Want a Quarter Pounder with That?

Every now and again, I get a bee in my bonnet. I've got one now. I've been complaining to the folks at my local Brookshire's food store for a while now. I finally broke down and sent them an email. (It's been over a week without a response, so I'm not going to hold my breath.)

I've long had an issue with the pork they sell. It's all "enhanced". Enhanced means that it's injected with an "all natural" solution of water and God knows what else to "enhance" the flavor. What this really does is make it weigh more. Then they sell it to me by the pound. Really? How dumb do they think I am? They do the same with the chicken but they do have an additive-free option for chicken. It costs more, but since it doesn't all turn to water when you cook it or thaw it out, it's really a better value.  But there is no alternative for pork.

But here's my beef with the beef: It no longer comes in one pound or half pound increments. If I want to buy a pound of beef, I am forced to buy one and one quarter pounds of beef. It doesn't seem to matter whether it's ground beef or steak. One and a quarter pounds up to something like one and a third pounds is just how it comes. If you want two pounds, just plan to buy two and a half. That's  how it comes.

One of the managers told me that's how it's shipped from the distribution center. But if you look in the back of the store you can see a machine that looks like it packages the meat. Maybe that's just for show. Although one of the cashiers indicated that I could probably get one of those guys back there in the meat department to do me up a package in the size I want. (If you can find "one of those guys in the back!!") Another cashier told me that they had frozen ground beef in one and two pound packages. But I've never been impressed with the quality of that frozen meat and much prefer fresh. The younger cashiers think the whole thing is funny. I suspect they think I'm just a cranky old woman with nothing better to do than complain about the way they package the meat.

And maybe they're right. But let's consider that the premium ground beef costs $6.99 per pound. That means that if I buy an extra quarter pound, it adds $1.75 to the price of the package. Wow! That means that Brookshire's gets an extra $1.75 off everyone who wants a pound of ground beef. Granted, they are selling them the extra weight. It's not that kind of rip-off. Just saying that some of us don't want to buy the extra quarter pound.

Spending extra money for meat I really don't want is irritating. But what is infuriating is that those extra calories are going into the meatloaf/spaghetti/shepherd's pie or whatever it is I'm cooking. That's like throwing in a spare quarter pounder. Let's say that there are a thousand calories in a pound of ground beef. An extra quarter pound of meat adds an additional 250 calories to the dish. Let's be serious here, who is going to measure that extra weight and remove it from the recipe? Not me (and I'm fairly obsessive). Not you. Who? So instead of having a meatloaf that has a calorie count of 268 per serving, you now have a meatloaf with a calorie count of 330 per serving. An argument could be made that you now have a five serving meatloaf rather than a four serving meatloaf. It's a bad argument. My meatloaf pan is still the same size and it's not so much bigger that I'm going to invite an extra person over for dinner. It's just got an extra 63 calories per serving. I don't want those extra calories any more than I want to shell out the extra $1.75.

In the interest of eliminating this as an issue in my life, I'll probably have to start driving the extra 10 miles down to Market Street in Frisco. They'll even sell you a half a pound - if that's all you want.

The Secret Codes

When we got back from our trip in September, I phoned American Express Traveler's Medical Insurance to find out how to file the claim. They indicated that in addition to the bills and a copy of our itinerary, they would also need a copy of the EOB (Explanation of Benefits) from our primary insurer. They also told me that most Medicare plans cover emergencies when you are traveling. Losing enough blood to require five transfusions seems like an emergency to me. It certainly wasn't part of our master vacation plan.

I phoned Humana and the lady I spoke with told me they wouldn't pay anything. I told her that I still needed to file the claim because my supplementary insurer needed to see the EOB before they would pay the claim. I waited a month (the mail can be a bit slow here in the country). I assumed the claim form was not coming so I filed the claim for Mark's Parisian hospital stay with American Express Traveler's Medical Insurance along with a note that said I'd spoken with Humana and they'd indicated that they would not pay.

The response back from AmEx indicated that they absolutely had to have the EOB to process the claim. Not wanting to wait another month for a claim form that Humana wasn't actually going to mail to me, I decided to go to their website to find it.

I clicked on Medicare. Made sense, that's the plan Mark is on. The only claim form there was for pharmacy claims. Since it was Sunday afternoon, I assumed that no one would be answering the customer service phone. I opted for email. I would have an answer on Monday morning and could get the claim form completed and in the mail that afternoon.

When there was still no response by Tuesday, I opted to try their online chat feature. At least they were able to help me find the claim form. The link I had to click to get the form was "Insurance through Your Employer". Well. That's not some place I would have intuitively looked. Even though I think it's somewhat stupid to think that the only people who will ever need a claim form are people who have insurance through their employers, I didn't bother asking the customer service rep why this form couldn't be accessed from the "Medicare" tab. She didn't design the website so how would she know? It's likely that the people who did design the website don't know, either.

At any rate, I got the claim form and started filling it out. It was fine until I got to "CPT Code/Service Description" and "Diagnosis Code". I don't know what the codes are. They weren't on the bill because they don't use these codes in Europe. They may be consistent throughout the United States but they are NOT universal. I called Humana's customer service department to ask what to do. She had one mantra - "We can't process the claim without the codes".

"Where am I supposed to get these codes? Are they on the internet somewhere?"

"You need to call the doctor."

"The doctor is in France. She primarily speaks French. Their automated answering system is in French and I don't even know what number to press to reach anybody at all, much less that particular doctor. There is not a "press 2 for English" option. And since they don't use those codes, it's not likely they're going to be able to help me with that."

"We can't process the claim without the codes."

This conversation was going in a circular motion. I decided to see if Mark's local doctor's staff could help. I left a message for the person who does the billing. It's been three days and I have no response.

My next step was to call the nice folks at AmEx and see if they could give me some help with these codes. After being transferred to several different departments, the last young lady I spoke with offered to transfer me back to the department I started out with. Reluctantly, I said okay. Then she came back on the line to tell me that it would be about a 20 minute wait and asked if that was "okay". Actually, it wasn't okay. I did have other things to do yesterday. I thanked her and told her that I didn't have time to wait that long and told her I'd just make up a code and get on with it.

An internet search gave me some Diagnosis Codes. I picked the one that seemed most closely associated with the problem and wrote it in the appropriate box on the claim form. But the CPT code remained a mystery. Seems these "belong" to the American Medical Association.  Operative word being "American". I'm not even sure the Canadians use them, but most certainly the French do not.

So I'm sending it on to Humana. I'm sending copies of the bills and the doctor's diagnostic report AND I'm including a letter explaining the problem. I needed to send a letter anyway just to make sure they realize the bills are in Euros. I'm guessing that the folks in the claims department are under the impression that the whole world uses US dollars.

End of Story

I received a check from British Airways - not for the "lost" luggage, but for the items I had to buy to survive a three week journey without my "stuff".

