Ok, so the day started out normal enough; on Monday, I checked out of my hotel in Cortona by 830 am and made the final walk through the piazza with the huge set of stairs and down her cobbled street, pulling my luggage behind me, to the Garabaldi plaza or piazza where the bus stop was. This piazza is a full circle of pavement, with the bench-lined, rock-walled edges of it overlooking the valley below and the war memorial statue standing tall in the center of the driving loop. Two roads drop steeply from the piazza, another goes flatly into the town center( the one I just walked along) and one does the serious climb up to higher levels of the hill town, including up to the UGA school, the Santa Margherita Chiesa (church) and to the very top, the Fortezza di Girifalco (ancient walled fortress) where falcons fly. One other walkway off the piazza goes into a lovely park which parallels the gorgeous view of the valley for at least a mile or more.
It was a gorgeous morning; with a constant breeze carrying just a tinge of coolness to it. Enjoying the fresh air, I was sitting on the bench, people-watching the town characters; the elderly man carrying his plastic sleeve enclosed sheet of paper, while yelling in Italian relevant bus info to all who cared to listen. The young lovers whose faces were plastered rhythmically together until the bus arrived. The elderly white haired man ambling slowly with his cane and many others. Choosing to savor the Cortona air for as long as possible, I let the 845 bus go by and waited patiently for the 905 bus, as did half the other travellers. As I was waiting, one of Morgan’s classmates and her recently arrived boyfriend sauntered up to the bus stop. We exchanged our hellos and I quickly inquired, “Playing hooking today?” Ashley instantly replied, “Yes, but don’t tell my mother.” We laughed and I said, “No, I wouldn’t do that, but could you give me her address real quick?” Her boyfriend had just come in from Texas the day before, via Amsterdam with a 12 hr layover and even though he wasn’t at the Cortona bus stop in the morning when she thought he would be, she eventually found him wandering not far from there an hour later. It does seem amazing how hard the traveling angels must be working to help everyone find their way around this place.
We were all headed to Florence; I to catch the plane to Luxembourg via Zurich and them to enjoy all that the city had to offer. The bus pulled up promptly at 905 and we all clambered on. In order to get in or out of Cortona, there are about 12 hair pin turns to get up or down the hill. The little town of Camucia lies at the bottom of the hill and is where the train station is. The bus begins to move and I can hear the bus driver talking loudly to someone as he is driving down the hill, around the first hairpin turn. This is an OMG moment as I realize he is chatting on his cell phone as he one handedly drives the bus load of people down the winding road. I quickly get my camera out and take a picture of his reflection in the rear view mirror, documenting for posterity with a photo of his face with the cell phone attached to it as he drives our bus. He continues to chat happily away and does not end the call until he is on the flat land of Camucia. Needless to say we three Americans on the bus are simultaneously astounded and impressed.
Once in Camucia, at the train station, we find the little automatic ticket machine and figure out how to buy a ticket for Florence. Unfortunately, my urge to go first set me up to save those who went after me from a timely lesson. As I only had a twenty Euro bill for the 7.40 E ticket, I inserted my 20 E and in return, got my ticket and another piece of paper which said to get my change at the main train station in Florence. Ashley, being a quick learner put her 10 E in and received her ticket and her change. Her boyfriend put in exact change and we were all good to go. I humbly schlepped my small carryon suitcase and its matching backpack down the 12 steep stairs, but upon approaching the 12 steep upward stairs, Ashley’s boyfriend stepped up and offered to carry my bag up, which I quickly accepted. Once on the train, I asked him to put it into the compartment above our heads out of the way. It’s nice to have strong help around when you need it. I got my kindle out and read my book for the entire 75 min ride into Florence. Morgan called while I was on the train and gave me my final goodbye; both of us agreeing it made no sense for her to climb down the hill at 730 am, just to say good bye and then have to climb back up the hill in time for her 8 am class.
Our small travelling group said our good byes at the Florence main train station and I braced myself for how long it was going to take me to retrieve my 12.60 Euro refund. I had plenty of time to waste since I decided to err on the cautious side and have three hours between my train arrival in Florence and my flight as opposed to one hour. I’d seen the ticket lines last time I was in the Florence train station and once again they looked brutal. In the huge hall, there were two main cattle lines for buying tickets from humans standing behind windows on one wall and six main shorter lines perpendicular to these for automated ticket purchases. There was a section of chairs filled with people and on either side of these were the exit doors to get to the taxis and buses or to the train tracks and shops. There were so many people moving through at all times, crossing through the lines to get to the taxis, to the chairs, or to the tracks themselves, it was a continuously moving sea of people from every nation in the world. In retrospect, the only detail that would have been helpful to note before I committed to the 55 minutes of waiting in line, was the fact that the line to the left ended at three open kiosk windows and my line ended with two. Once again, I opened my kindle and read while holding onto my luggage and snailing my way through the line.
