losing your luggage

Some stories are worth repeating. Here's a column I wrote for The South Whidbey Record in 1999. Sorry to say, the tale is timeless and won't be going away anytime soon.

The airlines have been fairly kind to me over the years. Outside of a harrowing and turbulent trip in a "running on empty" prop jet somewhere over the mountains of Southern California years ago, I've experienced no major glitches while racking up frequent flier miles.

No airsickness, no food poisoning, no skidding off runways, no crashes and no lost luggage.

Until Italy. That's where I lost my luggage. Or to be more specific, that's where Northwest Airlines/KLM Royal Dutch Airlines lost my luggage.

It was hot, crowded, smoky and very Italian when we landed in Rome on a sunny September afternoon. As the passengers surrounded one of many carousels, I assumed my bag would join the rest of the cargo headed for The Eternal City.

It didn't.

So I waited and eyeballed the bags as they slowly rumbled into the welcome arms of weary travelers. I reached for nothing.

Losing your luggage in Laramie, Wyoming is one thing, but being plunked down sans suitcase in this 2,700-year old settlement on the banks of the Tiber River is an entirely different scenario. Especially after being up for nearly 20 hours and sporting language skills that were limited to Si, Per favore, Grazie and Buon Giorno.

I knew I should have studied the airport section of my phrase book for such emergency messages as Aiuto! (Help!) and Puo pariare piu tentament, per favore? (Could you speak more slowly, please?).

But we're in Rome, and we need to do as they do. Which means, what's the big rush? Domani is a way of life for Italians, and tomorrow is sometimes good enough.

Nearly three hours after landing, a growing group of disgruntled travelers was handed an official letter from KLM by the frenzied Alitalia agents who were trying to handle the fiasco as best they could.

La preghiamo di voier accetare le nostre sincere scuse per il disagio causatole. Le assicuriamo che la nostra compagnia fara il possible per evitarie ulteriori problemi.

Oops, wrong side of the form.

Please accept our sincere apologies for the difficulties encountered with your baggage. We can assure you that we will make all possible efforts to avoid any further inconvenience.

Those efforts included filling out a Property Irregularity Report and being bold that the bags could be on the next KLM flight from Amsterdam.

But here's the rub. They had NO idea when that flight might be. Domani! Domani!

I went for the drama. Sauntering over to an Alitalia agent, I burst into tears. She was obviously caught off guard by my watery eyes.

"Signora, don't cry!" she responded, while handing me a special phone number to check on the status of my bag. I left the airport in tears.

I phoned every day, and the lost luggage report changed accordingly. On Wednesday they located my bag. On Thursday, it mistakenly ended up in Bangkok. On Friday it was back in Rome. Unfortunately, we were on the train to Florence.

On Saturday, my bag arrived, and was waiting for me in our rented farmhouse in Tuscany.

So how did I handle no luggage for five days? In addtion to wearing the same wrinkled uniform, I developed horrible blisters on my feet, forcing me to buy two pairs of Italian shoes. Lack of fresh undergarments necessitated the purchase of those items, pronto! I got a real deal on a six-pack from an outdoor vendor just around the corner from The Vatican.

I wonder if the Pope shops there?

But I did scold myself for not purchasing flight insurance, which would have paid me $200 a day for the inconvenience of it all.

There is hope. Northwest and KLM said they would reimburse me for the purchase of "essential personal items." I wonder if that includes copious amounts of red wine?

It's a nice gesture, but I'm asking for one more thing: the frequent flier miles earned by my bag on her journey from Amsterdam to Bangkok to Rome.

It's worth a try.


Note: I did send a letter to the President & CEO of Northwest Airlines, along with a copy of my column. Although they did not give me the frequent fliers earned by my bag, I did receive a $200 coupon good for any future flight.


Copyright © 2006 Sue Frause. All rights reserved.

five years ago today

Ninety-five percent of Americans remember where they were when they first learned of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.

I do. Waking up shortly after 6 AM, I did my usual morning routine of checking e-mails and making a latte. And there it was at the top of my in box with the subject line CNN BREAKING NEWS. My heart raced as the message sunk in.

We all know the rest of the story.

Last night I watched the updated version of the documentary 9/11 on CBS. Made by French filmmakers Jules and Gedeon Naudet, along with James Hanlon, the commercial free program was narrated by Robert De Niro.

It's honest and it's moving. And it made me wonder why I've stayed away from Ground Zero.

I've been to New York City a number of times since 9/11, but have yet to visit the 16-acre site.

The closest I've come is walking by New York City Fire Department Engine Company #33 at 44 Great Jones Street in the East Village. Located between Lafayette and Bowery Streets, it's housed in a 1898 Beaux Arts style building designed by Ernest Flagg & WB Chambers.

Above is a photo that I took while visiting my son this past summer.

