Arrived Milan, Luggage Did Not.. The Joys of Flying

Our journey begins--three weeks in Italy. After being deposited at the airport in Florida Monday night expecting to take a short flight to Atlanta at around 5 for our 10:55 overnight to Paris with a connection to Milan, we learned that our Florida connection had been delayed until 7:30 making it practically impossible to catch the Paris flight. Or so we and the Delta counter representative thought, which resulted in our being booked on another flight the following day at 10 p.m. direct to Milan, meaning a night and day in Atlanta. A day shot.

We took the bumpy commuter ride to Atlanta arriving, of course, with enough time to race to the gate of the Paris flight...only to see the plane sitting at the gate and to be told that the flight was closed. But magically we learn there is another flight to Paris in a half hour leaving from the same terminal we are in. We are assured by the agent who rebooks us on this new flight that our bags have been moved as well, they will arrive in Milan with us. This we confirmed several times. Why I wonder didn't the agent in Florida know about this flight? Well, we find out that this flight was actually for passengers who after waiting on a plane on the tarmac for nearly three hours had been transferred to this other plane now scheduled to leave at 11:30 -- ala this mystery flight to Paris. We're ultimately shuttled onto the plane with a contingency of unhappy, tired travelers bound for Paris. And then finally at around midnight the mystery flight takes off.

Arriving in Paris, after a night of half sleep on a plane, again we rush through Charles De Gaulle, which could be in addition to the recognized world's worst, the most confusing airport in the world. The path to the connecting flight took us up and down escalators several times through corridors here and yon, past phenomenal looking cafes where travelers were drinking wine and eating scrumptious looking baguette sandwiches under the light of adorable petite lamps that only the French would think to put on a countertop in an airport diner. We reach the embarkment place and are herded with around one hundred others onto a very hot bus, taking us out to the tarmac to our plane bound for Milan.

All is forgiven and forgotten. The plane trip from Paris to Milan on Air France was spectacular. First, the seats are comfortable and the flight is only half full so we are able to move away from two kids who are kicking the back of our seats. Secondly, shortly into the flight, a petite, tantalizing tray of luscious bites of food arrived including a small wrap, a dollup of creamy crab stuff, a slice of cheese, crackers and two petit fours -- sure beats a choice of peanuts or cheese crackers. Third, and best of all, the French and Italian flight crew were incredibly friendly asking us about our trip, making suggestions. And then about 40 minutes outside of Milan we crossed the most breathtaking vistas --- the Alps peered out of the clouds in their steel majesty, and we could see snow-covered mountains with pristine, icy-turqoise lakes and streams. As we descended into Milan, Lake Maggiore was visible dotted with its lakeside resorts and punctuated by boats skirting across its waters.

We look at each other as we walk from the plane in Milan and simultaneously say, "Well, we're here." And congratulate ourselves because despite the setbacks we had gotten to Milan on time as planned.

We had arrived. Our luggage had not.. Unfortunately, it was supposedly in Atlanta waiting for the flight the next day direct to Milan--the one that we had orignally been rebooked on when our flight from Florida had been delayed. The one we had been assured in Atlanta that it was not on. Explitive!

Well as we we sat sharing a glass of chianti and a marvelous meal on a patio overlooking the Italian countryside that evening (and this was at a contemporary airport hotel), it didn't seem to matter. We were in Italy afterall. And as a wise woman once said "Tommorrow is another day."