From the day we booked the flights I had reservations about the timing. Of course, connections are rarely straight forward, especially from Dublin, but we eventually established that we could fly Aer Lingus to Rome and get an Air One flight Rome to Pantelleria (only on a Sat or Sun), and had 1hr and 40mins between flights, plenty of time to collect our bags and change terminals. Especially when Aer Lingus subsequently changed its schedule and gave us a further ten minutes grace! We had even phoned the Air One office in Rome to check the transfer time was adequate.
The day arrived, and as we do for many of our trips, we were up early (02:30ish) to get to Dublin for a 07:00 departure. Great, the boarding was routine and on time, but the doors didn’t close immediately……. First announcement for the day, “we are waiting for some USA bags to be transferred to our flight”. That’s OK and settled in to peruse the latest in-flight magazine. 10 mins later the doors closed and we backed away from the terminal, but because of the delay we had lost our slot and Dublin airport at that time of the morning is absolute pandemonium, so we sat in a queue of planes for about 20 mins before the “off”. Shortly after take-off our delightful female pilot apologized for our delayed departure, and assured us that we could make up the lost time en-route. No problem, standard procedure.
So we arrived into Rome airspace and landed only 10 minutes late, so still had 1hr and 40 to change plans. No problem, but why the delay in getting to our gate? We finally pulled alongside an air-bridge, and thought, great, straight into the terminal and we would be amongst the first off. But the air-bridge only connected to a flight of stairs that led to an awaiting coach, so we were first on the coach! Oh well, it could be worse, it could be raining! But it wasn’t, it was a balmy 26°C, no aircon, and the our temps rising every second as we waited and watched as a plane-load of Irish geriatrics made there way gingerly to the coach. Even a blessing from the bloody Pope wouldn’t have made them hurry! One “old dear” even stopped to have a fag between the plane and the coach. “Come on, for f***’s sake!!”.
Immigration was a breeze, an Irish (EU) passport is a blessing in many ways, and we hurriedly made our way to the luggage carousel. No 9, that’s away down the other end, no problem, the bags should already be there? Saturday morning…, Rome airport…, I should have spotted the clue. Luggage from 4 flights was being dumped on the one carousel!! So we waited, and waited…and waited. Shit, how can it take so long? Aren’t the Italians supposed to be “onto it”! OK, don’t panic, the other terminal is only a 3 min walk. No problem, we still have an hour, and Air One doesn’t close the check-in until 30 mins prior to departure. So we waited, and waited…and waited. 20 minutes passed, no luggage, shit!, what do we do now. OK, time to split up? Or is that a bit drastic? In a big airport, where we don’t actually know where to go? Still no luggage. Right, let’s do it, Dellie, you go on to the check-in desk and tell them we are in the airport and still awaiting bags, and I will meet you there, hopefully. So off she trots with adrenalin charging about her persona, and makes it to the counter with exactly 30 mins to take-off, and pours out her dramatic tale. “You have ten minutes to get your husband and luggage here”, ….”Come on Paddy, hurry up”!
Meanwhile, still no luggage and as the 30 min barrier ticks over, Paddy is resigned to an overnighter in Rome and hopefully the only other weekly flight to Pantelleria tomorrow is not full!!
Wait…., there’s a bag with a Dublin sticker, and another, and another. About bloody time, bloody slack Italians!! Exactly 1hr and 5 mins after landing our bags arrived at my feet, and only 25 mins before our next take-off. Now I have often seen people running to planes at airports and thought “you silly buggars, why didn’t you get up earlier” but I had got up at 2:45 and still nowhere near my destination, so I picked up two bags and started running. Along the arrivals hall, running through gaps in the crowd which seemed to close as I made to go through them, past the customs officers who glanced incredulously at me, and out into the Roman morning. I had established that Terminal 1 was along to the left on exiting Terminal 3, and as I set off up the foot-path thought, “Shit, I can’t do this! I’m going to have a heart attack!” Finally made it to Terminal 1 and stopped at the lift to the 1st floor departure level for a breather. “Shit, why aren’t the lifts working?” Right, follow the locals to an escalator and I ran up them with two suitcases past several disapproving Italians, only to trip about three steps from the top, but managed to somehow regain my step and not having to suffer the indignity of picking myself up of the floor!