I'm okay with that. Since I eventually got my bag back and everything in it was in tact I am happy to be reimbursed for what I affectionately call "the Eurotrash" I was forced to buy. (Quite frankly, of the stuff that I bought, I only REALLY like one top that I bought in Manchester and one top that I bought in Switzerland. The rest of it was bought because I needed "something" to wear. That being said, I'm quite happy with the Marks and Spencer underwear!)

However, I was told on two separate occasions by two different British Airways employees that after 21 days, I would be reimbursed for the contents of the bag as well as the things I had to buy. (Our trip was 21 days and my bag didn't arrive until over a week after I got home.) Which is why I spent several days doing the research on what I'd paid for the items in the bag. (Glad I got it back because as I was unpacking it I realized that there were four items I'd failed to include in my inventory.)

So I was only reimbursed for the items I bought. No reimbursement for the numerous phone calls trying to track the bag, no remuneration for the time spent (days) completing the claim form for stuff they had no intention of paying for, and no compensation for pain, suffering or mental anguish.

But I can't say I'm surprised. Based on my experience with British Airways, the thing they do best is tell lies.

If I'm ever on a British Airways flight again, it will be because all other airlines have stopped flying to London. End of story.

No Other Options?

Hydrocodone makes me violently ill. I'm told it's not an allergy but a "sensitivity". Call it whatever you like - I don't want to take it. It makes me sick. In the past, when I indicated that I was "sensitive", I was still prescribed hydrocodone along with an anti-nausea drug. I don't really know what happened to the drugs that didn't make me sick, like Darvon and Percodan - although I did look them up and it seems that Darvon isn't effective (could have fooled me) and Percodan is no longer suitable for me because I take an anti-coagulant. And it's very possible that over the years I may have developed an intolerance for them, as well. I was so pleased to learn about Tramadol. As I understand it, Tramadol is what is prescribed for people who are "sensitive" to hydrocodone.

The instructions were to take one tramadol tablet before I went to bed. Who would have thought I'd wake up sick? Violently ill would have been an improvement. At least it would have been over with quickly. With tramadol I woke up nauseous and stayed that way until I was forced to get out of bed for 15 minutes which resulted in being ill (aka vomiting, puking, tossing cookies - choose your euphemism.) After that, I started to feel better.

In some ways this was worse than hydrocodone. With hydrocodone, I typically throw up within 30 minutes of ingesting it.With this stuff, I was green around the gills all day.

I had to let the doctor know that we needed to try something else. Fortunately since this doctor is thoroughly modern, I'm set up on his web-based system and all it took was a quick message to let him know that it made me sick and that we'd need to try another option.

But then the message came back that there were no other drug options. He told me my best only option was an orthopedic surgeon. Surgeon?? Surgeons have knives!

I've long been a believer in "better living through chemistry" and now chemistry was going to let me down. But to say that my ONLY option is an orthopedic surgeon? He doesn't know me. I will try diet and exercise. I will try acupuncture. I will try massage. I will try chiropractic. I will try dancing around the fire with a mask. Only when all other options have failed will I seek the assistance of a surgeon.

Marcus Welby vs. Doogie Howser

Remember Marcus Welby? This show ran from 1969 to 1976. What bothered me about it at the time was that no doctor actually got that involved with a patient's care. House calls?? No way! But other than that, Marcus Welby was just what I expected in a doctor. This can be summed up as "older than me".

Then in 1989 television doctors got a new look. Doogie Howser. This one ran from 1989 until 1993. At the time I thought that a doctor who looked like he was twelve was fairly preposterous. (I think in Doogie's case, he actually was twelve.) But these days a younger look seems to be the norm.

Let's talk about my doctors for a minute. I like my cardiologist. He has a lot of experience and I believe he's older than me. At least he looks older than me. I like my dermatologist. He was able to quickly diagnose a problem and prescribe a solution for a condition that a younger doctor had missed even though I'd visited three times with the same problem. I'm pretty sure my dermatologist is older than me. My OB-Gyn may not be older than me, but I've been seeing this same doctor for close to 25 years and his hair is turning gray now. Let's face it, I'd be upset if he started looking younger.

My friend's husband had cardiovascular surgery a couple of weeks ago. I waited with her and when the doctor came out to talk to her about the surgery I would have sworn he must have just graduated from high school in the spring.  (By the way, this is a worldwide issue - one of Mark's doctors in Paris appeared to be about 16.) So I wasn't completely surprised when the rheumatologist I saw last week looked like he was barely 20.

So maybe it was a generation gap issue that caused me and this new doctor to get off to an awkward start. He asked me what brought me to see him that day. (A reasonable question - even though I assume my complaint was written on the chart somewhere.) I also mentioned that I'd had a test for lupus back in June and that I assumed it wasn't a problem since my doctor hadn't phoned me to tell me that it was.

Then he told me that I needn't have wasted my time with that test because lupus strikes young black women between the ages of 15 and 30 and I was neither black nor between the ages of 15 and 30. I told him my mother had suffered from lupus.

Then he told me that she would have had it since her thirties and that since I was in my sixties, I needn't worry.

"My mother may have had it in her thirties but she wasn't diagnosed until she was in her sixties."

He gave me a quizzical look and then "implied" that her doctor probably didn't know what he was talking about because he may have been a GP instead of a rheumatologist. Indeed! Her doctor was a rheumatologist on staff at University Hospital in Cleveland - Case Western Reserve University. Well that shut his mouth and we moved on to why I was actually there, which was to see about my knee, not argue the particulars of my mother's case. He conceded that there are sometimes exceptions. I smiled and nodded but he needs to realize that there are ALWAYS exceptions. ALWAYS.

I could see from the x-ray (something that the doctor I saw back in March didn't share with me) that I'm missing a bit of cartilage. To make it stop hurting I got a cortisone shot, an exercise plan, lidocaine ointment, instructions to buy a knee brace for golf, and a prescription for tramadol.

I should be good to go!
  

More Difficult Than It Should Be

My knee hurt. (It still does, just not as bad as it did last week.) I needed to see a doctor. I thought about shooting myself in the knee and going to the ER, but it was only a thought. I was confused about what type of doctor to see. I saw an orthopedic surgeon last spring who told me I had garden variety (aka "not special") arthritis but that it was not serious and I did not need any type of surgery or medication. But it was hurting a lot more than it had last spring.

Could things have changed in six months time? (Of course!) Should I go back to that doctor? (Maybe, but he's a specialist and I might have to wait a month or longer and he's in a really inconvenient location.) Should I go to the ER - (without the gunshot wound)? An urgent care facility? Should I see a different doctor? What kind? Another orthopedic doctor? A rheumatologist? I wasn't sure. I decided to call the nurse consultant provided by my insurance company. I'm going to assume that she really is a nurse even though it was fairly obvious that she had a list of pre-scripted questions. (And there's nothing wrong with that - job aids can help a novice perform like an expert in a short amount of time.) After we went through her list of questions, she recommended that I see a rheumatologist. Then she helped me find the three that are in my network within a 35-mile radius.