Next leg of the journey was to find the bus station which was near the main train station and after asking a guy with a bright orange vest on, I started on my way. I followed Morgan’s suggestion to get food in Florence before I took the bus since I had so much time. Unfortunately, the only place I found was pretty low on the quality scale, but I scarfed down the dry breaded chicken, removed the scary piece of lettuce and pretended the heel slice of tomato made it all ok. I knew from previous research that the buses to the airport ran on the half hour and so I timed my arrival at the bus terminal perfectly.
Back once again at the shiny new Florence airport, I went up to the Swiss Air desk and checked in with my luggage. The clerk felt it was important for me to know that there was a possibility of the plane being delayed due to high winds and that I should just listen for announcements to see if it ended up affecting the flight. Now we all know, when an airline person tells you there might be a delay, you can pretty much count on that coming true. She said not to worry, because as of right now, two hours before the flight it all still looked good and was listed as on time. I went on down to the waiting area and once again got out my best friend, the kindle and read for 90 minutes.
The airline waited until the boarding time to change the listing on the board and all of the sudden the plane is not leaving for two more hours. I begin texting Hannah Rose that I might be screwed in my travel today, sending the text around two o’clock Italy time and oops, it is eight o’clock Boston time. But then I think, 8 am, she has to be up by then, what with having to be at work by nine? Apparently not, but she did finally respond to my text within the half hour. She reassured me she could look up flights from work and email Michael for me to let him know of possible complications.
People started jumping around after this update and cleverly there was no one manning the desk by our gate. Eventually, someone came by and stood in the center of a thick ring of travellers and gave the announcement that everything was going to work out fine and that planes would be delayed from leaving Zurich until we arrived. At this point I am super impressed by the Swiss who I know are incredibly efficient, so of course they will do the smart thing here. I am curious if they don’t have a loud speaker to announce this, as this was just one employees discourse; or perhaps in Italy it is the best they can do. Or maybe it is the human touch they have in Europe. Wonder how that would work in America? Like at O’Hare; “Ok everybody gather round, while I tell you what’s happening with your delayed flight”. Anyway, not everyone was reassured of course and there is a line of travellers waiting to talk one on one with the clerk.
Later, while at work, Hannah Rose then found that the flight out of Zurich to Luxembourg was indeed going to be delayed an hour. This looked hopeful and so I relaxed knowing it was all going to work out fine. More time passed, more kindle book was read; which is great for me as I made the mistake of deciding to read a series of books I had read over twenty years ago and each book is huge. I was already on book five of six, so all this waiting around has given me permission to read away. Another update appears on the board; the flight is delayed anther 45 min. Now being such a talented mathematician, I now know I am officially screwed, there is no way I will make the next flight in Zurich which leaves 15 min after we land. There’s that little detail of luggage and finding the next gate. I quickly text Hannah Rose and tell her I am now getting on plane but I need to know my options of other flights to Luxembourg that evening. Just as we are finally preparing to land in Zurich, the dreaded announcement comes; there are two flights that people are going to be able to make once we land and then they list all the ones who aren’t going to make their flights and who will need to go to the Transfer desk upon arrival to see what plan B is.
Getting off the plane as fast as possible, riding the bus to the main terminal, we are finally set free to find our way to our plan B’s. Sometimes it pays to be speedy and this was one of those cases. The transfer desk has three lines; two for business class and one for economy. There are three people total in line for business class and there are two different cattle lines of people feeding into the one clerk for economy. I get there quick enough and end up in the one cattle line ahead of the merge, before the other cattle line realizes they have to merge with ours. There are literally only seven people ahead of me and about twenty five behind me. Whew. The lady at the counter literally takes 30 min with the first couple. The rest of us in the line are both amazed and frustrated, while joking about the individualized service and I joke, “I can’t wait for my half hour.” Meanwhile, Hannah Rose, my trusty secretary, texts me that there are only flights to Luxembourg with two and three stops getting me there tonight or even worse, tomorrow. I then ask her to look and see what the first direct flight tomorrow is on Swiss Air out of Zurich. She finds one at 905 am and I am now armed and ready with information for my turn with the clerk. At some point, Hannah Rose reminds me that since she is at her internship at the law office, she will be billing me at $165/ hr for her services today. I quickly thank her for the info and let her know I will be deducting it from what she owes me. The return text from her is “touche’.”