OK, here we are, departure level, but there are an awful lot of check-in desks. The lovely Hertz rep directed me to the other end of the hall where Dellie was now waving frantically, and she immediately confirmed that we were “still good to go” and received our boarding passes from the check-in desk, but no time to check our bags. Right let’s go! Security! Thankfully the queues were not great, and on seeing the obvious panic on our faces the queues seemed to disappear and we went straight to the conveyor belt. But hang on, what about our cosmetics, and sharp objects in our now “carry-on” luggage? Stuff it, just fire the bags onto the conveyor and see what happens. Paddy’s bag sailed through with bottles and cosmetics undetected, but Dellie’s was apprehended and asked to be opened. They had spotted a pocket knife! At this juncture, Dellie was beside herself with panic and almost got arrested by the security on the spot for trying to bypass the well-trodden system! After much fiddling with the padlock, the bag finally opened and a pair of scissors was offered to the security officer, who said: “No they are OK, we want the pocket knife!” and handed back the scissors and seemed oblivious to her numerous cosmetic bottles! “That’s fine, you’re free to go”. So here we were, potential terrorists with liquids and sharp objects in our “carry-on”, and told to proceed. Thank God for slack Italians!! Right, which way to the gate A13, and only 12 minutes before departure. Down the escalator, still running and carrying two suitcases, with Dellie in hot pursuit. Thank God she was wearing flats and not the normal heels!! Into pier A and struggling to find directions to A13, but surely if we follow the progressive numbers we will eventually come to 13? It was at this stage that I became aware of my peripheral vision and also that people had started to notice us. It was the first (and hopefully only time) that I genuinely felt like a “headless chicken”!
The day arrived, and as we do for many of our trips, we were up early (02:30ish) to get to Dublin for a 07:00 departure. Great, the boarding was routine and on time, but the doors didn’t close immediately……. First announcement for the day, “we are waiting for some USA bags to be transferred to our flight”. That’s OK and settled in to peruse the latest in-flight magazine. 10 mins later the doors closed and we backed away from the terminal, but because of the delay we had lost our slot and Dublin airport at that time of the morning is absolute pandemonium, so we sat in a queue of planes for about 20 mins before the “off”. Shortly after take-off our delightful female pilot apologized for our delayed departure, and assured us that we could make up the lost time en-route. No problem, standard procedure.
So we arrived into Rome airspace and landed only 10 minutes late, so still had 1hr and 40 to change plans. No problem, but why the delay in getting to our gate? We finally pulled alongside an air-bridge, and thought, great, straight into the terminal and we would be amongst the first off. But the air-bridge only connected to a flight of stairs that led to an awaiting coach, so we were first on the coach! Oh well, it could be worse, it could be raining! But it wasn’t, it was a balmy 26°C, no aircon, and the our temps rising every second as we waited and watched as a plane-load of Irish geriatrics made there way gingerly to the coach. Even a blessing from the bloody Pope wouldn’t have made them hurry! One “old dear” even stopped to have a fag between the plane and the coach. “Come on, for f***’s sake!!”.
Immigration was a breeze, an Irish (EU) passport is a blessing in many ways, and we hurriedly made our way to the luggage carousel. No 9, that’s away down the other end, no problem, the bags should already be there? Saturday morning…, Rome airport…, I should have spotted the clue. Luggage from 4 flights was being dumped on the one carousel!! So we waited, and waited…and waited. Shit, how can it take so long? Aren’t the Italians supposed to be “onto it”! OK, don’t panic, the other terminal is only a 3 min walk. No problem, we still have an hour, and Air One doesn’t close the check-in until 30 mins prior to departure. So we waited, and waited…and waited. 20 minutes passed, no luggage, shit!, what do we do now. OK, time to split up? Or is that a bit drastic? In a big airport, where we don’t actually know where to go? Still no luggage. Right, let’s do it, Dellie, you go on to the check-in desk and tell them we are in the airport and still awaiting bags, and I will meet you there, hopefully. So off she trots with adrenalin charging about her persona, and makes it to the counter with exactly 30 mins to take-off, and pours out her dramatic tale. “You have ten minutes to get your husband and luggage here”, ….”Come on Paddy, hurry up”!
Meanwhile, still no luggage and as the 30 min barrier ticks over, Paddy is resigned to an overnighter in Rome and hopefully the only other weekly flight to Pantelleria tomorrow is not full!!
