Crossing Cultures: Summer travel dreams and nightmares
Our family expedition to Europe was a carefully crafted set of 10 itineraries for five people that accommodated collective and independent travel needs, booked well in advance using accumulated frequent flyer miles. What could possibly go wrong? Eleven major screw-ups, it turns out.
In retrospect the mishaps seem amusing. But at the time the cancelled flights, lost luggage, expensive rebookings and reroutings, discomfort, and stress were anything but funny. In the end, we all got to where we needed to go and home again, but not before enduring a wild ride.
The impetus for our trip, postponed two years running due to Covid, was a celebration of the 110th anniversary of my husband Jim’s paternal grandfather’s cigar factory opening in Heilbronn, Germany. The event was significant not only because the family factory, as with all Jewish businesses, was “Aryanized” by the Nazi’s, but also because the 90+ progeny were gathering en masse for the first time. Tacked onto the main event was a brief visit to Switzerland and time in my father’s hometown of Heidelberg, Germany.
Since Covid, we were out of practice arranging overseas transport, but with considerable effort managed to book everyone’s flights. My husband, Jim, and I were flying from SFO to Heathrow to Zurich. Our sons were traveling a week before us: Eli from Denver to Stuttgart, and Zev from L.A to Bologna. Eli’s girlfriend, Heather, was heading from Denver to Heathrow, where she would meet us once we arrived from San Francisco, before proceeding together to Zürich. We were to assemble by air and rail in Zürich before boarding a train to the town of Engelberg in the Swiss Alps for several days of relaxation before heading to Germany.
Why did I think we could escape “airmaggedon?” I had read the news articles describing summer air travel mayhem and stared at the photos of “lost” luggage mountains. One friend arrived in Athens minus her checked bag. With the infamous European heatwave in full swing, she had no appropriate clothing or toiletries. After multiple daily pilgrimages to the airport, her suitcase appeared. Familiar with the horror stories, another friend went to considerable lengths to cram her ukulele, shoes, and clothing into a carry-on. This turned out to be wise, since she experienced a series of cancelled flights, a night on the airport floor, and several days of travel routed through multiple cities before finally arriving back in Oakland from the East Coast. Jim, ever the optimist, reassured me all would be well. And it was, until we set forth.
The first problems were relatively minor: we were notified that both Eli & Zev’s second leg flights from Heathrow to Europe were cancelled. Eli rebooked readily; Zev spent a long time on the phone but managed to procure the last available seat to Bologna, albeit with a 10-hour Heathrow layover.
After a comfortable flight (including a texted photo of his extra leg room), Eli arrived in Germany along with his checked bag.
Zev, exuberant about the whirlwind London sightseeing his layover permitted, shared photos of a verdant public park, the interior of a cathedral, a streetside food fest, and a parade of stately Edwardian townhomes in an array of delicious colors.
We heaved a sigh of relief. All was well with our boys… but not for long. When Zev arrived in Bologna, wildly sleep-deprived, his checked bag was missing. After an hour in line to report the lost luggage, it was extremely late at night and the tram to the city center was no longer running. He boarded the first of two buses to get to his friend’s apartment. The second bus never arrived, so he walked. The Italian heatwave was raging, and the apartment was 85 degrees inside and extraordinarily humid. He called us, unable to sleep. Several more texts ensued… At 4am he took the only transit available (an expensive Uber) to the only hotel with AC that picked up the phone, checked in, and conked out.
The following day we received a volley of texts and phone calls from Zev. He purchased a few toiletries, cheap flipflops, and thrifted clothing. His second attempt to stay in his friend’s apartment failed, so he remained at the hotel. Despite the crippling heat and humidity, and lost luggage, he enjoyed himself, describing scrumptious real bologna and sharing photos of a shady riverside retreat where he and his friend took refuge. Zev routinely checked online for news of his baggage, but the website simply stated his bag was missing. He purchased additional necessities and took a costly tram trip to the airport that yielded nothing. He was resigned to the possibility his bag might never reappear. At home, we fretted over Zev’s travel travails and hoped the going would become smoother.
Meanwhile, Eli seemed to have all the luck. He sent photos of cycling with his friend along sun-dappled paths in the Black Forest and across rolling green hills dotted with bucolic farms; immense meals of Southern German specialties like Schweinshaxe mit Sauerkraut und Knödel (pig knuckles with pickled cabbage and bread dumplings); a torrential downpour, complete with impressive audio; and further idyllic sojourns in a stunning Swiss ski resort.