Only three. One in Frisco, one in Plano and one in Sherman. Basically, 15 miles, 20 miles and 35 miles. I really wasn't willing to drive farther than that.

I called the one in Frisco. Was I being referred by another doctor? No? Had I seen a doctor for this condition before? I made the mistake of mentioning the x-ray and doctor visit in March. They would have to have the x-ray sent to them before they could schedule an appointment. No problem. I had time to go get it and walk it over since they didn't have any appointments available until December. I said I'd look into getting the x-ray call and get back to them. (Sure I will. As long as I sign a release form, why can't they exchange this information amongst themselves?)

I called the one in Plano. What was my date of birth? Really? They wanted to know my date of birth before my name? Maybe they wanted to make sure I wasn't on Medicare. Who knows? They wanted to know if I'd seen a doctor for this condition before. I wasn't going to make the mistake of mentioning the garden variety arthritis again. After all, it could have all changed and any x-ray should be redone. So I said "no". Then she told me that I had to have a referral from my doctor. I indicated that I had been referred by my insurance company. Let me tell you, she was not impressed.

"We only make appointments for people who are referred by other doctors. We have to have a referral form from a doctor and a copy of all your medical records."

"I'm over 60 - I have a lot of medical records - most of which are not relative to this condition."

"We don't need them all. We only need what is pertinent to your condition."

"If I haven't been seen for this condition before, how would any of them be pertinent?"

"Just have your GP write up a referral and..."

I interrupted, "I don't have a GP since I changed insurance companies last year. My GP thought he was in network, but he isn't."

"I'm sure he'll still write you a referral. I'll need that referral and the office notes from your last two office visits."

"I'm not sure how knowing that I had a flu shot helps you here, but if it makes you happy, I'll see what I can do. Do we make the appointment now?"

"No. We don't make any appointments until we have the physician's referral and the medical information. Then someone will review it and we'll call you back to make an appointment."

"How long does that take?"

"Usually we review it within three days of getting it and then we call you to make the appointment."

This looked like a lot more work for me and no guarantee that they'd even bother to call me back when my last two office visits pertained to a flu shot and a sinus infection. Besides, their first available appointment was November 23rd. My pain was more immediate.

I was starting to get really frustrated. It should not be that hard to make a doctor's appointment. I called the doctor in Sherman. Again, we start off with the date of birth, even before the name. Seriously people - this may be efficient, but it is just rude to ask someone when they were born before you even ask what their name is.

But at any rate, I did make an appointment - for the following week. (Not November or December.) No medical history required. No referral required. And I even got a call an hour later informing me that there had been a cancellation and if I'd like to come in the following day, that would be fine.

Yes. I would like that very much. 

So Where Was it Really?

I guess my bag did have a vacation of its own. I've removed and examined the baggage tags. Here's where it's been:

Dallas to Houston and Houston to Heathrow - August 27
Heathrow to Manchester - August 31
Cleared security in Manchester - September 9 (Really??)
Heathrow to Zurich - September 10
(I have no idea how or when it got from Zurich to Rome - there are no stickers - maybe it went by courier or by train.) 
Rome to Heathrow - September 30 
Heathrow to Dallas - October 1
Sent on October 2 to me via Fed Ex 2 day ground and arrived on October 6, which is right since FedEx only counts business days.

There are date stamps and little stickers that indicate that it may not have left Houston on August 27th. I'm not really familiar with all of these stickers and what the numbers mean, but there is one sticker that indicates it probably left Houston on the 28th. Why it sat at Heathrow for 3 days is anyone's guess.

My bag arrived in Manchester the day before I left and since I left first thing in the morning, there is no way they could have delivered it to me. However, if they had sent it immediately to Switzerland instead of keeping it in Manchester until September 9th, I might have received it there. I was in Switzerland from September 7th thru the 12th. Although I have to wonder why it took them five days to contact me after the bag arrived in Zurich. It arrived on the 10th but no one phoned me regarding delivery until the 15th - five days later and three days after I'd left for Italy.

I suppose when they figured that I'd gone home and didn't "need" it that there was just no rush because the bag didn't leave Rome until September 30th. (I left Rome on September 17th and arrived back home in Dallas, via Heathrow, on September 18th. But once the bag got back in the US, it didn't take long at all. It arrived in Dallas on October 1 and was shipped back to me on October 2.

I noted that it was NEVER in Paris, even though this was a popular BA response. Really, there's only so much you can blame on the French. And with all the stickers and barcodes, it is amazing that BA was never really able to tell me EXACTLY where it was.

The Apple logo decal was still in tact. The name tag with my name, address, and phone number was still in tact. Every single sticker says RUSH and EXPEDITE on it. I can only conclude that those folks in Europe have no idea what RUSH or EXPEDITE mean. (I can forgive the Italians for not knowing English words - but what's up with the British and the Swiss?) Thank goodness here in the USA, we know what good customer service is! May it ever be so.

 

Pulling Out All the Stops

"...When something goes wrong we’ll pull out all the stops to resolve the situation as quickly and painlessly as possible." - A quote. From the British Airways site.

Wow, think what it might have been like if they hadn't pulled out all the stops. I don't think five and a half weeks is quick. And it certainly wasn't painless.

I could write out a blow-by-blow account of every conversation I had with British Airways and their responses to my inquiries regarding the whereabouts of my bag. But that would be redundant. Suffice it to say that the BA folks in London had some stock responses.

"It's in Paris."
"It never left Houston."
"It's being flown from London to Manchester today."
"It's in Zurich."
"It will be delivered today or tomorrow."

 They also had a couple responses that were unique.
"We've asked Air France to return it but they haven't responded."
"It's at Heathrow. But you can't pick it up because we haven't completed the paperwork. That takes 24 hours."

If I questioned how it had managed to get back to Paris when it had been in Manchester the day before, the BA representative became even more surly than they started out. And surly seems to be their norm. Let's just say that every time I got on the phone with them, I could sense my blood pressure rising. After Mark's bag arrived soaking wet with the clothes damp, I wanted to register my displeasure and amazement that such a thing could happen. I was told that the lost baggage team didn't handle complaints. I would need customer service for that, but they were at a different number and not available because it was the weekend. When I asked for the customer service number on Monday morning, I was told "We don't have customer service." That was probably the first truthful words that anyone there had spoken to me! (They don't have supervisors, either.) It was at this point that I turned the handling of the problem over to American Express's Concierge service. (Good thing, too since I was preoccupied with Mark while we were in Paris.)

I noticed right away that the description of my bag that was in BA's system was not correct. It was listed as an all black, soft-sided, medium-sized bag. In fact, it has a hard-shell, and is black with a brown stripe down the middle. There is a London Fog emblem on the bag and Mark added a white Apple logo decal for easy identification. I asked them to update this information at least four times.

