13, June, 2012 13:04, Madrid Airport Writing just to stay awake. Been awake since the 12th, 2 am Seattle time, so I'm not
sure how many hours that makes it. I suppose that I might have dozed off on the plane
at some point as well, but the days have become confused. The act of traveling, from being
in one place at one time, to being in another place at another time, to being on one airplane,
and then another, all seem to have merged into a single act, so that this has been one
continuous thirty hour interval (or how ever long it's been--too addled to attempt calculation).
In Sea-Tac, I was waiting around to board the plane, not really paying much
attention to the time. Flight departed at 6 am. The clock read 5:30. I wondered if we shouldn't
be boarding by now. I was sitting on the floor near the kiosk, staring out the window, when
a mechanic appeared from the gate. He told the United Airline people that a sensor on the
plane needed to be replaced. I would be a quick fix if they could just find the right part.
The airline people got on the PA to tell us that the flight would be delayed.
I had a two-plus-hour layover in Newark, so I wasn't worried.
A while later, they had found the part and were installing it. We would be
boarding in a few minutes. We were close to two-hours delayed by this point.
Once we were on the plane and taxiing, the flight attendant announced that
there was another mechanical problem. We had to return to the terminal. Fifteen
minutes elapsed. The pilot got on the PA to announce the problem fixed, and we
were finally departing, two hours late.
On the flight, I kept looking at the clock, looking at my ticket, and wondering if
I had enough time to make my connection, just as, I'm sure, many other passengers
were doing.
We were somewhere over Appalachia when the pilot announced that we
had to be rerouted south due to bad weather in Newark. We had to fly over
West Virginia, then head north up the coast to reach our destination safely. Any
detour that involves West Virginia is bad auspices. Since we would now be close to
three hours late, I figured I'd missed my connection. The flight attendant assured
us that because all the flights arriving to and departing from Newark would also
be delayed.
When we arrived in Newark, the weather was terrible, as promised. Buckets.
Torrents.
Maybe if we weren't stranded on the tarmac for 15 minutes before arriving
at the gate, maybe if I had sprinted to the front of the plane the moment we landed,
or asked the flight attendants for permission to deplane first, I could have made
the connection. As it was, I missed it. My connection, flight 40, was still at the gate,
waiting to depart, but the doors were closed, and so I was denied entry. Three minutes
later, I received an email from United that flight 40 would be boarding 20 minutes late.
I arranged to be rerouted through Madrid to Rome. They told me that I would
have to go to Customer Service to have my luggage rerouted with me because the
last leg of my flight was on Iberia Airlines instead of United. Since so many other travelers
were similarly waylaid by the storm, the line for customer service was long. The service
agents were in to hurry to move people along. I waited an hour and half to reach the
counter where they told me, Okay. You're all set. You'll have to get you boarding pass
for your flight to Rome while you're in Madrid. We can't print it out here.
I had an hour and a half to kill before departing for Madrid, so I got a beer.
the bartender was a thick sort with a Jersey accent. He was more interested in the
interleague action, Mets v Rays, Yankees v Braves, on the twin flatscreens than he
was in service. I ordered a Yeunling's. He asked me if I wanted a small or large.
Assuming the normal 10 v 16 ounce glasses, I ordered a large. Turns out a large
was 20 ounces compared to 16. Drinking my beer, another thick type sat in the
seat next to me. He and the bartender grunted back in forth in Jersey accents.
They seemed to be communicating on some sort of subliminal level. He ordered
a double Grey Goose on the rocks with lots of lime, and a Cobb salad.
As I was leaving. another guy came in and ordered a Stella. Asked small
or large, he said, Large, I guess. He fell for it, too.
The plane was half-empty because of all the missed connections. Delayed
again because of the weather, and because they had to remove the luggage of
the people who didn't make it on the plane. On the flight, I dozed for the most part,
watched Drive with one earbud in because the other was buzzing.
Arrived in Madrid about 10:30 local time. My layover was supposed to
give me about an hour and a half to connect flights. It took my about twenty minutes to
realize that I had to exit the airport, including getting my passport stamped,
re-enter security, check in again to get my boarding pass. Of course my connection
was in a different terminal which required a ten minute bus ride. By the time I checked
in, the flight was already closed even though it was not to depart for another twenty
minutes. I got put on the next flight for Rome, to depart in five hours.
It was in the Madrid airport that I learned in Europe, I could pass for Spanish.
Several times, I asked for help at an information desk, and each time, the person
each time the person addressed me in Spanish. When I landed in Rome, a person
from my flight asked me in Spanish for directions to the baggage claim.
The next five hours in the airport were the worst of my trip. I forced myself
to stay awake as to not reset my jetlag. Maybe I was just tired, but I could have sworn
that I was cruised by one of a group of Catholic priests as I wandered around the
terminal.
I slept the entire flight from Madrid to Rome.
After one reroute and two missed connections, do you think my luggage
made it to Rome with me? Of course not. I went to the customer service counter
to inquire. I thought maybe my bags made on the previous flight and were waiting
for me somewhere. It seemed Iberia is not too good with the luggage-handling as
there was a large group of people, all English speakers, who were wondering where
their bags were. It turned out that mine were still in Newark. After the hassle of
telling them to re-route my luggage, United did not re-route my luggage. It was to take
the next flight 40 direct from Newark to Rome. The agent assured me that they would
deliver the luggage to me when it arrived, so I gave them the address to the convent
where I was to stay. It was about 8 pm by this point. I had arrived in Rome 13 hours
later than my original itinerary. The convent had a curfew at 11, and if I didn't make
it there by then, I might forfeit my reservation.
Finding the train was easy. FCO, Fiumicino Airport, is easy to navigate. Took
the train to the neighborhood where my room was. Finding the convent was not easy.
Navigating in Rome requires a map. The streets all have names instead of numbers,
and the numbers of the addresses do not correspond to the cross-streets. Forget
your ideas about "blocks". A street will change names as soon as it intersects with
another. They will wind and turn. I retraced my steps up Via di Monte del Gallo, a
narrow street that bends up a hill. The google maps printout did not provide an accurate
route to the place.
I walked up and down the hill several times. Strange European cars lined both
sides of the street, taking up the sidewalks, and behind them apartments towered. Up
on one balcony, a family dined al fresco. Near the top of the hill, was a cafe where
locals were drinking beers on the patio and watching the EuroCup on a TV set up
outside for that purpose. I went in there to ask for directions. The young man behind
the counter greeted me. I showed him my google map printout, and pointed to the
address printed across the top. He seemed deeply annoyed as he said stuff in Italian.
He nor his mother the bartender, seemed to know where the place was except to
say, Back down the hill that way.
I didn't know what time it was, but I guessed that it was close to 11, if not
already passed. I seriously considered the possibility of sleeping outside. Then I
found the address. It seemed dark inside, but there was a single room lit, the front
office, and two ladies were inside.
I rang the bell. One of the women looked up. I waved. She buzzed me in
through the front gate. She was very friendly and knew who I was. We had a very
slow conversation in Italian as she walked me through the fees and rules and so
forth. She asked me if I spoke Spanish. I had made it in with about 20 minutes to
spare, the first time I was against the clock and beat it.
I had arrived. In my room I took a shower, washed my socks out in the sink
and passed out.
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