My Worst Trip to Italy

It all started when…

I am often asked about my favorite places to travel, the bargains I can score, and the delights of traveling internationally.  But I am also often asked about the not-so-fun parts of travel.  People are sometimes surprised that I've had bad travel experiences, but when you travel as much as I do, things happen.  And this is the tale of one really bad trip...

I love to travel! Truly. I love the anticipation and the planning: what to do, where to go. I love the romance of jetting off across the world meeting new people and having new adventures. There is nothing I would rather do.

But even for the most intrepid traveler, things sometimes go wrong. Terribly wrong. June, 2006: that was my trip from Hell….

At first it seemed like the gods were on my side. I’d left late for the airport, but we made good time and arrived early. But when I checked in they wouldn’t give me a boarding pass, and it became very clear that despite my “confirmed” seat I was to be bumped from the flight. Indeed, I waved to the other passengers as the plane pulled out from the gate and spent the night in a sleezy hotel near the airport.

The next morning I was given a seat assignment and a boarding pass. But I would have given my left arm for another seat assignment. The woman sitting next to me was not sitting close enough to her teenaged daughters -- who sat one row behind us -- and she acted like it was my fault. She was trying to get those of us around her to switch seats, but the really tall guy in the aisle wasn’t about to take her middle seat so that she could sit with her girls. Her daughters were delighted.

So, instead she kept turning around in her seat to talk with them. They ignored her consistently and talked back in that oh-so-sonorous bratty, obnoxious teen-aged know-it-all voice. They were definitely a case for Dr. Phil! Protective, over-bearing mother and her daughters who hate her – on today’s Dr. Phil. We had it all right there.

Mrs. Overbearing spent the time she wasn’t harping on her children in the bathroom. Now, I have to go to the bathroom a lot. I drank a gallon of water on the flight – my strategy against dehydration. But Mrs. Overbearing was up and down and up and down constantly. She never had to go when I got up. No. That would be far too easy. I would get all settled back into my seat, tucked under my blanket and stationery for all of two minutes when she would need to get up. I began to wonder if my comfort made her uncomfortable or something. It was quite bizarre.

At long last – 9.5 hours later – we landed in Frankfurt. I had less than an hour to change gates -- which is a pain in Frankfurt. The new terminal and the old terminal are separated by what must be 38 miles of corridors and craziness. Plus, you must go through security again when you change terminals. I’d done this before, so I knew what to expect. I pushed my way off the plane and sprinted through the smoky, humid airport, past soccer players and fans and the World Cup madness which had overtaken Germany.

When I got to my gate, sweaty and panting, a Lufthansa agent came over the speaker to announce that we were delayed 30 minutes. The entire crowd at the gate – mostly American tourists – groaned.

Arriving in Rome, after a bumpy landing, I was so ready to just get into a shower. But it was not to be.

My luggage was missing.

When I’d been bumped in San Francisco, they had kept my bags claiming they had been pulled from the plane, but that it would take hours to locate them. Yeah. Right.

Instead, they came on that original flight without me. And they were sitting in the lost luggage room in Rome. But it took 3 hours to figure out where they were and that they were not lost but were just misplaced.

Meanwhile I was melting from exhaustion and frustration.

Finally, bags in hand, I headed to the train station and caught the Leonardo Express to Termini – 2 blocks from my hotel.

Well, that was the plan anyway.

After I’d finally showered and settled in a bit, I went to the area where the Pantheon is – one of my favorite parts of Rome. We wandered about a bit and stopped at a café for dinner.

In Campo di Fiori, we stopped for gelato. The piazza is lined with cafes and bars, which were all packed with people watching Italy play Ghana in the opening round of the World Cup. Each establishment had set a TV up so that those eating outside could watch through the window. Conversation was at a minimum as all eyes turned to the screens. And then a cry went up! Italy scored! And again!

Exhausted, I couldn’t stay to enjoy the revelry. I needed to get home.

I’d already lost one day of my trip because of the airline. And I had a lot of work to do. But I woke up the next morning with the stomach flu. I was miserable. I slept and vomited all day. I had nothing in my pensione. But I could hardly lift my head off the pillow. I didn’t even have the energy to curse Mrs. Overbearing – most certainly the source of the vile germs.

And my time in Rome was spent… a lovely little research trip wasted. Surely the trip would get better, right?

When I woke up in the morning I felt … better. Great! I could spend a few hours out and about in Rome!

So, I got dressed, I ate some dry toast. It stayed with me. I felt a little queasy, but it was tolerable. So, out I went – via taxi.

I went off to a little church I’d never visited called San Pietro in Montorio. It was built on the spot where St. Peter was crucified, but I wanted a photo of a small temple – or tempietto – designed by Bramante and which served as a precursor to St. Peter’s. It was open. I got some great photos. Started to feel queasy. And a taxi magically appeared to take me back.

I picked up my bags and headed to the train station since I had to check out. And I started to feel – worse.

By the time I got on the train, I wanted to pass out, curl up in a ball… anything but get on a train. But, I had bought the tickets. I had a hotel room in Florence, and nothing in Rome. I had to go. I put my bags on the train in the luggage racks and found my seat. Seats are assigned on the Eurostar, so I was sitting kind of far from my baggage.

Big mistake.

I was ill the entire trip and spent much of it in the bathroom. Lovely.

It only took us 1.5 hours to get to Florence. As we approached the station, I headed back to the luggage racks for my bag. My huge black suitcase was gone – along with all of my clothes, my shoes, my makeup, my books, my computer cables, my converter… everything. It was all gone.

I searched the entire train. It was not there.

There are two possibilities: someone followed me on the train and took it off just as the train was leaving in Rome or someone moved it to another car and then disembarked in Florence with it.

Either way, I had nothing. Just my passport, my wallet, my computer, and a book. My 5 year journal was gone. My contact lenses were gone. My work. Books about Austria and Rome and Florence. All kinds of stuff that would be of NO USE to anyone else. I hope whoever took it likes to travel. Bastard.

I talked with the police and filed a report with the train company. But they all seemed unsurprised; they all just shook their heads and complained about the “immigrants.”

I wish I had a lovely, tidy conclusion to this story, but I don’t. I never saw any of my stuff again. I didn’t get any of the work done that I needed to do on that trip. But I will say this: I came home a smarter traveler.

Tips from My Worst Trip:

1. Avoid traveling when you are sick. Mrs. Overbearing was clearly sick. She never should have been on that plane. I was really sick – and not at my best. I should not have gotten on that train. Not only did I risk infecting all of those other people, but I also was not able to look out for my own personal safety.  Thankfully I was only robbed.  

2. Eurostar tickets -- and other travel plans -- can be changed. I was too sick to think to make the inquiries, but I could have changed those tickets and stayed in Rome another day or two.

3. Watch your baggage. This is true everywhere. This could have happened to me anywhere. But someone else is wearing all of my cute clothes because I didn’t watch my bag carefully.

4. Get travel insurance. Lost luggage. Stolen property. It is a lot cheaper than replacing your stuff if it goes missing.  
Sometimes in a foreign country we forget our common sense.  I would never have left home if I'd been that sick here.  And I certainly would not have gotten on a train to travel across the country.  But feeling the pressure of time and itinerary and feeling so out of sorts, I did not change my plans.  And I think that's the greatest lesson learned.  I could have found another pensione -- and changing hotel rooms would have served me well.