Finally, three days before we were supposed to fly home, I got a call from the courier in Zurich. He said they had my bag and asked if I'd like to have it delivered to the Canton Glarus address on file. Unfortunately, we'd left Canton Glarus three days earlier. They didn't seem to have the forwarding address in Italy even though I'd provided it on three separate occasions. Given the length of time it had taken them to get the bag to Zurich, I didn't think I'd have it before I went home.

By this time, we were in Italy and nearing  the end of our three weeks. By this time, even American Express's Concierge service was starting to fail. They started sending me emails to update me on the status of my bag that indicated they had no idea what had transpired in the past. (One of their emails questioned the fact that one bag had been delivered.- Golly Gee - That bag was delivered on day 2. A well-documented fact that they should have known.)


After I got home, I updated my address again and started calling BA in the US. (They DO have customer service in the US! And you can talk to them without them saying something stupid that makes your blood pressure go up.) Although, depending on what day of the week it was, they told me my bag was in Paris, in Zurich, in Rome, or in London.  One day I called and got a young man named Rasheed. When I asked him where my bag was that day, it was pretty obvious he didn't know, because he said, "Ma'am, I'm not sure what you want me to tell you." How about the truth for a change? I told Rasheed that he and I were going to become best friends, because I was going to call him every day until my bag was returned. Rasheed told me he would personally track down my bag and said I should feel free to ask for him when I called! He also advised me to go ahead and file the claim for the lost bag. (I'd been putting it off because documenting everything in the bag, when I bought each item and how much I'd paid for them, seemed a daunting task. I had hoped to avoid it.  But on his advice, I got busy with it and it only took about three days.)  When I called back the next week and asked for Rasheed, I was told that no one named Rasheed worked at BA nor had anyone named Rasheed worked there in well over a year. And whoever this new guy was didn't have any clue where my bag was. But he could tell me that the description and my phone number still hadn't been updated in their system. Seriously?? How many times would I have to ask for this to be changed? He gave me his name and told me to ask for him, but I didn't bother writing it down.

But whoever he was, he must have finally changed the description in the BA system because the bag was back in my possession within a few days of that conversation. It came back with no fanfare. The FedEx guy making the delivery didn't even bother to ring the doorbell. It just happened that we were watching the news and saw someone come to the door, appear to change his mind and leave. No phone calls - no email announcements. Nothing. Just my bag sitting at the door waiting to be welcomed home. I'm so glad I got it back because there were four things in there that I forgot to list on the claim form.

Oh yeah, the claim form. If they think this gets them off the hook for all that stuff I was forced to buy in Europe - they should think again. 

Best Laid Plans

I think it goes without saying that this trip was certainly not the trip we planned.

We planned to spend a couple of days in Holland-on-Sea visiting family. We were there for a couple of days, but we had to cut the visit a bit short in order to shop for underwear, cosmetics, and shirts.

We planned to spend a few days in Manchester visiting family. We were locked in on the time because we'd already purchased the tickets for the Eurostar to Paris. But we didn't get to spend as much time with family as we planned because #1. Mark had to deal with the rental car breakdown, #2. I had to go shopping again because my bag still hadn't arrived and #3. Mark started having an upset stomach and needed to rest.

We planned to arrive in Paris on Monday evening and leave for Zurich on Wednesday morning. We planned to spend Tuesday in the Louvre and have lunch in the Eiffel Tower. Shortly after arriving in Paris and having a late night snack, I had to call the ambulance to take Mark into the hospital. He wasn't released until Friday afternoon and we were advised not to leave Paris before Sunday. No Louvre. No Eiffel Tower. We were four days late getting to Zurich.

We planned to arrive in Zurich on Wednesday and stay through until Sunday. Instead, we arrived on Sunday and stayed until Friday. It was good to be with friends who were happy to show us around Switzerland and make allowances for Mark not being 100%.

We planned to take the Bernina Express from Chur over the Alps to Turano. It's only a four hour trip, but we would have had to catch another train in Turano for Florence, which was our original plan. Mark's low blood count made it ill-advised to try to change trains and cart luggage around - even if we were one bag short. Instead, when we left Switzerland on Friday we took a train straight to Rome, with one change in Milan.

In Rome, we caught the train to Spoleto where friends were waiting for us. Once again, it was good to be with friends who were happy to make allowances for Mark still not being 100%. We were also fortunate that our friends had knowledge of the local emergency room and knew enough Italian to help us through that when Mark injured his foot. They also knew just where to go to get Mark a pair of sleek, Italian crutches.

Yet throughout all of this, I am still blessed. Our plane was not shot down, nor did it disappear into thin air. The mishaps occurred where first-class medical assistance was available. We should be in a position to try this again. Maybe next year. Maybe the year after. Probably not the same identical itinerary. If I can't make it to the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower in three visits I'm not meant to go. But I'm looking forward to a return visit to Switzerland, the Bernina Express, and Florence.

One person remarked to me, "Wow - and it was a once in a lifetime trip."

I certainly do hope so. I never want to experience another trip like this one in my lifetime.

Fashion Week!

It seemed like there were posters and electronic displays for Fashion Week everywhere I went. Fashion Week Paris, Fashion Week London, Fashion Week Milan!

How exciting! You can't begin to imagine my excitement. I'd been wearing the same (comfortable) shoes for nearly three weeks. I'd been doing laundry every few days because I only had three pairs of pants and about seven tops. I'd been using some of the makeup I bought in unintended ways to make up for products I either couldn't find or somehow neglected to buy.

I'd been telling myself that I should not worry about what I was going to wear. (Consider the lilies of the field and how gloriously they are arrayed, etc...) I reminded myself that it's what you're like on the inside that is important, not your outward appearance.  I did my best to focus on things that were not superficial.

And truly, those who know me know that Fashion Week is not something I'd ever really be excited about. (Take a look at those models - I don't think they're especially excited, either.) While I love cute shoes, I tend to go more for comfort these days. And while I'd taken an assortment of jewelry and accessories with me on the trip, all I really had with me was the jewelry because the accessories were all in the missing bag. But given my limited wardrobe, I really didn't need many jewelry choices.

I can say that after three weeks of no accessories, no change of shoes, and very limited clothing choices, I was so disgusted defeated that I couldn't even be bothered to put on lipstick for the last few days of the trip and for several days after we got home.

I found myself at a crossroads. Do I want to become a dedicated fashionista? Suffer the uncomfortable shoes? Change handbags every time I leave the house? Refuse to leave the house until I find the "right" lipstick? Probably not. Or do I want to focus on inner beauty? Wear whatever is hanging in the front of the closet and go for comfort over style? Hmmm, that may be a bit extreme. I've never considered myself a fashionista. At least not lately. No, make that never. But I have always taken care with my appearance. (My first husband never even saw me without makeup on. Ever.) And I'm just not a sloppy t-shirt kind of girl. They're okay for the gym (but there are really cute workout clothes) or painting the house but I'd rather have a cute top to wear with my jeans. Maybe I should just continue to walk down the middle of that road - in comfortable, but cute, shoes.

