I'm breaking this into two posts because, well, it's me, folks. Life is always an adventure and why have a simple plane ride home when you can have complications to make it interesting? So....
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We had to be up at 5:00 this morning to be ready for
disembarkation at 6:05. Since we’d sent the bags down the night before, we only
had out carry-on bags.
Of course, before we left, we had one more task to complete.
Because of the pressure changes at the altitudes we’d be reaching on the plane,
I needed to have a blood thinner. And since it was so early in the morning and
everyone was getting off the ship, the medical staff was busy with other
matters. Steven stepped up and said, “I’ll be glad to poke my wife!” The shot is given in the belly and he didn’t even hurt me. I know
he was nervous about it, but he did well. Only a tiny little bruise where he
jabbed the needle. J
Easy time off and collected our bags with no trouble. We
were in the “Silver 1” group for the airport and there was only one Silver 1
bus, so no confusion there. Xavi, a Princess Cruise liaison from Barcelona, rode the bus
with us to make sure everyone got to the right gate once at the airport. And
this is where the problems began.
The second night of the trip, Steven had gone down to
complain about the automatic door that kept banging against our stateroom wall
and asked if it could be fastened open. A man at the desk said yes. An hour
later (now past midnight), Steven got dressed and went down to complain again.
This time a young woman was at the desk and she was quite distressed to find
out we’d had to made a second request. The matter was swiftly dealt with and
the doors remained open for the rest of the trip.
On Thursday, when we got new flights home but had already
been assigned the Silver 1 group, Steven went to the desk to ask if the flight
change meant a different disembarking group. The same guy at the desk said no,
nothing would change. Even after Steven asked him if he needed to see our new
flight number, the guy said, “No. Flight numbers don’t matter. You’re good.”
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| Sculpture outside of Barcelona port - sunrise |
Well, Saturday morning at the Barcelona airport we found out just how
incompetent the front desk clerk is. Got to Terminal 1 with the rest of the
Silver group only to discover we were supposed to be at Terminal 3 for our
flight. This is where Xavi became our savior. Wish I'd taken a picture of him but I was so concerned with missing flights, I didn't. :(
Xavi took the others into the terminal and got them situated,
then came back for us. We had to wait for a shuttle for Terminal 3. Good thing
we had plenty of time. It was a little after seven in the morning and our
flight didn’t leave until a quarter to noon. He stayed and rode the shuttle to
Terminal 3 with us, not leaving until we were handed off to a wheelchair
attendant in the proper terminal. I will be sending Princess an email pointing
out the lazy employee and highlighting Xavi, you can be assured of that!
Wheelchair bound people are a class unto themselves, I’ve
discovered. Many people tended to talk over my head to Steven as if I weren’t
there. This was particularly true of customs agents in every country. Others
give pitying looks, looks that say, “I’m glad that’s not me!” that they think I
don’t see. Some make polite conversation
and ask me what I did (the Aircast is HUGE and you can’t not see it) – those
people are fun because I get great reactions when I tell them I broke it coming
down Mt. Vesuvius.
A few talk directly to me. My favorite was the ticket
agent in Genoa
for the tour bus we took. He not only talked to me, he stepped down off the
curb so he’d be closer to my height. When we got back to the dock after our
hike from the drop-off point, he made sure to come over to me and ask how the
trip had been and if I’d enjoyed it. The narrow sidewalk was filled with those
waiting for the next tour and, of course, the wheelchair takes up a bit of
room. The road was busy and not safe so when, at the end of the conversation he
asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you today?” Steven asked him if he
could clear a path on the sidewalk.
He jumped right to it, walking in front of me and saying,
“Scuse, coming through. Scuse, please step aside” all the way through the
crowd. He was a cutie and if I were 20 years old and unmarried, I’d have had
fun and done some flirting with him.
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| Waiting in the Barcelona airport |
But back to the trip home. Because of my foot, I have to fly
business class or better in order to keep it elevated on the flights. Besides,
I think I mentioned this cast is HUGE? It won’t fit in the legroom space
allotted for coach. Silver lining! But it also means we couldn’t get a direct
flight home. Out of Barcelona, back to Rome,
THEN to Toronto.
