I had the earliest flight out of the airport, at 6:35, so I caught the vaporetto at 4:29 to catch the bus at 5:00. Oy, so early. At least it gets me home by noon Pacific time.
Venice Marco Polo airport is relatively small considering how many international flights come through there. There is one terminal and about thirty gates. It's a very efficient airport in comparison to say, Oakland or Sacramento. From even the farthest check-in counter you walk maybe two minutes to the security line and once beyond there, the farthest gate is no more than four minutes away. Why am I explaining this? Read on...The aircraft today was a 737-700 from Venice to Amsterdam; twenty rows with three seats on each side of the aisle, so approximately 120 possible passengers. The flight was about one-third full, there couldn't have been more than forty-five people. Oh we could stretch out comfortably. There wasn't any rain or fog that would be delaying us, yet the door wasn't being shut on the craft. The staff was on phones to the gate, there were staff from inside the airport coming on the plane with papers and lists in hand. Something was definitely up. At ten minutes past departure time the captain finally came on the speaker, telling us that we were missing three people so we would be giving them a few more minutes then offloading their luggage.
What the heck. How can you check in, check your luggage, get through security but not get on a plane, not make it to a gate? You can't get lost in this airport, it's just too small for that. Did they go outside to smoke and decide they didn't need to go to Amsterdam after all? And they didn't need the luggage either? Interesting.
So as I was looking out the window I saw my very distinctive bags on the tarmac. They are a purple and gold brocade, so you can't miss them. I got a little nervous seeing them there, and even more nervous when they were placed on a transporter golf cart. Um, excuse me? Why only mine?
Imagine my relief when other bags were also placed on the back of the cart. Yes, that's how perverse I am. If my bag is going bye-bye I can at least be comforted knowing that other people would be inconvenienced right along with me. It was completely loaded up, then to my horror the guy drove it away. This had to be a joke. There had to be cameras on us to catch our expressions, because a lot of folks started to freak out. Then the guy came back, facing the other direction, to continue loading bags on the wagon. I mentally gave myself over the idea that I wouldn't be rejoined with my things in San Francisco. They would get back to me eventually. Le sigh.
Finally, the three suitcases apparently in question were located, set aside on the tarmac and we watched all the rest of the bags get loaded back into the hold. The man in front of me turned and said, “If those people come onto the plane now after all of this commotion I think the other passengers will strangle them before we get off the ground.” I agreed.
Landing at AMS I turned on my phone and saw there were voicemails and messages, but I was only interested in calling and checking in with the husband and mother. Everything else can wait. It was Marco anyway, and I was sure he was just wishing me a safe trip, since he wasn't around when I said goodbye to Mamma the night before. I would call him from SFO as per usual when I went home.
The plane in Amsterdam was way full, but I had a place near the back and one of the few empty seats next to me. Ahhh, comfort. I watched five movies on the way back. I should have been sleeping, I was so overtired, but no. My brain said I wasn't going to close my eyes, not when there were films to be had! I swear, almost all my movie watching is on planes these days. I rarely go to the theater. It's not such a bad thing- I can stop it if I need to and other people don't disturb me with their comments or ringing phones or texting during the show, and I can't hear them smacking their popcorn because of headphones. Sure, I'm risking deep vein thrombosis, but I'm a captive audience, so bring on the entertainment!
Landing in San Francisco I turned on the phone to find a voicemail from the husband telling me he wasn't meeting me at the airport, but we were going with plan B – I take BART to MacArthur station (call him from West Oakland) and he picks me up. I was a little sad at this news. I wanted to see my sweetheart's smiling face when I got off the plane, not an hour later. Oh well. I held off listening to Marco's voicemails. I'd get to those once I was out of the airport and on BART.
My prediction came true. My luggage was not at SFO. They called my name on the overhead after I got our of passport control. Apparently a transport belt broke in the behind the scene works of Schiphol airport in Amsterdam and my bags never even made it onto the plane. They took my information from my luggage tag receipt, my contact information and a full description from me and promised they would have it to me within 48 hours. Alrighty.
I made my way to BART and hopped on, finally listening to the rest of my messages. Marco had called three times and wrote twice, each seeming more urgent. And now I knew why. Mamma had collapsed that morning and passed away unexpectedly. The paramedics were not able to revive her. Complete devastation is the only way I can describe it. I called him back and got the briefest of details from him and promised I would call him tomorrow. I know he had plenty of details to take care of.
I managed to hold it together until I got off the train, hugged my husband and got into the car. And then the tears came. I could barely tell him what happened and actually had to tell him twice. I felt bad for him as well; here he is dealing with family loss, his wife just came come and now she's falling apart doubly over two recent losses that were very important people in her life. He tried to comfort me, but I think I was semi-catatonic after a while. Just sat on the couch and stared at the television wondering where do we go from here? I didn't even pick up the phone to call my mother until the next day. Maybe if I didn't have to explain it to anyone else it wasn't going to be true, just a bad dream.
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