One More Thing to Avoid

 Since our flight to Dallas didn't leave until the following morning, we booked into one of the "local" Heathrow hotels for the night. Mark was still on crutches when we arrived at Heathrow, which made using one of the shuttle buses a bit more challenging than it should be. (Shuttle bus drivers in the UK, with the exception of Hertz, do not provide any assistance with bags.) You're extremely lucky if you get a cab driver who'll help with the bags.

At any rate, we thought taking a cab to the hotel would be easier. It should have been easier. Mark thought that a short trip was the ideal fare that all cabbies were looking for. It made sense - it's a short run, they get their 12 to 15 pounds and they can rejoin the taxi rank quickly. 

But that isn't how it really works. The taxi rank is "managed" by Heathrow employees. You tell them where you want to go and if you require a cab that takes credit cards and they "direct", "escort", "lead" you to a cab. We had been pointed to a cab, the driver took credit cards, and had agreed to take us to a local hotel, when one of the Heathrow employees (a young woman with an Eastern European accent) came rushing up with another customer and pushed us out of the way and shoved an over-sized barbarian into our cab, telling us that we would have to wait for the next one.

Amidst protests from us, the over-sized barbarian shoved his over-sized bags into our cab and the driver sped away. The young woman was explaining to us that we will have the very next cab. Of course, the very next five cabs do not take credit cards. The next cab that does take credit cards does not want to take a job to a "local" hotel. Apparently drivers may choose which fares they want to take and no one is required to take a fare to a local hotel if they don't want to.

Mark was still having to stand around on crutches and his fuse was getting short. (The line of available cabs was also getting short.) He started complaining to the young woman about taking our cab when one of her co-workers, also with an Eastern European accent (don't any British people work in Britain anymore?) came over and threatened to make us walk to the hotel if Mark didn't just wait patiently and quietly. Fairly low on customer-facing skills in my opinion. It's hard to be patient when you're in pain. Just saying...

We finally found a driver who would take us to the hotel, but only if we paid cash. We knew we didn't have enough cash but thought that we could get the hotel to give us a cash advance on American Express once we got there. Apparently, this is something that is only done in the US. If it is done in the UK, it is not done at the Arora International Hotel.

While Mark was finding out that he could not get any cash, I was finding out about the taxi rank. Apparently they are charged 6 pounds just to get in the line. The reason they don't want to take the local runs is that the fares average only 12 pounds - so half of it is gone immediately. If they take a credit card, that eats up another 10%. They all want the trips into the city of London. It's more like 60 pounds so they at least have an opportunity to make a bit of money.

In the end, the driver opted to take the credit card over driving Mark around to find an ATM. But in the future, we'll only stay at a Heathrow hotel if we're returning a rental car. Never again will I book a connecting flight that requires an over night stay at Heathrow. One more thing to avoid.

The Knock-Off

I always believed that my bag would turn up. (I still live in hope!) I truly thought it would arrive the night before we were scheduled to leave Italy. I was also sure that if I bought another bag that my bag would turn up. That's karma. Or maybe it's Murphy's Law. At any rate, we went to a shop in Spoleto that specialized in luggage and handbags just to get an idea of the cost, or to scoop up a bargain.

This shop was a bit different than most of the shops I'm accustomed to. There were no prices on anything. The young lady minding the store had to get out a book and look up every single price. Sorry, but that got tedious for me. I can't imagine how she must have felt giving me the price on half the bags in the store. But I suppose it gave her something to do.

It might have been better if I'd been happy with the prices I was hearing. The bottom line was that I would have to pay over three times more than I'd paid in the US for a bag of similar size and quality. Yikes! I just didn't want to do that because #1. I'm going to get my bag back and I don't need two the same size and #2. I'm sure there is a limit to what British Airways will pay for a replacement bag and it is probably not three times the cost of the original bag. 

I left the shop without making a purchase, still hoping that my bag would turn up. We went into the market to get some porchettas (serious man food) when Mark and Mike spotted some bags. They called for Ros and me to come back and take a look. For 25 Euros I could get a knock-off duffel bag with rollers. The knock-off of the Dolce and Gabbana bag was so obviously a knock-off, not even as subtle as the Louis Vuitton or Coach knock-off bags that are so common. But then there was this one:

I was pretty sure it was a knock-off of something but I didn't know what. But I did know that this was a bag that could be easily spotted on the conveyor belt. And only 25 Euros! A bargain compared to those 300 Euro bags I'd been looking at in the shop. I thought it was a bit ugly, but it only had to make one trip home - how could I pass it up??

When we got in to London, I was (gratefully) pulling my bag off the conveyor when a very stylish lad standing near me said "Oh! Did you buy that in Italy?"
"Yes, I did."
Then he said, "I saw them in a shop in Florence and just LOVED them!"

Perhaps it's not as ugly as I originally thought. But it is still a knock-off. Apparently a knock-off of something so exclusive I don't know what it is. 

The Cause of the Problem

As my bag has been missing now for over four weeks, I am starting to believe that I may never see it again. But I have not yet given up hope! I like those clothes waaaaaay better than most of that overpriced European stuff I bought. (And why is it so overpriced in Europe? It's all made in China anyway.)

However, this experience is not without some lessons learned:
1. We should pack "outfits" (top and bottom pairings) and both of us should have several outfits in each bag so that if one bag goes missing, we both still have some clothes and not just all pants and no shirts or all shirts and no pants - or even worse, shirts and pants that don't go together.
2. We should try to find bags that hold a lot of stuff but can be carried on.
3. I should find makeup that is powder-based instead of liquid so it can go in the carry on bag.
4. We should book earlier to avoid connecting flights.

In the meantime, I've been thinking about what might have gone wrong with the bag in the first place. Here are my theories:

The BBQ Sauce Theory. I was carrying two bottles of BBQ sauce in the missing bag. (They were intended as gifts. And as far as I know, BBQ sauce is not a banned substance.) We had vacuum sealed each bottle in plastic and then placed them into an insulated wine carrier. Then we vacuum sealed the wine carrier and wrapped it in plastic. No way was any BBQ sauce going to get on my clothes in the event of breakage due to mishandling! My theory is that this turned up as something strange on the x-ray. Since the TSA was no doubt on high alert that week, they tried to detonate my BBQ sauce  This process ruined my clothes and they just decided to destroy my entire bag so that no one would know what happened to the BBQ sauce.