In contrast, Zev’s misadventures were far from over. His texts kept us riding the latest rollercoaster of relief and worry. On the morning of his flight to Berlin, the tram to the airport was out of service and lines for the bus were considerable. The bus, wending its way through heavy traffic, arrived at the airport an hour later than Zev planned. He made one last attempt to find his missing duffel. At the lost luggage counter, he was ushered surreptitiously into a small back room where, amidst a sea of baggage, he found his. But he missed his flight, which of course was non-refundable. No other flights were available, so he purchased a $275 train ticket for a 14 hour overnight ride to Berlin with a connection in Munich. The train was significantly delayed, and it was unclear whether he would make his connection. Thankfully, the Munich train was held for the Bologna passengers, and he finally arrived in Berlin and checked in at his youth hostel. We heaved another sigh of relief. His subsequent pictures and texts conveyed the vitality and excitement of Berlin.
Surely, we thought, we had overcome the last of the travel transit hurdles. Eli booked a long train ride to Zürich and an overnight hotel at the airport so he could meet us and Heather the following morning and board the train together to Engelberg. A few days later, Zev would fly from Berlin to Zürich, then take the train to meet us in Engelberg. But there were more travel challenges in store.
Two days before our departure, Heather called. Unable to check in to the Heathrow-Zürich flight all three of us were on, she called the airline and discovered the flight had been cancelled. None of us had been notified. She rebooked on a much later flight out of Heathrow and advised us to do the same. Jim phoned the airline immediately. He spent the next hour and a half with a dedicated but clearly overwhelmed agent. Heather’s Heathrow-Zürich flight was full. Lengthy holds alternated with offers of crazy routing options. It seemed as if getting to Zürich simply wasn’t in the cards. During one hold, we pondered going via the Chunnel. Ultimately, we secured a flight to Philadelphia that, after a 20 hour layover, would proceed to Zürich, arriving a day later than planned. We texted Eli and Heather and suggested they either wait for us or proceed to Engelberg.
Jim and I arrived in the evening in Philadelphia where the remains of the day’s heatwave hit us like a furnace. Our hotel was abysmal, but we were relieved to be en route to Europe. As we prepared for bed, we were comforted knowing Heather was on her way from Denver to Zürich and both boys were fine. Then came Heather’s first text: “Boarded but one of the engines isn’t starting so we’re delayed for an indefinite period of time!” (apprehensive emoji face). We fretted. Heather remained upbeat, appreciating all the movies available while they sat on the tarmac, and the eight hour Heathrow layover that would make her flight connection less challenging. Texts between family members were replete with emojis and encouragement. Two and half hours later Heather reported the flight had been cancelled and passengers deboarded. Just before midnight, after waiting in line for an hour, Heather relayed that she would have to rebook at 5a.m. when the airline phone line reopened. She checked in to an airport hotel and tried to sleep for a few hours.
Meanwhile, Eli rode the train to Zürich, spent $25 for a 7-minute Uber to the airport hotel (he didn’t know there was a public bus for a pittance), settled in, and spent the night.
The next day, Jim and I enjoyed a walking tour of Philadelphia’s historic neighborhoods guided by Jim’s colleagues, with temperatures well over 100 degrees. We were drenched with sweat many times over by the time we reached the airport.
Heather continued reporting from the Denver airport: desperate passengers were battling with agents to get on the flight she was now scheduled to take. Once on board, a short delay… and then she was off, and we were, once again, tremendously relieved.
Jim and I landed in Zürich, delighted to have all our luggage in hand, and sailed through the automated passport control gates using our new German passports. We proceeded to the airport train station. A transit assistant helped us purchase train tickets from the automat. Everything was clean, functional, and seamless. It seemed like Wonderland.
Two trains later, we arrived in Engelberg. It was a long walk from the train station to our guesthouse. Snow mountains and a few glaciers ringed us in, alongside the footpath a river tumbled over rocks, cows grazed with bells clanging, and the air smell of manure and fresh cut grass. Finally, we arrived at a simple chalet-style inn, greeted warmly by the innkeeper in the singsong Swiss German of my childhood.
