turning italian

I found myself responding in a French manner to the chaotic Italian transport system, again.

I hadn't been away from Paris long enough to embrace the Italian side of my personality.

I had an air of the affected, casually annoyed.

It was pretty simple i had a flight from Paris to Rome, Rome to Bari. Connecting through the same airport and even the same terminal, I figured with the wait time between flights at Fiumicino i could get out my laptop and write.

I put aside my recollection of my last trip to the south of Italy where i was stuck at the same airport for 6 hours because of a bomb scare. To while the time away then i listened to my disc-man, yeah, it was a few years back. As i enjoyed my music that blotted out the obsessive gesticulating noise of unhappy Italians stranded in the same airport terminal with the air-conditioning not functioning and nerves frayed, I missed the important announcement that my flight had been re-directed from another airport. I just sat by the gate I was supposed to be leaving from and listened to my music, keeping calm and feeling a little smug that everyone around me appeared to be freaking out.

That was true right up until the moment the screen above the departure door came alive with a flight to a completely different destination and my own personal panic kicked in. I shut down my disk-man, picked up my stuff and ran to the information desk to confront a gorgeous, impeccably put together, but completely over it Italian woman sighing at me and telling me that my flight was now leaving from an altogether different airport! "Why weren't you listening to the announcement?! You now must go out through security again and down to the ground floor to collect your luggage that you checked in and find the chartered bus that will take you to the other airport, but you wont make it now, it's too late you will have to stay in Rome and buy another flight tomorrow." WTF!?

So in my panicked state I started running around the airport trying to locate the hidden place where my lost luggage now was, because i was supposed to have collected it hours ago apparently. What is that that happens when you start to panic? Had I retained some semblance of calm I might have just been able to follow her instructions and do what she said. But no, I got sweaty palms, my heart rate went up and i started running through the airport. I stopped people along the way, who were themselves exhausted and frustrated and didn't understand or particularly want to deal with a frazzled tourist who didn't speak a word of their proud tongue. I even managed to upset a security guard, at the security checkpoint who told me to take off my pure snakeskin belt because it was clear that this was making the security beeper go off. But there is no metal in it!! I yelled at him and I'm not taking it off for you, who ever heard of a snakeskin gun for gods sake? What did it matter, he didn't understand what I was saying, but I got the sentiment across. His response was to raise an eyebrow and put his hand on his hip, stare me down and say "Off".

Fuck, this is awful.

I eventually found my bag, by chance, through a half open door to a room that had no signage on it whatsoever, I saw my bag and just walked in, grabbed it and as i turned to wheel it out saw the three Carabinieri staring at me and put their hands to their holsters. You're fucking kidding me; so i asked "Do you know where the 663 flight to Bari leaves from I don't understand Italian and I'm lost and confused", nearly in tears. They all looked at each other quizzically and one of them stepped forward asking me to repeat. I explained my situation and his face softened as he told me "It is too late now, you must just to stay in Rome tonight and come back tomorrow and buy another flight. No problem, stay in Rome, beautiful city, eat good dinner, find hotel."

Oh great, a charmer. And he's in that hot uniform with the red stripe down the side of the trousers and shiny cap and probably a wife at home with three bambinos. NO! I need to make this flight, my girlfriend has been waiting for me at the other airport gone through lunch and dinner sitting at a dank airport, munching her way through the entire selection available from the only food outlet at the airport; a vending machine. The charming guard points me in the direction of yet another information booth when i recognise a group of people that were waiting with me initially at the original departure gate. I check their bags to see that they have the same luggage tags and follow them out of the airport where they start loading onto a shuttle bus. I ask several of them if they were supposed to be on the same flight as me and I finally get confirmation from a younger guy who speaks a little English. I line up to have my bag chucked into the storage compartment + jump on the bus. Phew. I might just make it yet. After a 45 minute bus ride we arrive at another airport where we must go through the whole check in procedure again complete with security check and finally onto the plane for a 40 minute flight. That's right folks, i probably could have hired a car and been there already, stereo blaring down the highway and singing all the way. Silly me, thought a flight would be quicker. When the plane finally touches down in Bari all the passengers erupt in applause, as though the whole thing was a great ruse, a melodrama worthy of an Italian opera, a performance of the macabre.

I can't possible expect anything but for this trip to run smoothly, surely.

Mais non, this is Italia after all...

Although there are no bomb scares this time there are delays (it takes over an hour for the bags to come through on the carousel from our flight), then there is applause, then there are further delays (the check in window for my connecting flight opens over half an hour late) and less enthusiastic applause - but applause none the less, oh and wait, yes another delay...(of course the flight is then delayed) and when we finally touch down in the south, yes of course the entire flight applauds.

I'm on Italian time now, I just sigh and resign myself to it.

You know that Roman saying.