My boss, Josh, was flying into Belgrade from Chicago via Frankfurt. His plane was scheduled to land just after mine. We landed pretty much on time, so I figured I would get my bag and then look for him. So I waited for my bag to come. And waited. And waited. The Belgrade airport, named after Nickola Tesla, is a small airport. There are four baggage carousels. We were at carousel 2, and I saw a relatively large flight beginning to gather around carousel 4 and figured that was the Frankfurt flight. So I walked down and had a look around but didn't see Josh. So I continued waiting for my bag. It never came. There were still a bunch of us there waiting - maybe 8 or 10, so I was thinking that maybe there was a whole load that overturned or something. Finally the conveyor shut off and the group began to shuffle to the lost baggage office.
I went over and had a look for Josh again at the Frankfurt group that had dwindled down to only a few passengers. No dice. I figured either he had either missed his flight or had walked out through customs already and was waiting for me on the other side. Now I begin to worry. The flat we have rented is in Josh's name. I don't even know the address, though I know about where it is in town. I have no phone service and no wireless access. I am trapped in this area between passport control, which I have already been through, and customs, which I can't go through until I resolve this lost bag issue. There is no public phone in this little Purgatory. I wait my turn in line for the airline representative.
A few people ahead of me is another American, a mid-thirties red-haired woman from Minnesota, I hear her tell the representative. For a minute I'm afraid she is going to flip out on the guy and make a bad impression of us Americans, but despite being in an obvious bad mood, she keeps it together. The Serbian girl ahead of me who looks like a tall Emmy Rossum is positively bubbly, though. She's dancing around, smiling, and chatting with me in very broken English. I guess it is much easier to deal with losing your bag once you are home, though.
Just before I finally get to the rep. I remember that Josh had sent me the info on the flat to my email. I have Outlook on my laptop and chances are good that the email has been stored on there, so I fire it up. My laptop, as I often remind my boss, is nine years old, so it take a long time to boot. Of course, as soon as it does, I get to the front of the line and have to stand there with it in my hands while I chat with the airline guy. I've already written down that I will be staying at Hotel Europa, the hotel we normally stay at in Belgrade, on the lost baggage slip. I don't even know if I can get a reservation there now. However, I know it is close to where the flat actually is and I know the next flight from Frankfurt doesn't come in until midnight. I figure chances are good that I end up there or somewhere close to there anyway. The airline guy tells me that if I need to, I can call and change where they send the bag to and that it wouldn't be in until late that night anyway. They wouldn't send it until the next day.
I'm bummed, but I've been telling Jen to just think of trying to get around in Europe as if she is on the Amazing Race. It's my turn to do that now and just do what I can. I walk through customs with nothing to declare except for my new distaste for Charles De Gaulle Airport. Josh is not on the other side. In Belgrade you arrange the taxi at the airport at a specific desk. They give you the flat rate to where you want to go and a voucher to give to the cab driver. It's all quite efficient, and you don't need to worry about the driver taking the long way around to where you want to go. (GET IT RIGHT, PARIS and LAS VEGAS!)
I arrive in the center of Belgrade at Republic Square with really no place to go. I find the building where our apartment is, but really have no idea if I should go up or if anyone is there. I end up walking over to Hotel Europa just because I know if I stand outside that my phone will get wireless reception. I am able to get hold of Jen on Facebook and tell her my situation. "Josh just texted that he got there. No. 3 Republic Square." she texts to me.
I went over and had a look for Josh again at the Frankfurt group that had dwindled down to only a few passengers. No dice. I figured either he had either missed his flight or had walked out through customs already and was waiting for me on the other side. Now I begin to worry. The flat we have rented is in Josh's name. I don't even know the address, though I know about where it is in town. I have no phone service and no wireless access. I am trapped in this area between passport control, which I have already been through, and customs, which I can't go through until I resolve this lost bag issue. There is no public phone in this little Purgatory. I wait my turn in line for the airline representative.
A few people ahead of me is another American, a mid-thirties red-haired woman from Minnesota, I hear her tell the representative. For a minute I'm afraid she is going to flip out on the guy and make a bad impression of us Americans, but despite being in an obvious bad mood, she keeps it together. The Serbian girl ahead of me who looks like a tall Emmy Rossum is positively bubbly, though. She's dancing around, smiling, and chatting with me in very broken English. I guess it is much easier to deal with losing your bag once you are home, though.
Just before I finally get to the rep. I remember that Josh had sent me the info on the flat to my email. I have Outlook on my laptop and chances are good that the email has been stored on there, so I fire it up. My laptop, as I often remind my boss, is nine years old, so it take a long time to boot. Of course, as soon as it does, I get to the front of the line and have to stand there with it in my hands while I chat with the airline guy. I've already written down that I will be staying at Hotel Europa, the hotel we normally stay at in Belgrade, on the lost baggage slip. I don't even know if I can get a reservation there now. However, I know it is close to where the flat actually is and I know the next flight from Frankfurt doesn't come in until midnight. I figure chances are good that I end up there or somewhere close to there anyway. The airline guy tells me that if I need to, I can call and change where they send the bag to and that it wouldn't be in until late that night anyway. They wouldn't send it until the next day.
I'm bummed, but I've been telling Jen to just think of trying to get around in Europe as if she is on the Amazing Race. It's my turn to do that now and just do what I can. I walk through customs with nothing to declare except for my new distaste for Charles De Gaulle Airport. Josh is not on the other side. In Belgrade you arrange the taxi at the airport at a specific desk. They give you the flat rate to where you want to go and a voucher to give to the cab driver. It's all quite efficient, and you don't need to worry about the driver taking the long way around to where you want to go. (GET IT RIGHT, PARIS and LAS VEGAS!)
I arrive in the center of Belgrade at Republic Square with really no place to go. I find the building where our apartment is, but really have no idea if I should go up or if anyone is there. I end up walking over to Hotel Europa just because I know if I stand outside that my phone will get wireless reception. I am able to get hold of Jen on Facebook and tell her my situation. "Josh just texted that he got there. No. 3 Republic Square." she texts to me.
The worst travel nightmare is loosing luggage in a foreign country and never have it catch up to you.. Sorry. I hope you finally got it!
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