And here's an obituary of one of the six firefighters of Engine Company #33 who perished as a result of the 9/11 attacks:

Robert Evans

Robert "Bobby" Evans of Battalion 6, Engine Co. 33, (located at 44 Great Jones Street in the East Village of Manhattan) died at the World Trade Center in the line of duty at age 36. The incident occurred on Tuesday, September 11, 2001 at 9:50 AM, as a result of injuries sustained while operating at Manhattan Box 8087.

He was from Franklin Square, Long Island, New York. As a hobby, he enjoyed cooking, and is survived by his sister Jeanne, and his mother Christina Serafin.

He was born in Mineola, Long Island in 1965, and attended Public School 33 in Queens Village.

In 1983 he graduated from H. Frank Carey High School in Franklin Square at age 18. His yearbook photo was notable for his exceptional smile, and he was remembered by a classmate as being friendly, happy, and adventurous.

At age 21 he boxed in the Golden Gloves and was voted "boxer of the night" by the NY Daily News in 1986.

He joined the FDNY in 1994 at age 29, and in 2001 he was among six firefighters from Engine 33 who lost their lives in the terrorist attack of September 11th.

His memorial service was held at St. Catherine's of Sienna, a Catholic church on New Hyde Park road in Franklin Square.

I didn't know this young firefighter.

But the next time I visit my son, I'll make a pilgrimage to Ground Zero and the new Tribute WTC Visitor Center that opens to the public next week.

And I'll say a prayer for Bobby Evans.


Copyright © 2006 Sue Frause. All rights reserved.

looking for loos in all the right places

VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA -- As a frequent visitor to this West Coast Canadian city, I've pretty much figured out where the loos are located.

After all, being a professional looky-loo is a major part of my travel game.

My favorite accessible loo in downtown Vancouver is located at the Fairmont Hotel Vancouver. It's clean, spacious and you can pop in there without making a big scene. And since the Fairmont is more or less Vancouver's castle, why not use the royal throne? Located just off the main lobby and down from 900 West Lounge with its great people watching (I saw actor/comedian Martin Short there one evening), it has become my restroom of record when I'm in this classy Canadian berg.

But what happens when you're away from the familiar haunts and 'hoods?

That was my dilemma when visiting Vancouver last month. I was spending the afternoon on the South Granville Rise, a refreshing alternative to the box-chain stores of Robson.

Known as a primo shopping area since the early 1920s, this "elegant uptown" has more than ten blocks of shops, including furniture, lifestyle and apparel stores.

With thirty-some galleries, it's often referred to as "Gallery Row." In addition to the art and antiques, you'll also find a variety of restaurants, from the casual Cafe Barney where locals hang out for breakfast to the exquisite West for contemporary regional cuisine prepared by Chef David Hawksworth and served in one of Vancouver's most chic dining rooms.

Getting to The Rise is easy: by car, taxi, bus or on foot from Granville Island. I often opt for the latter, taking the Aquabus passenger ferry from Yaletown to Granville Island (you can also ride aboard the False Creek Ferries). From there, it's a quick uphill walk to the South Granville Rise. And on a nice day, walk across the Granville Street Bridge from your downtown hotel.

But back to the loo issue. I enjoyed a lovely lunch at West and then took to the streets. About half an hour later, I realized finding a loo was in order, and considered returning to West. That seemed a bit tacky, even though restaurant director and sommelier Brian Hopkins is one of the most delightful resto people in the city. I knew he would make me feel most welcome, but I decided to search for a loo elsewhere.

What an ordeal.

I considered going into Picnic, a white-tiled deli/cafe where you can relax at the long common table over a paninni, yummy pastry or a sensuous cup of hot chocolate. But I had just finished lunch, and my hunger level was quite low. And in a spot like this (it's located right next door to Meinhardt Fine Foods, worth checking out), I generally feel obligated to purchase something before using the facilities.

That's when it hit me. Starbucks has become the international restroom of choice. With more than 12,000 stores worldwide, chances are if you're in a metropolitan city, you'll spot the ubiquitous Starbucks logo and be assured of a decent restroom experience.

So do I pay to pee? Definitely not. Case in point: the Starbucks photo above, taken in Edinburgh, Scotland. I simply went into the promised latte land and used the restroom (I don't recall having to ask for a key). My rationale for non-payment is that I've spent a good chunk of change on single-tall non-fat lattes over the years. I'm a big part of their success story!

But the experience did get me to thinking that we North Americans need an online guide to public restrooms. Our neighbors Down Under in the Land of OZ have such a website; and there's a Minnesota-based website of restroom ratings that makes for some fun on or off the pot reading.

In the meantime, I'll continue to look for loos as I leisurely make my way 'round the world.

One toilet at a time.

Copyright © 2006 Sue Frause. All rights reserved.