Alitalia for the entire trip, this time. The short hop (an
hour and a half), didn’t have a place to put my foot up, but I had plenty of
room to stretch it out as needed. Wore the cast the entire flight, adjusting
the air in it as the pressure in the cabin changed. No big deal. Landed, was
last on the plane, was last off the plane. Our next flight left at 3:15 PM and
wheelchair services kept assuring me we’d get to the gate on time.
You know those stereotypical scenes of three Italian men all
talking at the same time, gesturing wildly and speaking at full volume as if to
drown out the other speakers? Where it seems nothing is getting done and that
the three of them will soon come to blows? Yeah. I sat there and watched it
happen as three of them tried to get the several of us in wheelchairs to the
appropriate gates on time. We sat for a long time and I was convinced we were
going to miss our connection because they couldn’t get their act together.
Finally, at 3:10, a young man was assigned to us to take us
to the gate. He knows he has to hurry and I swear, he drove me through that
airport like he was driving in Rome.
Watch out pedestrians! Steven had to hustle to keep up with him. Swerving right
around an old man who stopped in the middle of the atrium, left around a loose
child, threading the needle through an existing line – I held on and grinned
all the way. Wheee!
Got to the gate and they hadn’t even started boarding yet.
Whew. He left me there and Steven and I watched as they loaded the plane. Okay.
We’re getting the routine now. We’re good. We wait.
But as we’re waiting, we realize, this gate is at ground
level. There is no plane outside. They’re putting people on shuttles and taking
them out to the plane where they have to walk up the stairs to board. It’s
okay, I can manage the stairs, but it’s going to take me some time. There is
another woman, however, also in a wheelchair, who is quite old and frail who
cannot make the stairs.
Off on another adventure! After the last shuttle leaves,
we’re loaded onto a mini-shuttle and taken out to the plane. I’m looking at the
steps and thinking, “Okay, I can do this” but the driver goes around to the
other side. There’s a lift there. You know, the kind that you see lifting the
shipping containers? Just a big X when it’s all the way up? The kind that
shakes and rattles and you hold your breath that it won’t collapse? Yeah, that
kind.
So we ride up like it’s the gantry of a rocket ship and walk
across the open space to the door of the plane (which the attendant had to
knock on for them to open. Cracked Steven up that we were knocking on the door
of the plane!). We go in, turn left, and enter first class.
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| The set-up for our 7-course dinner |
Oh, my. I’m not sure I can ever go back to coach. Not for
long flights (this one was 9 hrs, 50 min.). Not only do they feed us an entire
seven course meal on real plates with real silverware, we were offered several
different wines, limoncello, amaretto (which I had) and, for our lunch, a seven
course meal. I kept the menu we were presented. By the time they got to dessert
over an hour later, I was stuffed and waved it away. A vanilla cake of some
sort.
And then the seats. They recline so you are almost prone.
Like a bed. And you get a decent pillow and a down comforter. Yes, a down
comforter – or microfiber that feels like down. The lights are turned down, the
shades are pulled and you can sleep. Really sleep. I managed two sessions, one
short and one of an hour and a half. Steven slept straight for nearly two
hours. It was only 7:00 PM Rome
time, but we’d gotten up early, had several adventures and eaten a 7-course
meal, so it wasn’t hard to be tired.
And when you couldn’t sleep? A real set of headphones (not
earbuds) and a decent high-def screen with a wide menu of choices. I
particularly liked the outside camera for take-off and landing. Haven’t ever
seen those from the pilot’s point of view before. A little unnerving to see the
land coming up so quickly and the runway still so far away!
Hot towels at frequent intervals, a traveling bag of
toiletries for both of us – yeah, I could get used to traveling like this. I
took off my cast, put up my feet and allowed myself to be pampered. What a
wonderful flight home!
Play safe - part two, the Toronto airport, coming soon.
Diana
