraulics is causing issues.’ The chief said.

Interestingly enough, I was, at the time an aircraft mechanic that specialized in structures and hydraulic repair on aircraft. I offered absolutely no help in this situation as I was focused on enjoying my precious seconds of freedom that remained on dry land.

‘The part is coming from another naval activity close by and should be done in an hour.’ The chief continued.

Again Judkins and I returned back to the bar, having my third, then fourth man-sized drink within 3 hours. We began headed back to the plane after the soccer match was concluded. We were both wobbly, thoroughly sauced and ready for the loud bumpy plane ride to Bahrain.

‘We probably shouldn’t go back, and just stay in the terminal now.’ I said to Judkins who nodded. As we were approaching the terminal we heard a plane taking off and in the distance, could see the plane we came in on, was leaving the ground. We stood in silence as we watched the plane leave without us. Our hearts sank slightly as we knew this would certainly land us with demotions.

When one misses movements of military vehicles they can get punished for ‘missing ship’s movement’ which is a very serious violation of the UCMJ. We foolishly rushed into the terminal and began explaining our situation to the civilian in the front. She was familiar with us, as we were the only two not on the list and they didn’t have contact information for us. We began to freak out and contemplate our punishment, a sobering exercise if you’ve never done it.

The woman calmed us, and explained that she was partially responsible for telling us inaccurate times. She then told us a story about how she met her husband here 40 years ago. She told me that they came in on ship, he was an aviation maintainer and she worked in admin. She told us that they fell in love here, spending most of their time exploring the mountains, beaches, and bars alone. She told me that they themselves had missed ships movement. they were set to be punished, but instead, her supervisor was able to get both her and him to be transferred permanently to Naples. The two finished out their tours, got married, and stayed in Naples, continuing to work at the airfield to this day.

On our behalf she had reached out to our points of contacts at our respective commands and explained to them that our missing ships movement was not our fault, but the fault of the terminal itself telling us incorrect times. While we slept on uncomfortable seabags, expending the alcohol through out pores, this lady who we didn’t (and still) don’t know her name feverishly worked to save our careers. With no incentive to herself, she took full responsibility for our drunken foolishness, a true shipmate. Before we left she offered us a long warm hug, the kind you want from your grandma. She said blessings to us and ended it with a dramatic but heartfelt, ‘fair winds, shipmate.’ In my mind, I made fun of her for that for years, but now it sits in my memory as one of the nicest, sweetest, things ever said to me by a stranger.

What i remember about Italy is not the beauty, or the trash, or the traffic, it’s the mountains, the man-sized drinks, and the kind warmth of strangers that helped us get out of a country where I couldn’t even ask for a bathroom. Traveling will change you, even if it’s long after your travels. It’s small things, not grandiose changes and dramatic landscapes, sometimes it’s bars and terminals that are equally as powerful.