Wait…., there’s a bag with a Dublin sticker, and another, and another. About bloody time, bloody slack Italians!! Exactly 1hr and 5 mins after landing our bags arrived at my feet, and only 25 mins before our next take-off. Now I have often seen people running to planes at airports and thought “you silly buggars, why didn’t you get up earlier” but I had got up at 2:45 and still nowhere near my destination, so I picked up two bags and started running. Along the arrivals hall, running through gaps in the crowd which seemed to close as I made to go through them, past the customs officers who glanced incredulously at me, and out into the Roman morning. I had established that Terminal 1 was along to the left on exiting Terminal 3, and as I set off up the foot-path thought, “Shit, I can’t do this! I’m going to have a heart attack!” Finally made it to Terminal 1 and stopped at the lift to the 1st floor departure level for a breather. “Shit, why aren’t the lifts working?” Right, follow the locals to an escalator and I ran up them with two suitcases past several disapproving Italians, only to trip about three steps from the top, but managed to somehow regain my step and not having to suffer the indignity of picking myself up of the floor!
OK, here we are, departure level, but there are an awful lot of check-in desks. The lovely Hertz rep directed me to the other end of the hall where Dellie was now waving frantically, and she immediately confirmed that we were “still good to go” and received our boarding passes from the check-in desk, but no time to check our bags. Right let’s go! Security! Thankfully the queues were not great, and on seeing the obvious panic on our faces the queues seemed to disappear and we went straight to the conveyor belt. But hang on, what about our cosmetics, and sharp objects in our now “carry-on” luggage? Stuff it, just fire the bags onto the conveyor and see what happens. Paddy’s bag sailed through with bottles and cosmetics undetected, but Dellie’s was apprehended and asked to be opened. They had spotted a pocket knife! At this juncture, Dellie was beside herself with panic and almost got arrested by the security on the spot for trying to bypass the well-trodden system! After much fiddling with the padlock, the bag finally opened and a pair of scissors was offered to the security officer, who said: “No they are OK, we want the pocket knife!” and handed back the scissors and seemed oblivious to her numerous cosmetic bottles! “That’s fine, you’re free to go”. So here we were, potential terrorists with liquids and sharp objects in our “carry-on”, and told to proceed. Thank God for slack Italians!! Right, which way to the gate A13, and only 12 minutes before departure. Down the escalator, still running and carrying two suitcases, with Dellie in hot pursuit. Thank God she was wearing flats and not the normal heels!! Into pier A and struggling to find directions to A13, but surely if we follow the progressive numbers we will eventually come to 13? It was at this stage that I became aware of my peripheral vision and also that people had started to notice us. It was the first (and hopefully only time) that I genuinely felt like a “headless chicken”!
Running to the end of pier A we passed 10, 11, 12 on the other side, but hang-on we are at the end of the pier!! Oh shit, where’s 13? Somehow Dellie had managed to keep close behind me during my frantic dash, and I abruptly interrupted a security officer who was conversion with a waiting passenger. “Where’s A13?” in a Kiwi/Irish dialect that wasn’t even close to resembling Italian. “Boarding pass please sir”. Shit, we haven’t got time to rummage in my shoulder bag for our boarding passes, but OK, here they are. “A13 is on the lower level sir”. Gracie!! Lower level! Shit, how did we miss that? Right, back halfway along the pier to a lift downstairs. A breather, 30 seconds in the lift! Why is my shirt all wet and a river of sweat running down my face? Here we are, right beside the lift is A13, that wasn’t hard was it?
5 mins to take-off, but why are all these people standing here, maybe they are on the next plane, so Dellie charged up to the hostess at the gate and is reassured that the flight hasn’t even started boarding yet! Well thanks for that, why the girls at check-in couldn’t have taken our age into consideration and informed us to hurry, but there was no need to run!!
So here we were, standing at the back of a line of about 40 very cool Italians, in a state of absolute shock and exhaustion. Perspiration exploding out of every pore and our heart rates at levels even Lewis Hamilton could relate to!! 15 minutes passed and finally we boarded our flight to Pantelleria. It was such a relief to finally sit down in the plane, and have the aircon on our faces, and allow the tightness in our chests to subside! Neither of us actually believed that we had managed to catch the plane, and avoid a lay-over in Rome. It would be Champagne tonight!
