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.