I made it to Rome and the journey was as difficult as expected. Air travel between European countries is a bitch. They have a thing with the weight of luggage. I thoroughly researched the airlines that offered a Paris to Rome flight, and chose Vueling because they were the cheapest (40 euro + 20 for luggage) and they allowed 23kg/bag with a maximum single person luggage weight of 50kg. After shipping 3 boxes home, I was sure that I would be under the limit. The journey began with a taxi to Orly airport, where the cabby asked, “what terminal?” I have no idea. Aren’t there signs for airlines at the airport? No. OK. I find the confirmation email and there is no terminal listed for Orly. Luckily, the cabby has a list of flights, times, and terminals. According to his list, my airline only flies out of Fiumicino (the main airport). But I show him the confirmation email and he grudgingly admits that I might not be an idiot. Based on “the list”, all flights to Rome on any airline are out of the west terminal. Great, let’s go there. He drops me off with my two carefully packed, extremely heavy suitcases and I wonder the terminal, which has an alarming lack of signage. I finally find an information booth where a lovely woman points me to Hall 1 (of four). OK.
There is one line in Hall 1 and it is long. Of course, it’s for Vueling Airlines. I take my spot at the end of the line and wait. Parisians, like Italians, have no respect for the line and I am ditched frequently. When you don’t speak the language, you pretty much have to take it. The line is going nowhere, and I don’t mean that in a poetic kind of way. It wasn’t moving. After 30 minutes, I discover that the line is for the Barcelona flight which has opened check in. In Europe, you can’t check in too early. For Vueling, that’s 2 ½ hours. I go to the correct line for Orly which is blissfully short. Once at the desk, I put my two bags on the scale and hold my breath. The charming Vueling employee informs me that the maximum weight for baggage per person is 23kg. Anything above 23kg will incur a charge of 10 euro per kg. I have about 20kg more than 23kg. This is not good. He suggests that I carry on my small bag, which is bending the rules because it too big and too heavy, but I’m not going to mention it. The problem is that I have packed the small bag with all my toiletries. I was planning to store my big suitcase at the airport and just bring the small one to my hotel. He also said I had to transfer 3kg from the small bag to the big bag for some inexplicable reason so I stepped out of line to transfer all sorts of personal items from one suitcase to another. I won’t go into the details, but was embarrassing and exhausting. I was sweating and cursing (so American). Plus, I really have no idea how much personal stuff constitutes 3kg. After 15 minutes of humiliation, I returned to the desk. I had overestimated the 3kg and now my bag was too heavy. He obviously felt sorry for me because he let it slide and I’m off to Gate 10. It is directly behind the check in desk so this should be smooth sailing.
Well Gate 10 is made up of Gates A-P. OK. I look on my boarding pass, it only says Gate 10. OK. I go to the monitor, only Gate 10. OK. I check the monitor at each gate looking for Vueling. No Vueling. OK. I decide to chill out for a while to see if it becomes clear later. Nothing. This is starting to remind me of a painfully long chartered flight from Mexico. We are supposed to boarding by now. I find the Vueling information desk and ask the attendant. She looks at me with the “poor thing, it must be difficult to be that stupid” look and points to Gate N. OK. A line has formed for no apparent reason. The plane isn’t even there yet. However, I have found that when in a foreign country, it is best to just do what everyone else is doing so I stand in line. About 5 groups of people ditch me. OK. Finally, I’m on the plane, on my way to Rome. I’m so excited for pizza I can barely stand it. I get to Rome and decide to take a taxi. I just don’t want to deal with my luggage and I’m already late for check in at my apartment. The cabby is ancient and has a serious case of the shakes. He can’t lift my suitcase into the car by himself. Again with the weight issue. I put in the trunk and get into the cab. He asks where I’m going, but can’t understand me. Finally, I show him the address on my phone. OK. He turns off the meter and says “40 euro”. Then, he has the nerve to charge me for the baggage. I’m too tired to fight. We get to Trastevere, and Stefano is waiting. Perfect. I shower and get some pizza with salami picante. I love Italy.
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