So we took off from Rome and headed towards Sicily and onto Pantelleria, but alas it was time for Murphy’s Law and an hour into the flight our captain informs us that due to high winds we cannot land in Pantelleria and we are diverting to Trapani (Sicily). Great, what else is going to happen to us today? So we land in Trapani and are offered a return flight to Rome and Pantelleria tomorrow or a bus trip to Palermo and Pantelleria tomorrow. We opted for the latter, as did 95% of the passengers and stoically waited patiently in Trapani for a bus to arrive. After an hour and a half bus trip to Palermo, we were winding our way through the old part of town looking for our hotel, when word came from the driver that there was still a possibility of a flight to Pantelleria that night because the winds were subsiding, which sent a wave glee around the bus, but alas, that never eventuated and we spent the night in a hotel on the outskirts of Palermo that basically only catered for bus tours. However we made the most a bad situation and enjoyed the free bed and lodgings.
It is amazing in that sort of a situation how you seem to bond with your fellow travellers, as if there is safety in numbers. In particular, two gentlemen from Milan seemed to adopt us, after seeing our plight as we boarded in Rome. Of course, being from New Zealand/Ireland (and the only non-Italians) made us novelty material and every one was very generous in their support. Dinner that night was like a family affair with everyone sitting around communal tables (as you do in Italy) so it was great chance to practice our Italian, and them to practice their Kiwi/Irish!! We were called at 04:30 the next morning for our 07.45 flight to Pantelleria and arrived at our resort relatively unscathed only 19 hours late.
You had to be there, I suppose, but it was the most stressful experience we have had on our many travels, and something I felt the need to record – for whatever reason!
Ciao – until next time.
5 mins to take-off, but why are all these people standing here, maybe they are on the next plane, so Dellie charged up to the hostess at the gate and is reassured that the flight hasn’t even started boarding yet! Well thanks for that, why the girls at check-in couldn’t have taken our age into consideration and informed us to hurry, but there was no need to run!!
So here we were, standing at the back of a line of about 40 very cool Italians, in a state of absolute shock and exhaustion. Perspiration exploding out of every pore and our heart rates at levels even Lewis Hamilton could relate to!! 15 minutes passed and finally we boarded our flight to Pantelleria. It was such a relief to finally sit down in the plane, and have the aircon on our faces, and allow the tightness in our chests to subside! Neither of us actually believed that we had managed to catch the plane, and avoid a lay-over in Rome. It would be Champagne tonight!
So we took off from Rome and headed towards Sicily and onto Pantelleria, but alas it was time for Murphy’s Law and an hour into the flight our captain informs us that due to high winds we cannot land in Pantelleria and we are diverting to Trapani (Sicily). Great, what else is going to happen to us today? So we land in Trapani and are offered a return flight to Rome and Pantelleria tomorrow or a bus trip to Palermo and Pantelleria tomorrow. We opted for the latter, as did 95% of the passengers and stoically waited patiently in Trapani for a bus to arrive. After an hour and a half bus trip to Palermo, we were winding our way through the old part of town looking for our hotel, when word came from the driver that there was still a possibility of a flight to Pantelleria that night because the winds were subsiding, which sent a wave glee around the bus, but alas, that never eventuated and we spent the night in a hotel on the outskirts of Palermo that basically only catered for bus tours. However we made the most a bad situation and enjoyed the free bed and lodgings.
It is amazing in that sort of a situation how you seem to bond with your fellow travellers, as if there is safety in numbers. In particular, two gentlemen from Milan seemed to adopt us, after seeing our plight as we boarded in Rome. Of course, being from New Zealand/Ireland (and the only non-Italians) made us novelty material and every one was very generous in their support. Dinner that night was like a family affair with everyone sitting around communal tables (as you do in Italy) so it was great chance to practice our Italian, and them to practice their Kiwi/Irish!! We were called at 04:30 the next morning for our 07.45 flight to Pantelleria and arrived at our resort relatively unscathed only 19 hours late.
You had to be there, I suppose, but it was the most stressful experience we have had on our many travels, and something I felt the need to record – for whatever reason!
Ciao – until next time.
2 comments:
I'm EXHAUSTED!
Hi Paddy & Adele! It's me Jacqui Bree (previously Ball) ex Queenstown. Was just thinking about you both and found your blog today, 07.08.08! I'm living in Edinburgh, here for last 5 years! If you see this comment my email address is jacbree@hotmail.com Love to hear from you!! Or if anyone else sees this can you contact Paddy & Adele for me - thanks!
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