Thirty Eight hours in the life of a very ordinary person (me), and an even more ordinary, but important, little cardboard box.
I arrived at Ben Gurion international airport 12.30 pm. on Sunday 25th. October. In my hand, a black canvas holding case for my computer, but minus the computer. In its place(of the computer) sat a blue short sleeved shirt (marks and spencer size 17.5) 1 pair of dark green socks, black and grey striped boxer shorts (extra large) and a small plastic transparent bag filled with a variety of tablets, creams, plastic boxes containing strangely colored powders and solutions, a toothbrush and toothpaste.
In various pockets of my grey trowsers were sitting a passport, piece of paper purporting to be an Alitalya ticket to Verona via Rome, a few euros and a handkerchief.
As they say in French ce tout (or at least I think that’s what they say!), but anyway they mean “that’s all”.
Three hours later, when I was supposed to be tied up to seat 32A (window seat of course) I was instead, sitting in the airport lounge waiting for the flight from Rome to arrive, with the intention of returning with me.
Finally it arrived and i boarded.
32A was quite uncomfortable, with a broken back(the seat’s not mine), apart from it being occupied by me with a delay of one and a half hours, and sitting there with back upright (mine not the seat’s), for takeoff, I wondered whatever else might not be working, in that very neglected airplane.
Needless to say (as I survived to tell this story), we did arrive in Rome, and I walked a few kilometers (ok I am exaggerating a bit), with the same baggage, to the C area of the airport, handling local flights, to Verona.
Found the C 5 desk, amazed to find that at 8.45 my flight would board and leave on time at 9.15 as per schedule. So all I need to do is sit patiently for ninety minutes and then board, fasten up and off we go.
They even provided a seat to sit on in the boarding area, which was conveniently next to a bar selling my favorite Coco Cola for only 3.5 euros.
So simple? So how come at 9.15 the gate was closed, vacated by all and sundry, except the passengers of flight AZ 739 to Milan, and yours truly, waiting for the flight to Verona which had recently boarded at gate C 7 and flown off on its mission without me.
I tried desperately to find someone who would believe that there had been no message in a language that I could understand, telling me of the change, and even insisting that I might have put a bomb on the plane, before deciding not to get on it, did not help. Next flight tomorrow morning!!! The bottom line.
The Hilton Hotel at Rome airport is very comfortable, a bit wasted on a tired, aging gentleman, that need to be five hundred kilometers away, the following morning, for a day of experiments in a Verona factory, before flying back to Tel Aviv via Rome, in the evening.
The restaurant was closed, luckily as I am on a diet, so, after setting the alarm on the TV, and on the bedside clock, it was off to sleep for five hours (awaking on the hour to ascertain if five hours had passed), before a quick shower etc. dressing (you remember the blue shirt, green socks etc.?) and going down stairs to break that fast.
The shuttle, from hotel to airport was to leave at seven, and afraid of any more disasters, I was there fifteen minutes in advance. Three minutes to seven, as the shuttle bus arrived, hundreds of American tourist arrived, with thousands of tourist’s suitcases, to load up the 60 seats available. Well I may be old, and I admit that I don’t do nearly enough exercise, but living in Israel for the last forty years, helped me to get on that bus in first place. There, I showed those Americans how its done!!
So what!! The Italians, together with the Americans, showed me how they load their baggage on to the bus, then climb aboard themselves in just under twenty five minutes.
Ok. So the driver was nervous. But not because of me. I didn’t have any luggage. I got on the bus without any help. So why wouldn’t he stop at terminal 1? I am late and you will have to walk back. It is not more that one hundred meters, he sullenly told me, as he drew up outside Terminal 3
I walked back the two hundred meters, and searched for the number of my flight on the illuminated board in the entrance hall, with the departure gates on it. No flights to Verona!! But there must be. I have a ticket. This is Rome airport. I know it is, because I slept at the Rome airport Hilton Hotel, only an hour and a half ago.
Information Desk. I almost killed the guy. How can my flight possibly be leaving from terminal 3.? Well if you don’t believe me take a look around and try to find it. I tell you its from terminal 3.
I just came from terminal 3, so I know its only two hundred meters away, so I made a quick turnaround and get to the illuminated board of terminal 3. Verona desk B13. it blinks at me in red.
B13 and no queue. That is a miracle. There are queues at all the other gates.
She was blonde and attractive!! Desk F12 in Terminal 1. I cannot kill an attractive blonde in an airport uniform even if I try. She did understand that I was almost desparate at this time so she walked very quickly to Terminal 1 (only two hundred meters, feels like kilometers), and even got me my boarding card without having to wait in the queue, and I did the last few meters to the departure gate on my hands and knees(I told you before that I exaggerate sometimes).
Ok, so the boarding starts in five minutes and the flight is on time at 8.35.
Really!!! So how comes that at 8.45 I am still standing in a crowded bus waiting to be driven to the airplane that leaves on time at 8.35? The driver is in his seat and the engine is running, but we are not. We are waiting. I don’t know any swear words in Italian but most of those standing with me, did. And they used them. But the driver and his bus didn’t budge until 8.55.
The airplane looked fine. I sat in my seat, fastened the belt and was surprised to see that we soon began to move, albeit fifty minutes late.
The captain was sorry for the delay. They were using a new computer program and had not succeeded in printing out the passenger list. I AM NOT EXAGERATING. That’s what he really said.
Their factory in Verona was quite close to the airport, they told me in the e mail, so I had not taken into account the 98 kilometer taxi drive (or the 170 euro charge) to get there, three hours late.
Nice people, I must admit. They seemed a little surprised that I had arrived an hour earlier than expected. Italians understand how their airway system works!!
They loved the Israeli mentality of getting on with the job, so cut the meal and siesta to a mere 60 minutes, and got me back to Verona airport at 6 pm. so that I could make the 7.20 pm flight to Rome.
We were in the air at 7.19 pm. is this really the same Alitalya? Apparently not. The aircraft was run by AIR ONE. Italian, but not the National carrier.
Alitalya was true to form, as the Captain apologized for the one hour and twenty minute delay, due to having to wait for missing cleaners to get the airplane ready for flight(NO EXAGERATION THIS TIME EITHER.)to Tel Aviv. Neither did they change their image, when it became apparent, that the box of samples so carefully prepared for me by those nice Italians in the factory in Verona (98 kilometers from), had not arrived. Apparently they must have thought that Ben Gurion airport was in South America, because they eventually found my box in Argentina.
Alitalya finally surprised me, and returned my box (which arrived safely only twenty four hours later).
