A Long Layover

Have you ever experienced a long layover?  Out of the country?  Where your family got split up on different flights?  When traveling with your kids?  And your parents were with you?  I have and it was quite an adventure.

Back in 2005 I planned a vacation during a weeklong February break to Italy for our family and my parents.  We were going to spend the first four nights in Florence and the second four nights in Venice.  Our boys were in 7^th and 10^th grade.  We flew from JFK to Frankfurt where we were supposed to catch our connecting flight to Florence.  The problem was that in February, there is a chance of…well, you know… snow.  Our plane was supposed to be coming from Munich to connect us to Florence, but due to the snow in Munich, that plane was not going anywhere. 

So the six of us were in Germany trying to make heads or tails out of the chaos that was ensuing.   Thank goodness our older son was studying German and could read the flight status boards telling us that our flight was canceled in the first place.  We tried to find which line to stand on to proceed on our way to Italy, but there were so many people that the lines looked like bunches.  We were so confused which way to turn.

We found a place for my parents to sit while we tried to sort this all out.  After a very long wait and much pleading, the best they could find for our party of six us were three seats on a plane leaving in five hours and another three seats on a plane leaving in nine hours.  We had no choice but to take them. 

It was quickly decided that I would go first with my parents to get them settled in, and my husband would take the later flight with the boys.  After attempts at horizontal rest on hard airport benches, eventually it was time to board that first plane.  We landed in Florence without incident, then took a taxi to our hotel, which the Internet promised was a stone’s throw from the Duomo.  Imagine our surprise when we wheeled our suitcases down a dark alley road to a hotel that had a sign on it saying, in Italian of course, that the water pipe broke and to please buzz the intercom for instructions.  We were told to proceed to another hotel about a block away.  At first I thought that the Internet had scammed us and it was too good to be true to be that close to the Duomo.  We continued our wheeling and entered the ‘new’ hotel, which happily also had a view of the Duomo.

Originally we had booked two rooms:  a double for my parents and a quad for our family.  This ‘new’ hotel only had double rooms and I was told I would have to pay extra for the third room.  With much emotion and conviction in my voice, and again feeling I was being taken advantage of, I refused to pay extra stating all the obvious reasons you can figure out on your own.  Finally the clerk agreed not to charge us for the third room.  This was all done in my broken Italian, before learning the language properly.  Perhaps looking back, this was one of many reasons why I decided to learn the language better; if I planned to travel to Italy, I needed to know how to communicate better.

While settling my parents in their room, we unanimously agreed to change our plans for the morning.  We decided that we would not get up early to begin our exploring, but rather all sleep in due to the extremely long travel day combined with the six-hour time difference.  I kissed them goodnight and waited anxiously for my family to arrive.  We did not have our cell phones with us in Europe for the trip back then, so the communication was not up-to-the-minute.

When my husband and boys arrived at our original hotel, they rang the buzzer and the new hotel clerk called my room around midnight to let me know my family had arrived.  I slipped my clogs and light blue ski jacket on over my pajamas, and walked the block, stepping carefully over the cobblestones in the dark, feeling the cool midnight air on my cheeks.  We shared a joyful but tired reunion, and then I took them back to our rooms.  The boys were excited to have their own room for the first time ever, and were equally glad to hear of our plan to sleep in the next morning. 

I quickly heard a summary of their Frankfurt adventure, venturing out into the city for dinner. There was no point of remaining in the crowded hectic airport for 9 hours.  They were all happy and ready for slumber.  With the six of us reunited in one country, I could now close my eyes and rest.  It was a long day indeed, but we were now in Italy ready to begin our adventure in the morning.

Tune in next week for the story of the following morning.

Frankfurt Airport...it's always more frustrating when you can't see the snow causing your delay.

The first hour is always the easiest to pass.

Having not slept on the red-eye flight, I was exhausted!

Beginning their 'adventure' in Frankfurt

Finally in Italy, enjoying his 'own' room.

View from our hotel front door, so we were still a block from the Duomo!