Losing track of time

You'd be amazed at how easily one loses track of time when in a far-off country chock full of remnants of the glorious Italian Renaissance. We knew our flight from Milan to Paris was leaving the day before my flight from Paris to DC. So on Monday we were taking the train back to Milan from Florence and we had the brilliant idea of checking our itinerary. Lo and behold, it said our departure from Milan was scheduled for Dimanche, le 8 Aout. SUNDAY?!?!? As I sat on the train, I came to the sinking realization that I was supposed to be on board a plane headed for Washington DC at that very instant. I had already missed my plane home. !#!@#(*&^(*&&!!

When we arrived at the train station in Milan, we immediately headed out to an internet cafe to see if we could get some info on what to do. Unfortunately, we had taken a cheap ass airline (Ryan Air) that wouldn't change our flight for free so we paid 120 euros more to catch a flight back to Paris that evening. A word of advice: don't fly Ryan Air. The tix may seem cheap, but they add crazy taxes and the planes feel a little rickety. And they fly into tiny airports that are really really far away from the cities they claim to fly into. We had to take a bus for an hour and a half from Paris to get to the airport in "Paris" (pfft, whatever) and it cost us 20 euros. Then to get to the train station in Milan we took another bus from the airport in "Milan" for 13 euros.

Anyway, at the train station in Milan, I lined up at the ticket counter to buy the bus tickets under the sign that said "bus tickets to the airport." The guy at the counter told everyone from all the diff lines to get into one, so I ended up in this long ass line and cursed the day I was born. WHY MEEEEEEEEEEE? Soon, however, the gods smiled on me and he reopened the airport line and I eagerly scampered over. When I got to the counter, he told me it was 13 euros 50. I whipped out my trusty credit card, only to have him shake his head no and tell me that they only took cash. I dug frantically around in my bag for cash but all I could find was 11 euros. I started to cry. Not only had I missed my flight to Paris from Milan, I had missed my flight from Paris to DC, and now I couldn't even afford to get train tickets to the airport in Milan! My partner in crime was off finding a restroom or something, so I was quite distraught, and quite alone. The guy at the counter saw the tears welling up in my eyes and he asked me if I had found the money yet. When I said no, I didn't have any more cash, he understood how hard it was for me to get euros from my American credit card and said he understood, and made an exception. Minutes later, I stood outside of the ticket booth thinking about how lucky I was.

Once at the airport in Milan, we were informed that we'd have to buy new tickets to Paris since we had missed our flight the evening before. I tried to call United Airlines to see if they could reschedule the flight I had missed that I was supposed to be on. 13 euros later on a credit card phone, we bought a 12 euro phone card that didn't work. So I gave up on United and we called my mom to tell her not to pick me up at Dulles. The convo went something like this:

Himomit'smelodydon'tcometotheairporttodaybecauseImissedmyflightandI'mnotcominghomejustyet I'llcallyouwhenIfindoutwhattimeI'mgettinghomeLoveyoulotsBye!

We got onto the plane and I felt much better after sleeping some. Then in "Paris" (Beauvais), we had to catch the 1.5 hour bus back to the real Paris, so we lined up for bus tickets and I decided it was high time for a cigarette. It had been quite a stressful day, after all. In line for the tickets, a man asked me to switch hands with my big bc he didn't like cigarette smoke. I had no problem doing so, and he thanked me. He was an American, as well, but one that had been living in Europe for a few years. We sat right behind him and and his female friend on the bus and the conversation began to flow. Turned out he's and opera singer living in Munich (and she, a violinist living in Rome). We talked about the museums, history, art, pop culture, politics, and a bevy of other things. The bus ride went very quickly.

After giving them tips on finding cheap housing in Paris, we caught the metro from Porte Maillot to Chatelet, where we transferred to the RER towards his grandparents' place in the suburbs of Paris. All hail Orangina, one of the greatest soft drinks on the face of the planet. It tastes so damn good after you've been running up and down the stairs of the metro station trying to catch the last train. We made it back to his grandparents' around 1 am or so.

Promptly, I called my parents to let them know I had missed my flight and that I'd be calling United to arrange a ride home. I called United around 2 am to see if I could get on the next flight back to DC. The lady informed me that bc it was a Priceline ticket, it was highly restricted, so I would have to buy a new ticket altogether. I might have started to hyperventilate, but decided to save the screams of agony until I had checked the prices of one way tix online. Online, the tickets ranged from 550 euros to 2200 dollars. Screaming in agony was in order, but it didn't seem very productive so I called United back to beg one last time. Tearfully, I explained how my flight in Milan had been delayed and I ended up missing my flight in Paris because of it. By no fault of my own, of course. I mean, who would be stupid enough to forget the day of her flight home? *Looks up and whistles* Bobby Littlejohn (I swear, that really was his name) took pity on me, though, and he told me not to worry about a thing, that he would find a way to get me home. Moments later, I was rebooked for the same flight the very next day. Bobby told me it would be free, and that I should consider United the next time I flew anywhere instead of buying from the evil and inconvenient Priceline. I told him I would. The tears stopped and a wave of relief swept over me. Thank goodness for customer service, and for United's excellence at it. (They bring you hot towels on the plane, and the wine is free. Wheeee!) The next day, I said a very sad goodbye and boarded the plane for the US. Bah. America is overrated. I can't wait to go back to Europe.

Lesson to be learned? If at first you don't succeed, cry, cry again.

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