I just returned from a two week trip through Europe with my family. We started in Venice, Italy where we walked 8 miles a day out of neither exercise nor pleasure but simply being lost in the maze that the city is. I ate my weight in croissants and pizza and then rolled myself up the ramp of our cruise ship where we spent the next seven days.
Our cruise took us to Drubrovnik, Croatia (my personal favorite); Kusadasi, Turkey; Mykonos, Greece; and Corfu, Greece. I once again found it necessary to gorge myself at foreign eateries and it gave me great pleasure and a touch of heart burn. The cruise was a blast; we drank, danced, and suntanned our way to each destination.
On our last night of the cruise, we packed up our trolley bags (roller suitcases for you stupid Americans) and placed them outside our staterooms to be picked up by the staff and cared for until we disembarked from the ship the following morning. It was nice to walk off board holding only my carry-on and we managed to be only thirty minutes late for our departure time. As we made our way to the make-shift baggage claim, we found the section that matched our luggage tags and began claiming our belongings. You can count on the fact that we all had black, indistinguishable roller bags roughly identical in size so it was a real treat to search for them. The most exciting part was when we counted only six of the seven bags that we boarded the ship with.
The next hour was spent tirelessly searching every section in the off chance that the staff was dyslexic and put our “23” bag in the “32” or “19” section. Eventually it was assumed that the bag had been mistakenly swiped by a stranger. The staff told us to simply wait there until everyone else claimed their luggage and then we would call the owners of the remaining bags and inquire about the switch. While that does sound like a brilliant way to spend the afternoon in Venice, the big man upstairs (Morgan Freeman) had a different plan for us.
The missing bag was rolled over to us by a friendly lady and relief washed over. As she walked away, something else washed over us: a fishy smell. My mom checked the outer pockets of her bag to confirm it was hers and noticed that her bag was damp. I chased down the lady to ask her why the bag might be wet and as she came over to examine it, my mom began wringing out articles of clothing onto the floor just to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.
Out of all the possible responses one could have to their expensive luggage being dropped into the ocean and then quietly set in the sun to dry, the only sensible one is to ROFL. Which, in this case, became more of a RIPL (rolling in puddle laughing).
That’s gonna go on a comment card…