Postcards to Alice

By Gail Gauvreau

Postcards to Alice takes the reader around the world on an engrossing and hysterical look at travel misadventures and social disasters. From Europe to Africa, North America to the Indian subcontinent, experience the hilarity of exploding tampons and pugilistic taxi drivers.  Laugh over panic packing and gluttonous theft while basking in the

• Language: English
• Publisher: 10451789 Canada Limited
• Release date: Aug 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781999446420

Gail Gauvreau

Gail Gauvreau is an accredited Canadian travel writer and experienced cruiser who has travelled the world with a sense of humour and an ugly photo passport. Always in search of a funny story and the best vacation deal, Ms. Gauvreau has compiled stories to entertain and save the reader money when planning a vacation or cruise. Although she writes about all travel and world wide adventures, this book specializes in cruising stories.

Book preview

1

Trapped in Rome

Dear Alice,

Thirty-one hours in transit. The transatlantic flight ran out of wine. We landed in Rome to the start of a transportation strike so our flight to Greece was delayed 11 hours. We were stuck at the airport sober and plotting revenge. More later.

June

As I shifted uncomfortably in the airport lounge seat, I once again cursed the people who worked within the Italian transportation system. They had picked the precise start of our vacation to hold a general transportation strike and in my head, I managed to call them every unmentionable name I could think of and some I created as I sat there waiting. We were trapped in transit at the Fiumicino Airport in Rome and nothing was moving. The plastic seat and my derriere had now been acquainted for approximately six hours and neither seemed to be enjoying the experience. The chair gave off little groans of protest every time I moved.

I looked down at my husband Dan who had decided the carpeted floor was preferable to the seating for relaxation and had stretched out for a nap. He looked comfortable enough and completely unfazed by the fact that he was laying on a surface of dubious cleanliness. Despite the lack of rest I had on our overnight flight to Rome, I was reluctant to try and sleep. I wanted to stay awake to cautiously guard our bags and be ready to leap into action at the first sign that something, anything, was going to move. Since all official means of transport appeared to have ground to a halt, a quick trip into the city was out of the question. If Rome had been our final destination, I would have dragged my bags and husband out to the nearest highway and secured a ride into the city by any means possible. However Rome was just a transit point where we could catch our connector flight to Athens. A comfortable bed and relaxing glass of Ouzo were tantalizingly just out of reach. And so we waited and so I steamed.

While enveloped in my cloak of righteous indignation over this unwelcome and unfair delay, I began to think about how we came to be in this mess. I should say how ‘I’ came to be in this mess. How does a girl who grew up suffering from incredible bouts of homesickness if she left home for more than eight hours, end up travelling all over the world for increasingly longer periods of time? How could someone who grew up liking everything structured and organized find herself on trips where the unexpected and disorganized happened with alarming regularity? Fastidious in nature, I have peed in places I shudder to think about and a few that I am embarrassed to speak of.

It had all started innocently enough. I acquired a job working for the federal government in the field of civil aviation. I would travel for relatively short periods of time to different locations around the world and conduct civil aviation security inspections relating to aircraft headed for Canadian airspace. While in some of those locations I started to take in the local sites during my limited off time. I gradually started to enjoy learning about new places and different cultures. Somewhere I crossed the line from reluctant traveller to voracious tourist. My husband claims that upon our marriage I bundled him onto a plane and he has been on one ever since.

Recognizing that I was responsible for us being in Rome in the first place did not stop me from casting aspersions on the origin of every one of the workers who had chosen this day to bring the transportation system to a halt. I was determined to glare menacingly at anyone who so much as looked like they were currently on strike. If nothing else it would keep me occupied and awake.

I pulled out my latest travel log. I always carry one along on trips to jot down little notes of what I have seen and done although lately it seemed more like a venue in which to vent. Before starting to write, I paused and reviewed previous entries. I came to the startling realization that bad things happen on, or about, the day of my arrival - anywhere! As a good friend says, ‘When you travel, shit happens’. The proverbial light began to come on as I warmed to the realization that maybe the Italians were not to blame, maybe it was destined that as soon as we confirmed our trip, this strike was meant to be.

I have to confess that in actual fact this general transportation strike was no surprise to us. About a week before we were due to leave on our trip the phone rang. It was our travel agent with a bad news/good news phone call. In a sympathetic tone she delivered the bad news that there was going to be a general transportation strike within an hour of our arrival in Rome. This would last for about eight hours she sadly informed me. However we were not to despair as the strike was only for that limited time and then everything would start to move again. After it was over we could resume our journey.

How civilized of the Italians to let us know about the strike in advance. Unfortunately this one week warning made no difference to us as we had no choice but to take the booked flights. Dan and I were to start our journey the day before by flying from Ottawa to Toronto. Following a four-hour wait in Toronto we would board an overnight flight to Rome. We were scheduled to land in Rome at 9 a.m. thus arriving before the strike started. As a result there was no legitimate reason the air carrier would allow for our first two flights to be cancelled or rescheduled so we could leave earlier or later. We had to take those two flights or lose our money since we had bought cheap, non-refundable/non-changeable super discounted economy tickets.

