Saturday, March 23, 2013
Poor baby. Poor Lindsey. She finally arrives in San Salvatore on
the train after a long series of misadventures. First her Wednesday flight was
canceled because Lufthansa workers went on strike. No thanks to United Airlines
for not telling her until she arrived at the airport, even though she had
checked in online. United re-scheduled her to fly on Saturday and arrive on
Sunday, but because she and I had made reservations to go to the island of Elba
on Saturday and Sunday, I spent four hours on the computer looking up alternate
flights and Skyping with United to see if they could get her on an earlier
flight.
Finally I found one that United could arrange. I called Lindsey and told her she could leave Thursday morning and arrive in Milano around noon on Friday. But then she overslept and arrived at the airport frazzled and in the clothes she had slept in. Even so, she missed her flight by an eyelash. United re-routed her, though, and she still
made the final leg of her scheduled Paris to Milano flight.
Unfortunately, her troubles were far from over. Her checked
luggage didn’t make it through, and she had to fill out a form at the airport and have her suitcase sent to our
agriturismo. Then she took a shuttle to the train station and found that the
train schedule I had sent her wouldn’t work because of a regional train strike
on one of the legs. She was given an alternate route, but she misread her
departure time and missed the train—and it was the last one of the day for the
route to our little San Salvatore station. Now she was stuck in Milano, without
luggage, tired from 19 hours in planes and airports, and stressed out from all
the close calls.
Discouraged, she found a hotel near the station, called me
to report in, and finally got to take a shower and get some sleep. Her ticket
would no longer be valid for the next day, the clerk at the station had told her,
but she went to another office and found an employee who took pity on her. Some
people are suckers for crying girls. “Oh, the computer made a mistake,” he told
Lindsey with a wink. “We’ll just have to correct that.” Ah, Italy!
She made the rest of the trip without incident and found me
waiting for her at the San Salvatore station at 1 p.m., praying that she was on
the train and would get off. She almost didn’t, because it’s such a small
station and she couldn’t see the name. I had waited about 30 anxious seconds
that seemed like five minutes. Finally I saw a door open near the end of the
train, and Lindsey stepped slowly down the stairs. I called her name and then
she ran down the platform to a happy reunion, and all was well, even though we had
to cancel our Elba reservations.
What a feast! OK, I admit I was so overjoyed to see Lindsey that I forgot to take a photo. This one I swiped from her Facebook page, but you can see she loves good food. |
I had brought Lucy’s bike, and we rode back to my apartment,
made easier by the fact she had no suitcase. I fed her lunch and she took a
nice nap. Then we went back out on the bikes for a short shopping excursion,
after which we worked together to make a feast for dinner. Luckily for me,
Lindsey loves cooking, so I will be eating well for the next week.
We're glad you made it, Lindsey!! And now you have a story for your grandkids: the time you trekked across the world in your pajamas. That sounds like a good bedtime story for Micah, actually...
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