Beginning At The End

Better get yourself a cuppa, this could take some time!

Let me start at the end because indeed the finest 4 weeks in recent history have been enjoyed in France and northern Italy.

The end however is dramatic.

On Saturday 3rd October, we headed off, backpacks on like a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to hire a little car and venture into the Tuscan countryside for our last weekend. The hire place, in the posh part of Florence was a tiny office (cars kept in a garage down the street).  There were two middle aged Spanish ladies being served, three outwardly gay Chinese men and a Slovak couple who had just received the keys to their rental.

We divested ourselves of our backpacks and put my camera bag and Clare's bag on a seat and sat next to them waiting our turn.  I took my ID and credit cards out of the camera bag to pay for the car.

We approached the counter which was just out of arms reach of our bags and packs and the nice man asked me for my passport. I spun round to grab the camera bag which had the passport tightly wedged beneath my 50mm lens . . .(some cash and of course my mobile phone) . . . not there. Seriously, in the space of 3 minutes with my back turned, someone had snatched the bag and nobody had seen it. This! From me! Mrs Cautious personified and she who travels a lot. I'd even slept with the thing tied to my arm!

Besides the initial disbelief, the car rental man, very apologetically, declined to hire a car to us without the passport and since Clare's wallet had been picked on the Metro whilst in Paris she also  was ineligible to hire a car since the credit card and passport needed to be in the same name. Devastated about losing our weekend and over 2G of photos (thankfully Paris photos were uploaded after the first week but the balance of the holiday was all in the bag).

So as tears poured, people were challenged, customers asked if they saw anything and me racing frantically down the street in case the perpetrator was still around or had found no cash in the bag and dumped it . . . .the drama began.

Ironically, the car hire office was only 50 metres from the Florence Police Headquarters. We picked up sticks, wiped our tears and plodded down to the police station to lodge a report. This in itself was a drama with the reporting officer not speaking English and us having to wait for an English speaker to translate only to be 'interrupted' whilst a dramatic arrest was made - no not us sillies! Once done and with report in hand, we had to find accommodation. 

Not easy it seems and we ended up in a dump of dumps with no window, no common room no kitchen but hey, it was a bed for the night. We ditched the bags and left the hostel for the afternoon to lick  our wounds. This we did by getting mightily pissed and enjoying fine Italian food.

The next issue was the passport. Resigned that the camera bag is probably sitting in a Florentine dumpster or waiting to be traded at some pawn shop (the police were a little confused as to our questions about the nearest pawn shop in the event the item had been 'fenced' and thought it an odd time for us to be seeking salacious material at a porn shop).

The nearest Australian consulate was in Milan and the Embassy in Rome.  Of course, this happened Saturday morning, Europe closes all weekend and most of Monday morning and our flight from Florence to connect in Paris was at 7am on Monday morning so . . .either forfeit the flights and go to Rome or take our chances.

We headed to the airport for some advice from Air France and Customs but Florence is a small provincial airport and after 3 hours of trying, the booking desk (not Air France but a general travel agency) could not secure flights for us until 10th October. Bear in mind we were both due back at work on the 7th! Devastated, we sought help from the police who assured us that we could fly to Paris where there was also an embassy and that we might be able to secure a temporary passport prior to our Departure for Hong Kong at 1:45 on the Monday.

Relieved, we got drunk again, dumped the dump we had been forced to stay in due to our Tuscan break being cancelled and went back to our favourite hostel in Florence, Emerald Fields for some tea, sympathy, hookah action and a Marengo with our fave Dominican (story for another time).

We were unable to contact the embassy thanks to a 'push one for . . ' routine that eventually had them hanging up. Our travel insurance 24/7 hotline number only operated Monday to Friday 9-5. To make it worse, all the contact numbers for emergencies were 'toll free' or 'collect' which meant that we could not use public phones, internet cafe phones, Skype, mobiles - in fact these numbers only work via land lines and our lifeline had become a  strange communication triangle between Jeffscape in the US and Adam who had decided to go camping over what was a long weekend in Australia and his fiance Amy to provide us with assistance and copies of my passport.

After a hugely stressful day, we slept soundly thanks to white Frizzante and a few Peronis and left for Florence airport at 4:30am. We had no problem boarding our Plane for Paris since there is little border control between EU countries and as long as there is photo ID they let you cross freely via plane.

Paris however was another thing. In order to be sure, we decided before hitting the consulate located miles away near the Eiffel tower and a good hour from the airport, we'd check with Air France to see if I could travel with my passport copy, police report and my Aussie drivers' licence. At first our spirits soared as 'information' said there would be no trouble and that we should check in early just in case. Then shit hit the fan. Firstly, the Air France girls barely spoke English. Eager to help, they provided us with a number that would grant us a "Government Override Visa" which would allow them to enter me on their system but they weren't sure how it worked and didn't have access to international phones so we'd have to call the number ourselves of course it was in Australia. Four phone calls later, testimonies from flight assistance we were allowed through customs, despite Paris being on terror alert and the airport full of soldiers. Grateful, we breathed a sigh of relief and ventured into Duty Free . .  .this had taken a total of four hours and gave us 20 minutes before our flight boarded. We shared some sushi and the best tasting Rose in the world until . . . .

I noticed my name flash on the screen near the boarding gate. Reported dutifully to the Air France rep and was told that I could not board. Despite having been cleared by customs and being issued a boarding pass. It seems whoever checked us in had not correctly entered the temp passport number and a "do not allow passenger to board" alert had been issued. Back to the public phone again (bitch to use) and finally, someone at the consulate named Debbie, gave verbal approval for us to travel.

Back to that number again and Aussies, if you're ever stranded, this is a life saver:

61 1 300 36 126 

These guys can give an instant Aussie Visa number over the line but be warned, they will expect a rep from your airline to talk to them and to have your passport details correctly entered on their system. 

So all is good. Half the flight done across Russia and all the '. . .ezekstans' and down through  China and we arrived in Hong Kong 11 hours later.

Just to be sure, we went straight to the desk and told the Chinese that we did not have a passport but did have ID. Another heart-in-throat moment as they said they couldn't let us board but had a Consulate Official who would assist. This girl was a gem, knew exactly what she was doing. Rang THE number and received all the relevant information.  Cleared and ready to go then Clare was stopped for trying to carry on 2 bottles of Duty Free alcohol. Normally, this would have been put on the flight in cargo but because of our trials had travelled in the cabin with Air France but the Chinese were having none of it and repacked it quickly and put it in the hold. Of course we were the last people on the plane but still on time.

Trust me getting on that flight, seeing the Gulf of Carpentaria 10 hours later mark our entry into Australia and the relief is something I have never ever felt before. Despite 32 hours of flying and transit, I was awake, refreshed, rejuvenated and so grateful that we hadn't had to change flights or be further delayed.

So despite a quick customs check upon my return and being given the OK, we arrived home, exhausted, relieved, faced with the prospect of a lengthy insurance claim but alive, well and happy . . and to a letter from French Police saying that they had found Clare' purse (minus the 100 Euro cash) and would forward her cards to her forthwith. 

So, here's me with my remedy for depression. . . when devastated just eat pasta and get pissed.

More boring travelogue to come .  .with stories about hash splifs, crack dealers, Peep Shows and Organic Veg,  dogs called Woppa, Gypsies and Ferals and more gastronomic delights. Its good to be home but it was wonderful to be away.