Our connecting flight from Rome to Athens was scheduled to depart at 11:30 a.m. however, the inconsiderate strikers had chosen the magical hour of 10 a.m. to begin their strike. We had the option of rebooking the Athens flight for another day since it was obviously going to be delayed, but in reality there would be no value in doing so. We were going to be sitting in Rome because we still had to take the first set of flights as currently scheduled or lose our money. As a result we would leave on the last leg of our journey sometime after the strike was over.

‘How long after the end of the strike’? I asked.

‘Oh sometime after’, she vaguely replied.

I tried to be sanguine about the delay by commenting that at least we could entertain ourselves by either going into the city for several hours or by looking through the airport shops. My travel agent had a moment of silence and then hurriedly shared the rest of the bad news. It seems that a general transportation strike involves every mode of transportation so we could not actually leave the airport by means of any commercial transportation. Perhaps we had friends in Rome who could pick us up and entertain us for the day she politely enquired? As for shopping at the airport, apparently when there is a strike, many of the airport stores are closed. With not much to look at and no means of escaping the airport, we would be trapped.

Prior to our departure date a tiny seed of hope started to germinate in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, they would change their minds or delay their strike. Maybe they would even change the strike to the day before or the day after our arrival. Maybe they would settle their grievances with their government. Maybe they would move the start of the strike to 12 p.m. maybe, maybe, maybe. I kept that hope alive until we arrived in Rome and the strike started right on schedule.

And so there I sat in the airport listing my grievances in my journal and perfecting my ‘glare at anyone I thought might be on strike’ look. A small group of people passed by, all sporting matching buttons identifying them as part of a tour group. They were obviously fellow strike victims who looked sympathetically at me and my sleeping husband. One of them had her camera in hand and judging from the nervous twitch of her fingers she was debating the merits of photographing this strange man stretched out on the floor, surrounded by bags and being guarded by a sulking woman. Seeing that I was watching her she decided against it and the group meandered on in search of some interesting diversion to help pass the time.

From time to time other bored and restless passengers wandered by us letting us know that we were not alone in our suffering. There was a kind of camaraderie among those of us stranded at the airport, we gave each other those ‘this is annoying but what can we do’ type of looks and passed on any information we had garnered about when flight movement might begin. I kept hoping the workers would take pity on us, the innocent victims, and return to work.

Dan awoke and ever the dedicated shopper he announced that he was going to have a look around the terminal to see if any of the stores might be open. We gathered our bags and began our tour of the facility, searching for entertainment. The terminal was actually very quiet. However given that many people could not get to the airport and even if they did there were no flights moving, the lack of people was not surprising. As our travel agent predicted, many of the shops were closed and so the number of open stores was limited. Normally I despise airport shopping however I accompanied Dan since my backside, which had gone numb about an hour before, obviously needed a break from the seat.

It is always wise to keep an eye on Dan when he has money in his pocket and a desire to shop. In one of the few shops open, I studiously examined an outrageously priced designer scarf to see if it was something I really needed. It came down to a choice between the scarf and being able to eat for the next week. Eating won out.

One thing we noticed while wandering the terminal was that the down escalator was the only escalator working. People gliding effortlessly down on the escalator had a fabulous view of those struggling to climb up the one next to it. It seemed strange because normally if one escalator is taken out of service the working one would be switched to run in the up position to facilitate moving people to a higher level. It is far easier to walk down where gravity assists you than it is to walk up. However the powers that be in the airport had taken the up escalator out of service so people had to climb with their baggage. I knew there was an elevator or two discretely tucked somewhere in the terminal but obviously many failed to find it. There was loads of foot traffic. We managed to entertain ourselves for an hour by standing near the top of the escalator so we could see and hear the comments of those who were forced to physically climb while hauling luggage the size and weight of refrigerators. If I felt I had been somewhat vicious in my thoughts regarding the striking Italians it was nothing to what I heard people say upon reaching the top of the escalator.

One very heavyset man carried what appeared to be his and his wife’s massive bags and a rather large stroller up the long climb. While half way up the escalator he launched into a tirade that was dazzling. He arrived at the top red-faced and sweating profusely and his panting wife carrying two infants and assorted baby paraphernalia, followed just behind him. She also looked hot, exhausted and very unhappy. Although I could not understand his words as he was speaking Italian, he left no doubt as to his dissatisfaction with the situation. The volume and rapid fire delivery was impressive to say the least and I needed no translation to comprehend at whom his venom was directed. The wife said nothing but punctuated her husband’s point by turning and spitting, with impressive accuracy, onto the silent, still escalator.

At about 6:00 p.m. in the evening, the terminal started to show signs of life and we gravitated towards our designated departure gate. A representative of our booked airline informed us that our flight was rescheduled to leave sometime around 7:45 p.m. but that turned out to be an optimistic estimate. At 9:00 p.m. we remained seated and increasingly annoyed.