The High-Tech Theory. The day we were leaving for the airport, my new iPhone arrived. I opened it and there were some rather large Apple logo decals included in the box. Mark took one and slapped it on his wallet. Despite my protest, he slapped the other one on my bag. He said it would make the brown and black bag easier to spot on the baggage conveyer. I had to concede. The theory is that someone saw the Apple logo and assumed that the bag was full of high-tech equipment and stole it. Angry with the lack of high tech equipment in the bag but not wanting to admit to any wrong doing, they just destroyed the bag so it could not be used as evidence.

The Houston We Have a Problem Theory. This is my first experience with a bag that was delayed for more than 24 hours. This was also one of the rare occasions when we didn't fly direct. The inability to fly direct is often a hazard that accompanies a "free" ticket. Going through Houston seemed a better idea than going through Chicago or New York. We thought there was less chance for things to go wrong through Houston than anywhere else. I must say that the times I've never lost a bag when I connected through New York, Atlanta, or Chicago. But it could have fallen off the cart and never made it onto the plane. I don't know, but it's possible that I may have misjudged the capabilities of the Houston workforce.

The No Customer Service Theory. British Airways personnel are a bit pompous. No, it isn't just the accent. These people try to make you think that the missing bag is your fault, not theirs. Their web site claims that they "pull out all the stops" to reunite you with your bag - (more on that at a later date) but the truth is that they tell you anything. During the past four weeks, I've been told that my bag was in Paris, Houston, London, Manchester, Rome, and Zurich. If I called twice in one day, I'd be given two different cities. I was told it was with a courier for delivery more than once. Twice I was told it had been delivered. When I asked to speak with a supervisor I was told they didn't have any. When I asked for the customer service number I was told they didn't have customer service. That I could believe. But the theory is that they just really don't have a clue and are trying to put me off until some kind of statute of limitation runs out and I won't be able to file a claim for my lost stuff.

Anybody else have a theory?

  

A Day in Norcia

Norcia is a short bus ride from Spoleto in Umbria. Where Assisi was all about St. Francis, Norcia is all about the food - the meats and cheeses, the truffles and of course, the wine. The cured meats hanging behind Mark make reference to mules and grandfathers. I'll leave it at that. They had one cheese they called Viagra - presumably because it was such a hard cheese. 

Norcia is a walled hill town.  We enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the restaurant you see on the left of this next photo. The inside of the restaurant is huge, especially for such a relatively small town. It had a number of rooms, all exquisitely decorated, and one room featured a wood-fired grill where they grilled, not pizza, but meats.

The town was the home of St. Benedict and his sister St. Scholastica. (It's Italy, every town must be home to a saint.) We toured the church but photos were prohibited. There is a statue of St. Benedict in the piazza.

When we were in Assisi a few years ago, there was a statue of a lion that looked a lot like this one. Due to the proximity of the two towns, I'm going to guess that it may have been the same sculptor. Or maybe every sculptor learned from the same teacher.

I'm looking forward to another trip to Italy. Maybe next time we'll make it out of Umbria, although Umbria is a perfectly lovely place to be.

Alpine Air

Nothing quite like fresh mountain air for healing. In the days before antibiotics, medical professionals built a number of sanatoria in Switzerland because they believed that clean, cold mountain air was the best treatment for a number of diseases. And when we told the doctor in Paris that we planned to go to Switzerland, she was very pleased. Said that the mountain air would be good for Mark. (Along with readily available venison and dark beer.)

The cheese is wonderful! And the cows are just darling. They all wear these huge cowbells. I just can't imagine Texas cows wearing these bells. There are places where the cows have free range and the right of way. We had to stop the car for them more than once. They are so beautiful, I wanted to get a good picture of one but it was raining too hard to roll down the car window. Fortunately, pictures are easy to find on the Internet.

Aside from being good for you, Switzerland is just plain beautiful. We were shown around by friends who live there and know all the most beautiful places. The pictures don't do it any justice at all! It's always magical to see a mountain waterfall cascading down to a clear blue lake. These lakes had five or six of these waterfalls. It was just amazing!

So beautiful, despite the rain. Can't wait to go back.

The Sights of Paris

Since this was my third trip to Paris, we hadn't planned to stay there very long. Just a couple of days, one of which we planned to spend in the Louvre. Instead, we spent four days in Hopital Lariboisiere seeing sights that I'd be happy never to see again.

But when Mark was released from the hospital, he was advised not to leave town for a day or two. (Sounds like he was on parole.) As it worked out, not leaving for a few days was a really good idea. He tired extremely quickly and wouldn't have done well on the train to Zurich if we'd tried to leave as soon as he was released. So in the meantime, we hopped on a double decker tour bus so we could at least "see" the sights.

On our first day, Mark only managed to stay awake on the bus for a couple of hours before he needed to go back to the hotel for a nap. The second day we only got off the bus to change bus routes and to eat lunch. He still had very little energy and certainly no tolerance for crowds.

But, here's a sample of what we could see from the bus. It wasn't bright sunshine, but at least it wasn't raining. (In most cases, I don't know what the building is - other than pretty - because I didn't want to plug in the headphones. I was happier listening to Mark.

The English Patient

These weren't the sights we were planning to see. We'd planned to spend a day at the Louvre. Maybe cruise up and down the Seine. Have lunch in the Eiffel Tower restaurant. Typical touristy things. But instead we've spent time looking at bags of saline solution, blood, glucose and iron. At one time they had Mark hooked up to four different bags of stuff at the same time. I'll admit it was worrisome. I just thought he was in a ward. I had no idea he was in intensive care. Had I known, I would have been terrified.

Meanwhile, I became somewhat familiar with the Hopital Lariboisiere. The picture doesn't do it justice. This time of year the gardens are in full bloom and the pots that line the roof of the building are all full of blooms, as well. The statuary was nice, too. All this just a 10-minute walk from our hotel. But we weren't there to admire the gardens and statuary. We were there for healthcare. Healthcare in France is somewhat different than in the US. For starters there isn't so much paper work to fill out. When we told them we had American Express Travelers Health Insurance - we only had to provide them with the policy number and allow them to make a copy of Mark's passport. End of paperwork until we were ready to check out. They assumed, rightly so, that Mark has a British National Health number. That allowed us to walk out without providing a credit card. If it hadn't been for that, the bill would have come to roughly 3800 euro. (No idea what that is in dollars, but I'm pretty sure that a few days in intensive care in a US hospital would have been ten times as much.)

As for treatment, Mark spent the first night in the ER. They ran tests, as they do in the US. Because he was in a private treatment room, I was allowed to stay with him. His vitals were monitored all night, and some tests were performed.  After one night, we new a great deal about what it wasn't.

In the morning when he was stable, I was sent back to the hotel to get a few hours sleep and told I could come back in a few hours. But in the meantime they moved him to a what I thought was a ward, but was in fact intensive care. The day shift nurses were not especially nice.  They were focused on "the rules" which say that no one can visit until 2 in the afternoon.  Although when I started to cry they did give me a few minutes with him before banishing me to the family waiting room.

