Misadventures in Rome - pt 2

BANG – SMASH – CRASH – INTERLUDE – 12 hours pass…

And here I am, once again, at Rome’s Ciampino airport. Slightly wearier, more frumpy, with a mere 5 hours of sleep and a full day ahead of me. No grappa to power me through this time! Then again, it’s not even noon… on the other hand, this type of spirit is really more of a medicine, ask the locals!
No, no grappa. And as I sit on the floor of the line-up for Easyjet’s make-up flight to Paris, my mind wanders bemusedly once more over the last few days. Sunday – two days ago now – I thoroughly enjoyed taking in Rome, but at an Italian expresso pace, not that of a tourist’s ladle. Starting to learn about la dolce vita, or so I thought. Taking it easy, buying good raw ham from the supermarket like the locals, local cheese, Italian tomatoes, a panino bun. Sitting in a park eating and resting. Not rushing around town trying to fit in as many monuments as possible. Meeting my friend at a leisurely, utterly civilized hour – 5 pm – and going shopping on the Italian fashion high-streets. And, amazingly, finding the right pair of black leather shoes on the first try! Incredible! It didn’t even take an hour! Then a little leisurely sight-seeing. The Spanish steps are over-rated and crowded. You can hardly see them for the tourists. The Traian column, the Pantheon and especially the Trevi fountain on the other hand are lovely, despite the waves of tourists milling around, their ebb and flow almost a force of nature. Finally, after a minor bus issue – the bus won’t start, another leaves without us, finally we have to get off and switch as the power goes out on it entirely. But then, a lovely dinner with friends, old and new, a nice mojito at a cute little bar in Trastevere. And back to the hotel – the Elysee hotel, no less! How perfect for a Parisian!


Monday morning, a reasonably good start. Not early, but enough to have breakfast, then dither in my room for a little while. Dolce vita all the way, I’m a natural at this! Finally, off towards St. Peter’s and the Vatican. I have a to-do list to complete. See a bit of the Vatican, more queue times permitting. Buy some more gelato. If possible, buy some more prosciutto crudo. Get back to the hotel on time. Amazingly, a few hours later! A perfect score! Despite being a fool. Again. Traveler’s tip # 1: When in an unfamiliar city and on a tight schedule, do NOT try to find alternate routes back to your hotel. For instance, if you get to St. Peter’s one way, BY GOD take the same way back! I didn’t, and ended up walking entirely around the Vatican. Thankfully not that big, but neither is the outer wall particularly noteworthy. Lots of uphill climbing, though. I manage to get back to the hotel, grab my things, hurry to the train station. I’m running EARLY! Incredible! Finally find the damn Terravision bus stop. Could it BE any less well indicated? You go by a place that looks like a café and is called Terra. And if you don’t ask, you certainly walk right by the tiny ticket office inside. And then, the stress begins. I line up. HUGE queue. The bus is late. Later. Sanity starts chipping away. Then, miracle. The bus to Ciampino gets there, and there’s even room for me! It’s a miracle! We leave, with about 1h30 before my plane is set to leave. Please, no traffic!

We get to Ciampino airport. I have nearly 40 minutes left, and I’ve already checked in. I’m saved! I walk into the terminal. I look at my boarding card print-out. It says Rome airport. It says terminal B. It says Vueling airlines. I look around. Nothing on the horizon but Easyjet and Ryanair. No sign of another terminal. Fear starts to creep in. A tide of panic is rising. Fury at my idiocy. But wait, maybe I’m wrong! I head to the airport information service. They check. No Vueling here. No time left to get to the other airport on time. I’m officially screwed.

At this point, the funny thing is, I just didn’t realize how utterly screwed I really was. We’re not talking regular, extra or even jumbo screwed. No sir. This is the kind of screwed only Pinocchio and captain Ahab could imagine. Screwed by a giant sadistic demon in whale form. That’s how screwed I really was.
So I start by doing the practical thing. I accept my fucktardedness, bite the bullet, swallow the bitter pill of my pride – it makes me want to choke, puke it up, but that can wait – and inquire about buying a ticket for traveling to Paris that very same evening. Ryanair offers something over 200 Euros to get to the crappy (less exclusive) Paris airport (aka. Beauvais). Easyjet, surprisingly, only asks for 169 Euros to get to the perfectly acceptable southern Paris airport (Orly). Deal. The flight is supposed to leave at 8:20pm. It’s just about 5pm. I spend the time trying to turn off my brain, which is tearing itself in two. Each half blames the other for its failure. And they both blame me for being a bonified, certified, genuine, 100% all beef shmuck.

In my sorrowful, humiliating wallowing in self-pity, I meet a fellow traveler. A Tunisian fella, and, having nothing to do, take the opportunity to help him buy and print out a Ryanair ticket. Not as easy as it sounds. Turns out, the only place to use internet in the entire terminal blocks the sites of the two airlines. No buying cheaper online than airport rates! But still, miraculously and over an hour of many failed attempts, we finally manage. He treats me to a coffee for my trouble, and then we part ways.

I go through the security check. Another 1h30 to go. I wait. I order a glass of grappa. I wait. I eat the food I packed. Thankfully, at least I’m sensible on that front. 8pm comes around. 8:10pm. 8:18pm. Nothing. No boarding call, zip. I ask, they tell me it’ll be gate 19. The gate where people are still waiting to go to Geneva with Easyjet. They tell me the Geneva flight is cancelled. Ok then. I go, and sit on the floor. My fellow wayfarers wait around me. No news. Finally someone gets up to leave. I ask if they have information. I’m told that the flight will be delayed, it won’t come in before 11pm. Greeeat. I wait some more. Finally, around 10pm, I get fed up, my buzz has completely worn off, and I want to know what the hell is going to happen. I go back out the gates, just in time to wind up at the beginning of an ever-lengthening queue in front of the airport ticket/information office. And I’m told that the flight won’t be able to take off that night. Not allowed, it’s a small airport and they close after 11pm. Silence. Outrage. Stupor. What the hell? Are there cameras around?

Wait, wait. The fun has just begun. So no one knows anything. People in the back grumble, ask why we in the front aren’t relaying information. I finally get my ticket exchanged, and am told to go line up elsewhere to find out about hotel accommodations. I relay this information in French, then English. Then continue doing so, as people desperate for any scrap of information ask me for details I can’t always provide. Still, I guess I’m helping. I head off to another gate. And line up. Give my name, phone number. Am told to wait. Once everyone will have been processed, we’ll be taken to hotels.

Only thing is, we were the second Easyjet flight that evening to be cancelled. There was the one to Geneva. And they needed hotel accommodations as well.

Finally, once again on the floor, things start to move. It’s now past midnight. Some people are taken by bus to a hotel. Those who needed individual rooms stay behind. I’m still at the airport. 1am rolls around. Soon, soon, we hear. The bus’ll be back in 10-15 minutes. Except in Italian that means “I don’t know, leave me alone, it’ll get here when it can”. Some individual roomers made it onto the other buses. There’s now about 25 of us left, of an original 150-200 or so.