My turn for personalized plan B creating arrives and as I hand her my plane ticket I ask, “Ok, how do we do this?” She tells me that I will not be able to get to Luxembourg tonight. Then I tell her, “I know there is a flight at 905 am, #750 and can you put me on it?” She was pretty shocked I had the info and I explained how I got it. She booked me instantly on that flight and then gave me a voucher for a hotel which included supper and breakfast. She told me to take the shuttle and then I asked about my luggage. She wrote down which area and which belt I would find it on. At this point, I felt good about staying in Zurich for the night and went off to retrieve my luggage. You have to understand that time stopped having any real meaning for me around 2 pm and now it was around 730 pm. I found the area and the belt, but not my luggage. Luckily the lost luggage desk was nearby, so I asked the nice gentleman where to find it. He made a call, gave them my luggage receipt number and reassured me my luggage would be up in 20-30 min. Another kindle opportunity. After duly waiting the suggested 30 min, it is now 815 pm, I go back to the lost desk guy and ask him to inquire again. He calls down to the bowels of the airport once again, chats for a while and then with a disappointed look on his face, he tells me that my luggage is not coming to this area or to this belt but is in the next area over. I can tell his efficient Swiss mind is perplexed and regrets the misinformation, defending, “this is what he told me before and now it is no longer true.” I almost, almost felt bad for him, but now I was beginning to lose my sense of humor which had sustained me throughout the day. I headed off to the other area, past all the other belts and began to feel upset and angry and worn out and emotional. I found the stairs I had to go down to get to area 2 and was at least happy to see my luggage on a cart right near the bottom of the steps. I am slightly furious now to have wasted another hour on nothing, it is all starting to come crashing down. I see a big “belt 11” tag attached to my luggage and with great bravado, I yank the unacknowledged tag off my luggage and throw it down on the floor in disgust. I quickly grab my luggage and wheel it away, noticing out of the corner of my eye, that some poor Swiss Air employee just witnessed my little tantrum and picked up the tag off the floor. As they say, leave it all on the floor; and in that moment, I let it go and started to find a more neutral version of me again.
In very little time, I walked out through no lines at customs; no one even looked at me, let alone my passport or my luggage. Typical European customs….they don’t care what you bring into their country. Outside, I find the waiting area for the hotel shuttle and there goes another half hour waiting for the shuttle. It occurs to me while I am waiting that I am looking forward to when I can quit smoking again. Ever since landing in Europe ten days ago I have been inhaling everyone else’s smoke all day long, every day. I can remember when we would go outside for some fresh air; now the outside is filled with cancer sticks and their exhaust. Quite frankly, I am so sick and tired of smoking, so sick of the unwanted pollution in my body, repulsed by the smell, repulsed by the smell, repulsed by the smell. I am sure I am less tolerant when I have been ‘travelling’ all day. I might even be a tad cranky now.
The shuttle finally arrives and in twenty or so minutes we are at the hotel. I drop my stuff into my room and check out the dining room for the voucher meal. I am informed that there is a buffet for voucher guests and I am shown the fish, the white rice and the scary heated frozen veggies. I eat without relish, but with resolve to get through it so I can take a train into Zurich for an hour or so. I find the train station to be a short ten minute walk away, just like the hotel clerk informed me. I attempt to figure out the train ticket and immediately ask for help from a nearby woman. I buy the 24 hour ticket. Next I ask a man for help to understand the timetables for there and return. He is quite helpful and advises me to see certain churches on my map, to walk along the river and to take the tram all over the city with my 24 hr ticket. I carefully write down the name of the station which I am standing on, knowing this will be quite helpful to find my way back.