This wasn't a particularly nice place. Even though the night shift folks didn't necessarily follow the rules (maybe because the AmEx Medical Assistance folks had called and asked them to cut us a bit of slack), the place filled up as the evening wore on. We started the afternoon with two people in the beds - Mark and one other guy. By 2 AM the place was stuffed. Far too much screaming - we were convinced there must be a torture chamber nearby. And it wasn't as clean as I expect a hospital to be. So glad when he got moved to a room.

I made the mistake of thinking that ALL food in France is good quality, tasty food. I thought the only thing you had to watch out for was fish served with the head on. It is not. French hospital food is even worse than airline food. What comes to mind when someone says "chicken and pasta"? Nice chunks of white meat chicken, pasta, some creamy sauce, maybe some broccoli or peas. Imagine my disappointment when I opened the tray and found plain rotini, no sauce and a somewhat greasy chicken leg. No vegetables. None. Oh yeah, there's no butter, salt or pepper, either. But really, those night shift folks were so nice to offer it to me. I was afraid that if I left to get something to eat I wouldn't be able to get back in. (It was tough enough to get back in if you went to the bathroom.) I thought I was starving until I tasted it. Appetite just left. Although the cheese, the bread and the peach were nice.

Everyone, paramedics, nurses and doctors (not so much those day shifters) all went out of their way to communicate with us. This whole thing about the French treating people who don't speak French rudely was just not true. They were all friendly and helpful and I will be forever grateful to them for helping us. Mark's blood loss was severe. At least I think it was. All in all he had to have five transfusions. He now has so much French blood in him that I expect him to start speaking French any moment.

Perspective

If you've been following along, you know that this hasn't been our best trip. We suffered through worse than usual food and screaming children on the flight over. Both our bags were lost by the airlines and so far only one has been recovered. (They keep taunting me by telling me it will be delivered the next day, but so far that just isn't the case.) The rental car had to be exchanged. Our family visits were cut a bit short because we had shopping to do to replace necessities that were in the bags.

But we were keeping it in perspective. Our plane hadn't been shot down. It didn't disappear into thin air. We weren't hospitalized (at least not yet! It was all good. Everything in the missing bag was replaceable - although I was (still am) a bit perturbed that 60% of the missing bag's contents consist of all new, never worn clothing that I bought special for this trip. Even the bag itself was purchased especially for this trip.

But I was dealing with it. I'd instructed the American Express Global Assist Team (those nice folks who try to track down your bag so you can enjoy yourself) to have the bag forwarded to Zurich because we were only going to be in Paris for a couple of days and maybe they'd be able to get it to Zurich by Thursday. (Given that I'm writing this on Thursday, I can tell you that wasn't the case even though you'd have thought they'd be able to since they were given the instructions on Sunday.) But the key is that I'd decided not to stress out about the bag any more. We were determined not to let British Airways spoil our trip.

Then within two hours of arriving in Paris, I was trying to get the desk clerk at our hotel to phone an ambulance. Mark was hemorrhaging. By the time the ambulance arrived some 30 minutes later, he was passing out when he tried to stand up. I can tell you that I forgot about the stupid bag. I forgot about my precious little cat. One focus and one focus only - getting him the help he needed. I'm not sure how I stayed calm and focused. Grace of God is my best guess. So much for not being hospitalized. Although I was ready to strangle the person who remarked on Sunday afternoon that "It couldn't get any worse". Yes, it could. It did.

On the plus side, I'm so glad this happened in Paris and not in the countryside (English, French or US) or worse still on a train in the middle of nowhere. Big metropolitan hospitals are very well equipped to deal with this type of problem and I now fear what might have happened if treatment had been delayed. We were so fortunate to be in Paris and only a couple of blocks from a teaching hospital.

That Tired Look

I might have looked worn out and tired because I'd been fretting over the lost bag. Or it could have been that I hadn't used any moisturizer in four days.

I didn't buy any right away because I had to do the first "lost baggage essential shopping" in Clacton and there was no Sephora, no Ulta, no Mary Kay rep and not even a full-size department store. The only department store was Marks and Spencer, but it's one of the smaller ones - no cosmetics. Just underwear, outerwear and food. (All regular sizes - nothing for short people.) We bought underwear and socks and a couple of shirts because at this point we were convinced that our baggage was only delayed and that it would be waiting for us in Manchester,

For cosmetics, I had to go to Boots - which is essentially like CVS or Walgreens - but with brands I'm not familiar with. Eyeshadow and blush are not critical. - any brand will do. Foundation is more important, but cleansers and moisturizers, fall into the very important category, at least as far as I'm concerned. At the time, I didn't buy any because I thought that one day or maybe two at most without it wouldn't do as much harm as an inferior product. Although if they'd had a travel-size Neutrogena cleanser, I'd have bought it in a heartbeat. It was the one brand I recognized.

I looked around. Mark was with me, but he really wasn't much help with the cosmetics. (No experience whatsoever!) I squirted a bit of one foundation on to my hand to see if the color was a good match. I don't remember what brand it was but it was thick and heavy and felt like concrete. There were no tissues anywhere to get it off. I was holding my hand up and away from me to make sure I didn't get any of it on my clothes - especially since I didn't have many clothes at this point.

I found some tissues at the counter, as well as a lady who looked like she might be able to help. She informed me that she could help me, but only with the number seven. Number seven? It turns out that No. 7 is the Boots store brand. I later learned that it is much better than most of the other brands carried in the smaller Boots stores, but not as good as the premium brands carried in the larger stores. But she was able to do the color match and I got set up with the basics I'd need not to look like a Zombie until I got to Manchester.

Although she was quite helpful, she did not understand why I was not familiar with No. 7. She told me the brand was now available in America. I know they sell the Boots brand in Target. They're trying to pass it off as some kind of premiere English brand. It's good quality stuff, but who gets excited over a drugstore brand? According to the lady at the cosmetic counter, Boots products, such as No. 7 are now all available in Walgreens. Not someplace I typically go - (CVS is far more convenient) - and not a place where I shop for cosmetics although I've been known to pick up a lip-liner or something similar if I'm in there for something else.  But I'm digressing, the foundation is actually very nice and the cheap foundation brush is working out just fine, too.

But let's get back to that moisturizer. Claire was kind enough to take me shopping in Manchester on Sunday. The stores are big enough to have Petite Departments and even the Boots store has Lancome, Clinique, and other brands that I'm familiar with. The young lady at the Benefit counter slathered my face in moisturizer immediately. While it felt a bit greasy, Claire said it didn't look greasy. I think she was being kind because when I used her phone to call Mark, it was coated in "grease" when I finished with it. I am now convinced that moisturizer is truly meant to be under foundation rather than over it. No exceptions.

I was able to get a travel-size kit that should do me until I get home since I now fear that I will not get my luggage until I get home. I also bought a couple pairs of pants and a few more tops. And of course, more underwear. That will probably do while I'm in Paris and maybe into Zurich, although I'm guessing that for Zurich I may need a sweater or two. Of course when we get to Italy, it will probably be hot. Just think of the lovely European wardrobe I'm going to have. And I'll have British Airways to thank for it!