Later that day, Heather arrived in Zürich, but her bag did not. Like Zev, she stood in a lengthy line to report the missing luggage. We bemoaned the latest snafu but were relieved everyone was in Europe. Eli and Heather reached the Engelberg train station late that evening. Zev arrived the day after.
Engelberg was the perfect antidote to travel exhaustion. For four days, we gazed at the precipitous mountains each morning, assessed the weather, enjoyed the copious breakfasts that included local cheeses and muesli, and planned the day’s adventure. We walked into town on the footpath undulating between electric green hillsides, passing the 12th century monastery, and chalets with window boxes bursting with ivy geraniums. We rode several of the many gondolas in the valley, meandered around on top of the mountains, and then descended on foot past gushing waterfalls and wildflowers. We played ping pong in the garden, pausing to exclaim over a portion of mountaintop or glacier newly revealed from behind dramatic clouds. At night we played card games, nursed our tired bodies, and ate chocolate.
Heather rotated through her few outfits and wore her only shoes. Luckily, she had a small daypack with a change of clothes and essential toiletries. We loaned her a hat and some items of clothing. Her online baggage status never changed, despite promises of delivery to Engelberg within a day or two. When she emailed to inquire when and where her luggage was last scanned, the airline ghosted her. She was philosophical about her lost suitcase.
Finally, it was time to move on. We boarded the train to Luzern, and from there on to Germany. Heather and Zev took a detour to the Zürich airport to search for her bag before joining the rest of us. Then…good news from the Zürich airport: Heather and her bag were reunited. She was elated. The suitcase was sitting patiently with hundreds of others, unscanned and absent any information in the online database. By later that evening, we were all in Germany with all our luggage. We were sure our travel woes were over. Not quite.
First, Eli and Heather’s return flights had been cancelled, so they had to change their routing to avoid Heathrow. They rebooked from Frankfurt to Denver via Dallas. Then, Zev worried about his itinerary since it involved a four-hour window to transfer from London City Airport to Heathrow and the potential for another round of lost luggage. A seasoned traveler friend warned him the layover would guarantee a missed connection. So, after a very long conversation with the airline, and a dropped call at precisely the wrong moment, Zev got on the same first leg with Eli and Heather, avoiding the dreaded Heathrow. Eli had a lower back spasm on the plane that was so severe he needed a wheelchair to deplane from the Frankfurt flight and board his flight home. Finally, lest we be spared, Jim and I received an email the day before travel that our reservation was cancelled. We found out later that our carrier (United) could no longer route passengers via Heathrow. Fortunately, our rebooking was readily accomplished and was non-stop to San Francisco. Despite all the rebookings, everyone got home, with luggage.
Once back in Berkeley, I was grateful to have our transportation odyssey in the rear view mirror. I wrote to American Airlines (our carrier for all but one United flight) about the many ways in which they had gone wrong and requested reimbursement for unanticipated expenses. The online forms were confusing and largely irrelevant, so I addressed a carefully crafted letter to the airline CEO and the head of customer relations, detailing how the cancellations and lost baggage resulted in substantial excess travel costs. I had little faith I would hear back. The family gave me a zero percent chance of success.
To our surprise, we received a call and several apologetic emails from Celeste, an agent with “Central Baggage” who promised to make things right.
And then I had a fabulous dream. Celeste called. I could see her, not on my computer screen, but hovering slightly off to my left. She looked as I had imagined her, pleasant but unremarkable, somewhat tired, with a wan smile. Celeste told me she would need receipts for our expenses. I was flustered, uncertain how to retrieve the correct documents. Curled up at Celeste’s feet I noticed a small cartoonish black dog. Celeste, proffered a very small fish-shaped nugget, and told me I could give her dog a treat if I liked. I took the nugget and reached out to her dog, who enthusiastically accepted the treat. Celeste offered to help me with my documents. She extended her hand, tapped on my keyboard, and opened the necessary files. I was awash in feelings of goodwill and gratitude.
After the dream, I felt so marvelous about my dream interaction with Celeste that I didn’t care much whether my reimbursement request would pan out. A week later, Celeste emailed with renewed apologies and the promise of forthcoming reimbursement. A month thereafter I received a $573 check in the mail, and most of the frequent flyer miles we used for our travel reappeared in our accounts.