It is a short 15 min train ride to the main train station of the city. Zurich is a beautiful, clean city, filled with church spires, clock towers and walking streets, located on the Zurich See or Lake. I found it easy to find my way through the city by looking up and following the spires and clock towers, guiding me to my next photo opportunity. The blue evening sky was the perfect backdrop for illuminated towers. Lights reflected onto the flowing canal of water, created sparkling reflections of beauty along its great lengths. I saw men in suits with their laptop bag strung over their shoulders, riding “man-scooters” down the streets, pushing their scooter down the walkway with a repetitive pump of their leg hitting the ground, while the other leg balanced effortlessly onto the scooter bed. A giant of a man, appearing to be seven feet tall, roller- bladed past me in between the tram tracks in the road, taking advantage of the empty street, while his smaller friend trailed close behind. At least they both had helmets on. The city was alive with people trying to get from here to there and as I was flagging in my energy, I began jumping onto the trams for a stop or two at a time. In one short hour, I had gotten a feel for the city and knew it was time to turn into a pumpkin. There is a lot of interesting, old architecture in the city, with the main train station being one of them. As I came back through the station, I swung through the dining area and found a tiny, strawberry tart with my name on it. She took my Euros and gave me two Swiss Francs in change. I ate the delicious tart en route to the track, feeling like I had properly capped off a delightful foray into an enchanting city. The train ride home was easy thanks to all the helpful human angels who had advised me earlier as to the track numbers (21-22), the line number (S-5) and the name of the town I was headed to; Rumlag. It was a beautiful night and the short walk back to the hotel from the train stop was so invigorating and refreshing, that I could barely remember the ups and downs of the earlier parts of the day.
Just when you think your day is over, you realize there is a little more to do. I had been informed when I arrived at the hotel that for a mere 15$, I could use the internet in my room or for free, I could use one of the two computers they had set up on a high counter in the corner by the entry doors. As it was a little past 10:30 pm when I returned to the hotel, I immediately planned to have easy access to a computer and check into cyber space for a moment. Both computers were occupied and a young girl was sitting in a chair nearby. I asked, “Are you the line?” and she replied, “Yes.” I sat down and waited with her, occasionally asking her how long the others had been online and where are you from. Mostly I just sat there in silence for the 45 min it took for these people to grow a conscience. Eventually, we both are on our separate computers and then my daughter in Boston, who had been my life saver all day calls me on the phone. While it was great to talk to her, the timing was not so great, so I pretended to multi task on the computer while focusing on speaking with my daughter.
The young girl nearby appeared to be enjoying my phone conversation too. Once I was done talking on the phone, the girl began asking me questions; “what if you had to tell someone something really important, but didn’t want to have to wait until I got back to the states,” and “but is it better to save important news for when we are in person?” She tells me she is very anxious about finding someone online that she needs to speak to and that she can’t find him. By now, I assume she is pg and wants to tell the guy. I am really not interested in being part of her drama, as I have had enough for today, I just want to answer my other daughter’s email and go to bed, without being interrupted every two seconds with another question. I try to be polite, give a little advice which she is asking for but not heeding, of course. She soon shares that she is afraid she might be pg and that she is only 18 yrs old. I am really recommending she figure out the ifs first before involving anyone else in the news. Eventually, I haphazardly finish writing my email and as it is now midnight, I say good night to miss florida and wish her well. Thank God I learned how to stop trying to save everyone years ago and could let this young one find her way without me.
My room was a scene out of the Jetsons, so modern and efficient; I waited for the room to go floating out the window like the Jetson’s cars. As my overworked IPhone was hovering in the battery red zone and the Swiss plug was again different from the Italian and different from the Luxembourger, without an adapter, I knew I could not rely on it to have enough juice to wake me in the morning. I wasted another 20 min trying to figure out how to get the TV programmed to wake me so I wouldn’t miss my 905 flight, which meant wake by 630, eat by 7, shuttle by 730, check in by 8 with boarding at 840. The alarm instructions kept saying leave the TV on standby without telling one how to leave the TV on standby. I gave up and called the front desk and asked for a 630 wake up call.
At 625, I get the call from the hotel, so I bolt out of bed and into the shower. By the time I get out of the shower, the TV radio is blaring and my cell phone is screaming its alarm; apparently I had better luck with the electronic world than I give myself credit for. Breakfast is typical European style, bread, rolls, cheese, cold cuts, eggs, bacon, juices, yogurts, fruit, cereal and of course, the coffee and tea options. I make it to my plane, cruise onto Luxembourg, find the bus from the airport to the main train station, and as I am headed to main train station I recognized how close I am to my hotel and jump off at the next stop, walking the rest of the way back to our hotel in Luxrmbourg. Ahh, so ends another adventure in Susan’s first solo travels in Europe since my youth.