General System Fault

I bet you're getting tired of hearing about my lost luggage. (I know I'm getting a bit weary of it.) Want to hear about the drive up to Manchester? Exciting! The distance between Clacton and Manchester is about the same distance as Celina to Oklahoma City - 160 or so miles. The trip to Oklahoma City has never taken more than three hours. I don't think the trip from Clacton to Manchester has ever taken less than five hours.

Friday's trip was no exception. Traffic standing still on most of the M roads - no place to get off - and no alternate route. Argh!!

We were finally able to get off the motorway and headed over the Saddleworth Moor on A635. It's a narrow road but as long as no one has an accident, it moves at a reasonable pace. (We've been on it when it wasn't moving at all.) So there we are on a narrow road traveling at 50 mph and the car started to sputter. "General System Fault - Restart" came up on the digital display. There was no place to pull over. You can't restart it while you're moving. All Mark could do was stop accelerating and hope that it sorted itself out. It didn't. The message continued to display until we were able to pull over and restart the car.

By the time the car (a Nissan Qashqai)  decided to have another general system fault, we were in a busy intersection in Manchester. At least we were stopped so restarting wasn't too problematic. The next time it pulled that trick we were able to pull off onto a side street to restart the car. We felt lucky to get to the hotel. Who would have thought that someone would program a car to run on Windows!

As you might imagine, we were no longer very keen on driving this car. We called Hertz to come get it. They told us to call the roadside assistance number, which we did. After 20 minutes on hold (that pretty well ate up all the money on our pay as you go phone) they said that they weren't actually Hertz, but AA (the British equivalent of AAA). When we explained the problem, they said we'd have to call Hertz. They gave us a number that was supposed to be answered 24/7. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. Since we didn't need to drive anywhere, we decided to leave it until Saturday morning.

On Saturday morning, Hertz told us we'd need to drive the car over to the Manchester airport. We explained that we didn't think we wanted to drive a car that just cut out in the middle of an intersection and might provide us with opportunities to be T-boned. After much haggling, they agreed to send out a representative from Nissan to see what might be wrong with the car.

He showed up late Saturday afternoon. Apparently, it was an intermittent fuel-line fault. Apparently, this fault must be fairly well known to Nissan, and probably to Hertz. The fellow who came out to check it offered to take the car and Mark to the airport immediately to get another car. Unfortunately, if he'd done that he wouldn't have been back until past 10 PM, causing him to miss an evening with his son.

So we got to add sorting out the car to our list of drama to deal with on Sunday. Fortunately, except for the navigation system taking Mark to the wrong location, the exchange went fairly smoothly, which was good because we have enough drama dealing with the lost bag. When I said that I hoped this trip would help take my mind off losing Hefner, this was NOT what I had in mind.

Have You Seen This Bag?

My bag looks like the one in the middle. No one seems to know where it is. We thought the flight was bad but the real fun started when they gave us the lost baggage claim form. We were told that it would not possibly show up for 24 hours. The first information we were given was that it was never put on the plane in Houston. And no it was not a "tight" connection. We had time to eat a leisurely lunch in the Houston airport.

So we went straight to Clacton to visit Mark's 90-year old dad. We had to cut the visit a bit short because we had to go into town before the shops closed at five so we could get underwear, some clean shirts, toothpaste and toothbrushes and some cosmetics.

Our UK phone was packed in Mark's bag. This was a one-off. It's always in the carry-on - except for this time. His US phone is set up for international roaming but we've found that the Samsung doesn't work quite as well as the iPhone. It makes calls - but it doesn't do a good job of receiving them.

British Airways was supposed to phone us when they located the bags but we hadn't heard anything and it had been six hours. We weren't sure whether they had tried to call and been unsuccessful because our electronics weren't working properly. We tried calling them.

I waited on hold for an eternity and then found that I had a rough connection. I couldn't hear him particularly well, nor could he hear me. I thought for a minute that he was going to hang up, but thankfully he didn't. He told me one of our bags was in Paris and that they had requested that Air France return it but they hadn't responded. Really? It's gone from not being put on the plane in Houston to being in France. But that was only one - the other was still at large.  Nothing to do but wait.

We gave them another six hours and phoned them again. They were sticking to that same story.

I was having trouble believing them. How did one of our bags end up in Paris if it never left Houston? I called American Express Global Assist. Within an hour I had an email letting me know that both bags had been located and were on their way from Houston to London - Flight 194. That would arrive at 7:30 am on Friday. We were assured that they would be couriered to our hotel in Manchester as soon as they arrived and cleared customs. We thoroughly expected them to be waiting for us at the Church Inn. We also got a text message from BA informing us that BOTH bags were en route from London to Manchester. Later we got another text saying that one bag was with the courier. That had to be a mistake. Why would the courier only take one of the two bags? I was convinced it was a typo.

By the time we arrived in Manchester on Friday evening, Mark's bag was waiting at the hotel. I was told it arrived after 6 PM - roughly 35 hours after we arrived in London. It arrived completely soaked and some of the clothes were damp. But at least it arrived. Mine still hadn't arrived. So much for the typo. Another call to British Airways. This time they told me that my bag was still in London and would be sent to Manchester on Saturday. So much for the text message that both bags were sent to Manchester on Friday. Another call to American Express.

Around 5 PM on Saturday I got an email from American Express Global Assist telling me that British Airways had reported to them that my bag had been delivered. What great news! Problem was that there was no truth to that report.

So the pressing question was "Where is MY bag?" It's been AWOL for over over 72 hours now. British Airways stops talking to customers at 8 PM. When I phoned them at 7:45 on Saturday they assured me that the bag was in Manchester and would be delivered by 10 PM at the latest. Of course, once I asked the young man for his name, he backed off and said that he couldn't actually "guarantee" that it would be delivered. And since it didn't turn up on Saturday, I'll have to spend Sunday afternoon shopping AGAIN - cutting in to the time we wanted to spend with the grandchildren.

When I phoned British Airways on Sunday morning they informed me, in that quaint rude way they have, that my bag had been turned over to the courier in Manchester around 11 PM on Saturday (so much for being delivered before 10 PM) and that they were no longer responsible for it. Great! He did give me the number for the courier service. It seems they don't answer the phone on Sunday. Maybe they don't deliver on Sunday, either. Who knows? I don't. Because even though I asked him to spell out the name of the courier company, he had such a thick Asian accent that I couldn't understand anything past "T". Of course there's a recording on the number that suggests you track your bag online - but the web address was delivered in such a thick Glaswegian accent that I still had no idea which courier company had my bag.

I finally got through to the courier company who claims they don't have my bag. British Airways claims they do. Another call to American Express. I now know why you don't dare leave home without it.