Italy 2006- 10.1

(Posted quite a bit after getting home, but it is the end to the story...)

There is a little known coda to Dante’s Inferno that quite accurately identifies the 10th circle of hell as Frankfurt International Airport. What follow is, pure and simply, the juvenile rant of a pissed off New Yorker who has (finally) 12 hours of flying time ahead of him, two hours behind, and no seat assignment for the last leg, that being one more leg than there should have been. Having been forewarned, the gentle reader can now accompany me into the breach or not, it is entirely up to you.

Apparently, the flight we were supposed to take from Rome to Frankfurt, operated by Lufthansa, took off from Frankfurt on the way to Rome, and then had to turn back because someone forgot to put gas in the plane. This seems to me like a pretty major screw up, the kind that results, rightly so, in the firing of the person or persons responsible. I have no information on that, however our plane was delayed by more than an hour while they landed, fueled and actually made it to Rome. This made it impossible for us to make our flight to Denver. It left 15 minutes before we actually landed. This predicament was pretty clear very early on, and we sought help at the Lufthansa customer service counter in Rome, hoping to get on the next possible flight. The folks at these counters seem to serve no other function other than informing you of how truly screwed you are. They cannot book flights, only tell you that flights do in fact exist, although they seem to be full, and we will have to speak to the folks in Frankfurt. This seems to be an extension of the European concept, particularly evident at snack bars, that the person who takes the money and administers the process must be entirely separate from and removed from the person who actually provides the service. It became clear at this point that a process which in the US is annoying but relatively simple to fix was going to be exasperating and not easy to deal with at all.

When we got to Frankfurt, we were instructed to ask the Lufthana agent at the gate for directions on getting re-bookings. This person instructed us to go the ticket counter in that direction (imagine a nice German youth pointing down the hall). As it turns out, there are four distinct structures that could be described as ticket counters in that direction, none of which had Lufthansa agents waiting to help anyone. Continuing the proud tradition of the two step process, these turned out to be check in counters, entirely separate from the ticket counters which are much further down the hall. Three inquires for help in finding the right place produced three different places to go, until we finally arrived at the correct set of counters, as it seems only a particular set will do. What is telling here is that some of the people on our flight who were in the same boat were there before us, indicating that they were smarter, luckier or had been provided better information, but the vast majority of the folks in our situation were there behind us. In my mind, this tends to validate the confusion inherent in the process, or simply that most folks are unluckier or less intelligent than I. I should note that we were among the last off the plane, so it is not simply a matter of queing.

We then met with someone who was in fact quite helpful, although she seemed to be hampered by a process that was insanely complex. It was almost as if no one had ever missed a flight before, and no one knew what to do in this situation. True to form, there were no further flights to Denver this day, and the only way she could get us there today was to route us through Washington DC. She hand wrote a ticket, on a form at least, and had to make a few phone calls to track down our luggage (the fate of which is really still a mystery). We were then instructed to go to the United Check in counter, as she had crossed booked us to that airline. Even if we had not been booked on United, however, it seems like we would still have to go to another counter to check in. We did so, and did encounter another very helpful person who got us our seats and boarding passes, although here it was revealed that the flight from DC to Denver is overbooked, thus we are on standby for it. All this, up to this point had taken the better part of 90 minutes from the time we got off the plane. It took easily 15 minutes to get us rebooked. There were still about 40 or 50 people in the line behind us, and I suspect some are still there, their flight options having taken off past them.

We then proceeded to our gate, stopping for lunch, and then tried to get through security to the C gates. By the way, In Frankfurt it is possible to be in Terminal 1, Hall B and still have to go to A, B, or C gates. Don’t even get me started.

It turns out the security gates were shut down, and the line grew longer every minute. According to the folks there, it was all about a shift change, however I simply can’t believe it. There must have been some sort of security threat. An hour later, and only a few minutes before our flight, we were finally through the gates. Let’s say that the much lauded German efficiency was no where to be seen at any point throughout the day.

What would have been nice was a system for transmitting the information that we all needed, clearly and accurately, the first time, with the same information being given to everyone. It would seem in this age of technology that this might not be too much to ask. So, end of rant. I am getting where I am going, and all is well that ends well. But getting here seemed to be way more hassle than it really needed to be.

Postscript:
Our luggage did in fact arrive, we made all our flights, and actually managed to get home only seven hours late. The benefit here was that there was no problem adjusting to the time change. It was 1 am before we got home and we needed no prompting to go right to bed. So that closes the book on Italy, a fantastic trip despite the hassle getting home. We shall return.

Italy 2006- 9.1

Trenitalia, a lovely way to see the country. We set out to Naples in the morning in order to catch a local train to Pompeii. The countryside in Italy is almost completely rural. We really didn’t see anything in the way of suburbs like you would see in the US. The rural areas are in turn fairly dense in terms of housing, with the occasional medieval village on a hilltop. Very picturesque.

Trenitalia, at least the Eurostar variety is quite comfortable, and had us talking about how it was that airline travel could not be that way, aside from the obvious economic issues. A few other observations: the doors on the trains sound like some low keening banshee when they open and close. The other is the explanation provided with the train passes is less than adequate. The passenger is expected to fill in the dates of travel by hand, in blue or black ink, PRIOR to boarding the train. The conductors do not do it for you, even if you failed to do so. They will most likely ignore your infraction, until you get one that doesn’t and will then berate you for your mistake. Fines are possible but can be gotten out of by being a stupid, but polite Americano…

Pompeii is simply amazing. Like Venice, it is a unique place, but this time a very haunted one. Seeing the folks who live on the slopes of Vesuvius to this day puts the images of eventual repeat of this disaster front and center. The culture in evidence is really quite impressive, but I would not want to live there. I guess I am addicted to technology.

We visited most of the main areas, but of course the newly restored brothel stands out. We were just in front of a group of asian tourists with a particularly witty guide. They were laughing up a storm. They quickly traded laughter for gasps when the frescoes became visible.

We made it back to Rome, and rode with a cab driver who must have known every back street in the city and was unafraid, or unconcerned about driving them at 80 km per hour. He got us back to the hotel in half the time that our first driver managed. Dinner was a follow your nose to a likely looking trattoria called Ponte & Parione just east of the Piazza Novona. We sat outside and had a great dinner, despite the cicuit breakers tripping 3 times, and me knocking just about everything I could off the small table. The food was great, the price was pretty good, and we capped off food in Italy just right. A final celebratory proseco at the Café Bernini in the Piazza closed the book on touring Italy.