The terminal went from being a silent tomb to a busy hive of activity. The airlines all seemed to have full staff at the ready getting travellers and planes moving in an attempt to clear out the backlog and resume the smooth flow of air traffic. As a result, the terminal was alive with passengers and air carrier staff running to-and-fro giving people hope that we would soon be on the move. Eventually we were given the green light to board the aircraft and we were on our way. As soon as the wheels were up and the seatbelt sign turned off, the flight attendants were at our side offering us refreshments and nourishment to ensure we did not perish from dehydration or malnutrition on the flight. A marked change from the service experienced on the earlier leg of our journey with a different air carrier. The flight was smooth, pleasant and fast. The staff were friendly, helpful and efficient. By the time we landed in Greece our good humour was restored and we were back in holiday mode.

Upon arrival at the airport in Athens we moved seamlessly through immigration and customs. Our bags arrived quickly and undamaged. There was no extended wait at the baggage carousel and we managed to rapidly obtain a taxi to our hotel where we arrived around midnight. Upon check-in we were assigned a room that was small and stark but upon opening the curtains, we discovered that we had a fabulous balcony with an outstanding view.

Since we had secured some sleep on the flight to Athens, we were no longer tired so Dan went off in search of refreshments. He returned within minutes with several bottles of beer and a jug of wine. It seems that we could buy both within steps of our hotel for ridiculously low prices. Things were definitely looking up.

Quickly changing into our shorts and cotton tops, we sat out on our balcony sipping our drinks and admiring the full moon along with our view of the illuminated Parthenon. It was truly a beautiful night and we celebrated our safe arrival a mere 31 hours after we had left home.

Dear Alice,

Love Athens. Climbed up to see the Acropolis after lunch and under the midday sun - big mistake. It was HOT. In my defence it seemed like a good idea after the free Ouzo they gave us at lunch. Bought an Icon in the Plaka. Dan says Oooopa!

June

2

Exploding Tampons

Dear Alice,

Presently I am cutting up adult diapers because I could not find tampons or maxi pads (will explain when I get home). I hate sniffer dogs.

Miffed June

At times when travelling there are incidents that happen that are embarrassing and with any luck soon forgotten. However some just live forever in our memories.

On a city to city flight within Europe, I confidently boarded the aircraft ready to relax for a couple of hours. The entire trip thus far had proceeded smoothly. The departure seemed destined to be on time and I was heading for one of my favourite historical cities. I leaned comfortably back in my seat and watched the usual pre-flight operations unfold.

After a while I noticed a significant amount of activity outside of the aircraft. The luggage destined for our aircraft, which had been making its way up the conveyor belt into the belly of the plane, seemed to be making the reverse trip out of the plane and down onto the tarmac. A large number of people, many of whom were security staff, were milling around the bags, gesturing with their arms and a few appeared quite animated.

Eventually all the bags had been taken off the aircraft and were lined up along the right hand side of the plane. More security personnel appeared and the level of discussion seemed to increase significantly. By this time we were about 40 minutes past our departure time and everyone on board was aware that something was amiss. In due course a working dog appeared and he and his canine handler proceeded to examine the luggage. Up to each bag they would go with the dog giving all a good sniff prior to moving to the next piece. It started to rain but undeterred from their mission they continued on. I was sitting in a window seat located near the front, right hand side of the plane and I therefore had a wonderful view of the events unfolding below me.

As time passed the inquisitive duo arrived at one of my bags. Ignoring the neighbouring suitcase, the dog became most excited and agitated upon reaching my bag. Sensing that this was possibly the luggage of a drug smuggler or terrorist, the dog handler opened the side pocket where the dog had indicated a very strong interest. The security people flocked to this point of interest to get a better view of the unfolding drama. In short order an interested and animated group surrounded my bag. The dog’s body language clearly indicated that he was onto something major as the handler reached into that side compartment to pull out the offending item. From my elevated position in the plane, I was able to clearly see what was transpiring.

In that side compartment was a large box of deodorant tampons that was about three quarters full. There was also a box of chocolates I had bought as a gift and it had been securely tucked into my checked baggage for safekeeping. As the dog handler pulled the box of tampons out, it appeared to me that the dog lunged at it and grabbed it with his teeth. The box was flimsy enough and had been squashed in the side pocket for some time. As a result it was already half open. The dog handler made a grab for the box and successfully wrested it from the dog’s mouth but not before the box spilled open and about thirty tampons spilled out onto the wet tarmac.

The security team was at a loss about what to do. A few looked up to see if anyone on the plane might have noticed. Of course we, the passengers, were all riveted to windows observing the entire scene. I imagine upon looking up they had a clear view of the faces of everyone at the aircraft’s windows looking down at them. No chance that this little scenario had remained unseen. What to do, what to do? You could see the indecision on their faces. Would any of them bend over to pick up these items? The answer is no. No one did although from the hand gestures there was definitely some discussion in this regard. They finally opted to disregard the fallen tampons and pretend it never happened.

Following another five minutes of animated discussion, the security people seemed to