Lost Luggage, or Why Italy Needs a Better Business Bureau
This drama warrants its own post. Dave and I flew from Casablanca to Rome on Monday, March 3 on Alitalia Airlines. Out of all the teeny tiny airlines we have flown in Asia and Africa, you wouldn’t imagine the first European airline we fly to be the one we have problems with.
After traveling since 4 am, we arrived in Rome around 4 pm. As you could imagine, we were tired and ready to get to our hotel to get some work done and go to bed. We got through a very slow immigration line to the baggage claim. Along with several other people from our Casablanca flight, we were left without one of our four bags when the baggage claim carousel stopped turning. The other few people on our flight ended up finding their bags on another carousel (odd, I know), but, alas, Dave and I were still without our suitcase. Actually, it was my suitcase. We went over to the Alitalia Customer Service Desk to figure out what to do.
We were greeted with a line of nearly one hundred people. I promise I’m not exaggerating. We decided to cut the line to find out what was going on.
“I’m sorry,” I was told by an employee. “You are going to have to wait in the line. There is a whole plane that has not received their luggage.”
Yes, folks, somehow Alitalia lost a whole planeful of luggage. I don’t know how you do that either. Then the woman agreed to have one of her colleagues in the office help us, and after filling out some mandatory paperwork, we were told to call with our hotel’s address and phone number and they would keep in touch. They didn’t currently know where my bag was.
We got to our hotel, and they called the airline to leave our contact information with them. Still no status on my bag.
The next morning I was informed by the hotel that my bag was at the Rome airport and would be at the hotel in the next twenty-four hours. What a relief! You don’t realize how lost you are without your luggage until it’s lost.
Twenty four hours later I was still without my luggage. I talked to the hotel receptionist who told me it would be here in twenty four hours. Again. I said I wanted to speak with Alitalia. He connected me to them.
The woman I spoke with told me I was supposed to come down and pick up my luggage from the airport. I told her there was absolutely no way I would spend 100 Euros and my afternoon going to the airport to pick up my bag when they were the ones who lost in the first place.
“I’m sorry, but it says right here on your account that you will come pick it up. I don’t really have time to deal with this right now because we have about sixty people who just arrived from Korea and all their bags are lost.”
“Why would I come pick the bag up?” I demanded. “It will cost me a fortune, and I don’t want to go to the airport this afternoon. You should bring it here.”
“We usually do, but there’s a note in the account that you will come pick it up.”
She agreed to change the note, and I decided to talk to the hotel manager to find out what had happened between the hotel and the airline. Massimo was as concerned as we were about the status of my bag because he had seen this far too many times.
“Alitalia is awful! This happens 2-3 times a week at this hotel alone,” he raved as I think only Italians can. “I went to Paris on them and I never got my bag back ever. I am going to call them right now.”
Massimo raved on the phone to Alitalia. “We had an Irish couple who stayed here one time for a week. Their bag never arrived, and then the airline dropped it off a few days after they went back to Ireland,” he told us while he was on hold. And then, “They say there is a problem with the customs declaration.”
“No,” Dave countered. “We filled that out. I filled that out.”
More Italian raving on the phone. “You speak to them,” Massimo hands me the phone.
“Hello?”
“Your bag will be at the hotel in twenty four hours,” the voice on the other end told me.
“That what they keep telling me, but it never comes.”
“Call back in an hour.”
“Why?”
“In an hour I can tell you more about your bag.”
Massimo, Dave, and I look at each other in frustration.
“You go enjoy your time in Rome,” Massimo tells us. “I will call Alitalia every thirty minutes. I hate them.”
That evening, my bag had still not arrived, and Alitalia was still saying it would be at the hotel in twenty four hours. I talked to them again.
“Your bag will be there in twenty-four hours,” the woman at Alitalia told me.
“That’s what they keep telling me,” I repeated. “But it never comes.”
“Do you want your bag or not?”
“Of course I want it. Why wouldn’t I want it?”
“Then it will be there in twenty-four hours.”
The next morning, the fifth of March, my bag had still not arrived. Alitalia was still telling us it would be there in twenty-four hours. When we were out sightseeing, we decided I should buy some new clothes since I had been in the same ones for three days with no end in sight. For those of you interested, I got two pairs of Miss Sixty jeans, a pink cardigan, a white button down shirt, a pink t-shirt with two cute girls on it, a black t-shirt that says “They say I follow fashion, but it’s fashion that follows me,” and a yellow jacket. We got back to the hotel late in the evening. Still no bag.
The next morning: still no bag. But at least I had fresh clothes.
On March 6 in the afternoon, my bag finally arrived at the hotel. It no longer rolled as one of the wheels was broken, but it was there. I had never been happier to see my luggage in my life.
