If you can't trust the people to whom you entrust your life when
flying or sailing, who can you trust? One of our most-planned trips
ever proved you can't trust anybody! For us, that now includes
American Airlines, British Airways, their sometime baggage handler
Havas, hoary Holland America Line and their fairly new owner
Carnival Lines. Even the Wisconsin travel insurer fell apart when
we needed them.
Savoring our new retirement, we immediately booked what sounded
like a wham-bang cruise on Holland America Line's MS Rotterdam.
We'd never felt the cruise muse, but this one went from Athens
through the Bosporus and Dardanelles to Istanbul and Black Sea
ports in Bulgaria, at Odessa and Sebastopol, past romantic-novel
Russian dachas on Black Sea beaches and back out to Rhodes and the
Pyramids of Egypt. Who could resist?
The cruise was to start in Athens, so we let American Airlines
schedule our flight from Madison, Wisconsin, in plenty of time to
catch the ship. They routed us to London's Heathrow airport, where
(two hours later) their "One World" partner British Airways would
take us to Athens. Rank innocents, we pre-booked and pre-paid for
everything, from trip
insurance to Holland America's port-of-call sightseeing jaunts, so
we wouldn't have a vacation worry. For the next few months, we sat
back and anticipated the fun.
Departure date arrived, with blue skies forecast for during the
whole flight. We checked through to Athens our two suitcases (small
for Frank's clothes, large for Judi's and our non-carryon sundries)
and the plane left on time. Our connection at O'Hare was ready to
leave on time, but that's when Hell began its rise. American
Airlines had boxed in our plane with two others. Our pilot couldn't
pull away to take off until they did. It took half an hour to move
them. Having lost our place in the O'Hare take-off queue, we now
had to wait 45 minutes in line.
Ah, you say, pilots can pick up time over the Atlantic. Ours
made up precisely 5 minutes.
Just before we landed, a steward announced, "Please remain
seated unless you have a tight connection. Those with tight
connections, please go to the Flight Transfer Desk." That meant us,
since we now had 70 minutes to take-off for Athens. It must have
also meant most others on the huge 777, because they all tried to
shove their way out of the plane and to the designated desk. "We
must make our flight to get on our cruise!" we implored the
steward. "Don't worry, a flight leaves for Athens every hour," she
assured us.
There's a reason London's Heathrow was voted the second worst
airport in the world. Reaching the flight transfer desk took 10
minutes, shoving and being shoved all the way. There we learned (1)
our next flight left from another terminal, reachable only by bus,
(2) we'd have to go through Security again at the next terminal,
and (3) nobody at AA or British Airways cared whether we missed our
flight and therefore our cruise.
We got to the line for the bus and saw it was 3 buses long, they
left every 5 minutes, and the ride was 10 minutes. In desperation,
still hoping to make the plane, we played Ugly American and crashed
the line. Miraculously, we arrived with a full 30 minutes before
take-off.
Did you know that airlines, not governments, set up and bankroll
the Security line configurations at major airports? To the left, at
Terminal 1, was the 2-person line for first-class and business
ticket-holders, guarded by a burly fellow who doesn't care how many
flights you miss. To the right was the wheelchair line. Between was
a huge snake of what seemed like 500 hyperanxious steerage
passengers, kept in their place by a series of stanchions and
straps. Seizing on a break in the strapping, we crashed that line
too. We were through Security with 10 minutes to flight time. But
we didn't know what gate the flight left from. We looked for a
flight board -– and saw another Flight Connections desk,
which was shared by BA and AA. We went to BA to find out and were
told, "You missed your flight."
But what about the next one? Sorry, she said, none until the
next day. "But our AA attendant said there's an Athens flight every
hour."
Who do you trust?
Okay, so we weren't fated to board our ship in Athens. We'd see the
Bosporus and the Dardanelles on the ship's way back out of the
Black Sea. "Reroute us to Istanbul, our next port of call."
Partner or not, British Airways couldn't change our ticket since
AA had set it up. "You'll have to get in line at the AA desk next
door." We stood in that line.
AA cheerfully agreed to reroute us to Istanbul. "But our luggage
-- can we have it rerouted, too?" Sure, she said and scurried over
to the BA desk. Lo and behold, five minutes after the BA desk told
us our flight had already left, this woman worked a miracle. She
said she'd retrieved both suitcases from the "already left" flight
to Athens.
Who do you trust?
Thinking nothing else could go wrong, we cell-phoned "sorry,
please cancel" to the Athens driver we'd reserved to take us to the
ship. Then we reached out to Holland America Line, having carefully
copied in all four phone numbers they'd provided online and in all
their literature for passengers needing help with airline
screw-ups, lost luggage, missed flights and other emergencies: an
800 number, a non-800, a "24-hour emergency line" and a direct
number to phone the ship Rotterdam.
We phoned then. We phoned later. We phoned on arrival in
Istanbul and several times more. We got no answer except once. That
time, a baritone identified himself as a Seattle answering service
and told us that Holland America doesn't help with luggage,
schedules, late planes or any of those kinds of problems, period.
"Go away," was the message we heard.
Who do you trust?
In Istanbul, despite our qualms, the little suitcase actually
did arrive on our plane. Unsurprisingly, the large one did not.
