Episode Three: Odd trousers

Now, back to our story.
(Note to management: No work hours were harmed in the writing of this blog!)


Despite the passport snafu, when we arrived at the gate we found that our flight to Toronto hadn't even started boarding. We breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, making sure we kept control of our bags at all times, and accepted no gifts or packages from strangers, per the TSA's instructions.

Among the waiting passengers, I noticed a couple guys in winter jackets, which seemed odd given our recent Spring-in-March Minnesota weather. They also appeared to be unfamiliar with the idea of shaving more than fortnightly. One was wearing a pair of bright green pants. Little did I know that this would be a harbinger of things to come!

It's 68 degrees out. Do you need to wear the jacket?
Also, what's with the green pants?

The Toronto airport has an intriguing unique concept of checked luggage all their own. Even though we checked one bag each with Delta and were assured that it was "checked through," everyone on our flight had to retrieve their bags from one carousel, carry it through customs, and then deliver it to another baggage check! Of course, no one actually told us to do this; we learned by watching what others were doing.

In Wendy's and my case, on, a woman standing behind an unmarked baggage conveyor saw us passing by, interrupted her animated foreign-language phone conversation and asked us if we were flying AlItalaia. When we replied in the affirmative, she grabbed our bags, put them on the conveyor, and continued her phone call in a tongue we couldn't identify.

We wondered where our bags were actually going to end up, and hoped the people who would eventually possess them would put our clothing and sundries to good use.

The large, mostly
empty Toronto terminal

At the AlItalaia ticket desk, we encountered more long-haired, unshaven Italian men in colorful pants and odd, shiny puffy jackets. Several of them had three or four hard-shelled luggage items apiece, which - judging by their animated gesticulating - apparently was causing a kerfuffle with the airline.

Despite the fact that only one of the five staff persons manning the desk was actually doing any work, their issues were apparently resolved at some point, because we saw them on our plane to Rome - sitting in First Class! Perhaps dressing for success in Rome means crazy trousers, greasy hair and 10-day-old stubble.



One overpriced, mediocre airport meal later, we were on our way to Rome! Hurray!



The delicious treat that awaited us at our Rome hotel! Not mediocre.