Moral of the story: Don’t fly Alitalia. Pray for the safety of our luggage as we fly them four more times before leaving Italy. Ciao!
After traveling since 4 am, we arrived in Rome around 4 pm. As you could imagine, we were tired and ready to get to our hotel to get some work done and go to bed. We got through a very slow immigration line to the baggage claim. Along with several other people from our Casablanca flight, we were left without one of our four bags when the baggage claim carousel stopped turning. The other few people on our flight ended up finding their bags on another carousel (odd, I know), but, alas, Dave and I were still without our suitcase. Actually, it was my suitcase. We went over to the Alitalia Customer Service Desk to figure out what to do.
We were greeted with a line of nearly one hundred people. I promise I’m not exaggerating. We decided to cut the line to find out what was going on.
“I’m sorry,” I was told by an employee. “You are going to have to wait in the line. There is a whole plane that has not received their luggage.”
Yes, folks, somehow Alitalia lost a whole planeful of luggage. I don’t know how you do that either. Then the woman agreed to have one of her colleagues in the office help us, and after filling out some mandatory paperwork, we were told to call with our hotel’s address and phone number and they would keep in touch. They didn’t currently know where my bag was.
We got to our hotel, and they called the airline to leave our contact information with them. Still no status on my bag.
The next morning I was informed by the hotel that my bag was at the Rome airport and would be at the hotel in the next twenty-four hours. What a relief! You don’t realize how lost you are without your luggage until it’s lost.
Twenty four hours later I was still without my luggage. I talked to the hotel receptionist who told me it would be here in twenty four hours. Again. I said I wanted to speak with Alitalia. He connected me to them.
The woman I spoke with told me I was supposed to come down and pick up my luggage from the airport. I told her there was absolutely no way I would spend 100 Euros and my afternoon going to the airport to pick up my bag when they were the ones who lost in the first place.
“I’m sorry, but it says right here on your account that you will come pick it up. I don’t really have time to deal with this right now because we have about sixty people who just arrived from Korea and all their bags are lost.”
“Why would I come pick the bag up?” I demanded. “It will cost me a fortune, and I don’t want to go to the airport this afternoon. You should bring it here.”
“We usually do, but there’s a note in the account that you will come pick it up.”
She agreed to change the note, and I decided to talk to the hotel manager to find out what had happened between the hotel and the airline. Massimo was as concerned as we were about the status of my bag because he had seen this far too many times.
“Alitalia is awful! This happens 2-3 times a week at this hotel alone,” he raved as I think only Italians can. “I went to Paris on them and I never got my bag back ever. I am going to call them right now.”
Massimo raved on the phone to Alitalia. “We had an Irish couple who stayed here one time for a week. Their bag never arrived, and then the airline dropped it off a few days after they went back to Ireland,” he told us while he was on hold. And then, “They say there is a problem with the customs declaration.”
“No,” Dave countered. “We filled that out. I filled that out.”
More Italian raving on the phone. “You speak to them,” Massimo hands me the phone.
“Hello?”
“Your bag will be at the hotel in twenty four hours,” the voice on the other end told me.
“That what they keep telling me, but it never comes.”
“Call back in an hour.”
“Why?”
“In an hour I can tell you more about your bag.”
Massimo, Dave, and I look at each other in frustration.
“You go enjoy your time in Rome,” Massimo tells us. “I will call Alitalia every thirty minutes. I hate them.”
That evening, my bag had still not arrived, and Alitalia was still saying it would be at the hotel in twenty four hours. I talked to them again.
“Your bag will be there in twenty-four hours,” the woman at Alitalia told me.
“That’s what they keep telling me,” I repeated. “But it never comes.”
“Do you want your bag or not?”
“Of course I want it. Why wouldn’t I want it?”
“Then it will be there in twenty-four hours.”
The next morning, the fifth of March, my bag had still not arrived. Alitalia was still telling us it would be there in twenty-four hours. When we were out sightseeing, we decided I should buy some new clothes since I had been in the same ones for three days with no end in sight. For those of you interested, I got two pairs of Miss Sixty jeans, a pink cardigan, a white button down shirt, a pink t-shirt with two cute girls on it, a black t-shirt that says “They say I follow fashion, but it’s fashion that follows me,” and a yellow jacket. We got back to the hotel late in the evening. Still no bag.
The next morning: still no bag. But at least I had fresh clothes.
On March 6 in the afternoon, my bag finally arrived at the hotel. It no longer rolled as one of the wheels was broken, but it was there. I had never been happier to see my luggage in my life.
Moral of the story: Don’t fly Alitalia. Pray for the safety of our luggage as we fly them four more times before leaving Italy. Ciao!
posted by Lindsay | 12:48 PM
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