BA's lost-suitcase agency here, called Havas, was busy and seemed
efficient. We filled out forms, showed luggage tags, and suggested
that the bag had most likely flown to Athens. We were assured,
repeatedly, that it would be rerouted and delivered right to our
hotel next day, as soon as it arrived in Istanbul.
Athens to Istanbul takes the ship Rotterdam two days, so we had
next day free. Our hotelier said they'd surely accept our new
luggage, so we went sight-seeing. Back at the hotel, our suitcase
hadn't arrived. We phoned Havas. "Sorry, it is coming on the
midnight flight. We will deliver it to your hotel." No, we said,
we'd be boarding the ship early the next morning -- though it
wasn't leaving port until 6 PM. "Oh, then we'll deliver it to the
ship." We took her name, phone extension, and everything else we
could think to ask, so we could follow up.
We also tried Holland America's phones again -- and this time we
did reach a live HAL representative -- in Seattle. "Where was
everybody?" we asked. Sorry, she said, but their entire computer
system (including the phones) had been down world-wide the previous
day or so, otherwise we'd have received their help.
"Our computer was down." Heard that one before? Funny, but when
we did finally climb on board the ship, the Chief of Reservations
said that nobody there had any computer troubles in the past few
days.
Who do you trust?
Next morning we boarded the Rotterdam, where HAL's official
Passenger Services representative greeted us. We had prepaid for a
9-to-5 sightseeing trip in Istanbul -- should we go or wait for our
luggage, we asked, anxious to make sure it arrived. Do go on the
trip, she assured us, she'd make sure it arrived. We needn't phone
Havas again or take the precaution of shopping in Istanbul for new
duds. (Remember, all Judi's clothes were in that suitcase.) She
took down all the details about the suitcase, and we felt a weight
lifted.
Back on board at 5:30, we rushed to our stateroom so Judi could
change from the ratty clothes and sneakers she'd flown in and worn
three days. No dice -- no lost luggage greeted us. We phoned the
passenger services desk. "What luggage?" they asked. We asked for
the Passenger Services rep. Oops, (obviously having forgotten all
about it), "Let me check." So much for her morning promises. She
phoned back to report (as if to soothe!) that four other
passengers' lost luggage had been delivered that day. "Wasn't
yours?" Looking out our porthole, we saw water moving. The ship was
leaving Istanbul! "What should we do?" we asked, Judi finally
having broken down into sobs. She had three solutions:
One, she's spoken with Istanbul's Harbor Master and he'd get the
suitcase from the airport, keep it until we came back out of the
Black Sea, and bring it out to the Rotterdam himself when he came
to guide us back through the Dardanelles five days later.
Two, meanwhile we could avail ourselves of the ship's costly
Express Laundry service, in by 9 back by 5. Sure, we could just
imagine Judi wandering the Rotterdam decks au natural while the one
outfit she wore was washed.
And three, we could try the ship's two clothing shops up next to
the casino, one for sportsware, the other for finery. She'd put
through a $50 credit toward our purchase.
The finery shop's stock consisted of costume jewelry, formal
wear, and furs. In the sports shop, we did find a $42 top that fit.
(DAM Ships, it said across the pocket. We found the logo very
fitting indeed!) We found a $48 pair of men's shorts, size 38, that
were just a bit large. And we found a $68 skin-tight dress that
ended above the knees. (Judi wore it once and ran for her jacket to
cover up! She'll never again scoff at those sight-seeing matrons in
teeny bopper dresses. Maybe their luggage got lost, too!)
Sorry, no underwear or shoes either place, not even sandals.
Five days later, that was us hanging over the Rotterdam's side
watching for the Harbor Master. The suitcase arrived, along with 5
chocolates and a sorry note from HAL. Elated, Judi threatened to
change clothes thrice a day to wear everything she'd packed.
One item was missing from the suitcase: Judi's reserve bottle of
prescription painkillers. But she'd carried-on enough to get her
through the cruise, so there was no real problem. We thought.
We phoned the on-board medical office and explained our
predicament. Sorry, an assistant said, they had none of that
medication on board. "Okay, just write us a prescription and I'm
sure an Athens pharmacy will fill it." Sorry, they couldn't do that
either.
We remembered that we had bought Traveler's Insurance from
TravelGuard. It covered just such emergencies. We phoned them and
their doctor promised to phone us back within the hour with the
name of an English-speaking Athens physician who'd write us a
prescription. We gave him the name of our ship, its direct phone
number, our stateroom number, etc.
Who do you trust?
We waited two hours in the stateroom. No call. We checked our
messages later. No call ever came from them. Happily, an Athens
pharmacy refilled our prescription with no hassles. And TravelGuard
refunded our entire premium when, after we were home, we phoned to
complain, "Why didn't you phone us?"
They had tried, just not hard enough when the ship's number
still didn't work (remember, the one we'd tried to phone two weeks
before when their computer was allegedly out?).
Is trust obsolete?
Franklynn Peterson and Judi K-Turkel are Madison, WI authors and
journalists who've traveled extensively to 49 states and two dozen
foreign countries, written 22 books and won 7 journalism
awards.