Why I don't Check Luggage on a Plane

The past year has been a long and challenging year. Because of that I’m convinced I need to do an epic trip overseas as a giant reward for surviving the last few months. Plus, I am in DESPERATE need of a few stamps in my passport. For those of you who are not aware, I LOVE to travel, specifically overseas. It’s my addiction.

 Needless to say, the trip is planned, reserved, and set to go except for the minor details of buying plane tickets. All in good time. I also will be traveling as light as possible for this two week excursion to avoid checking any luggage.

While paying the astronomical fees is not something I want to do, I’ll also be traveling on trains and public transportation making it difficult to haul around giant luggage. What really convinces people is the truth as to why I have not checked luggage in the last 8 years when traveling to any destination; specifically overseas.  Here is the full, long winded version of what led to this strange quirk of mine and the adventure attached to it.

About 8 years ago (give or take a few) I convinced a good friend of mine that we should go to Italy. It had been a huge goal of mine, Janine spoke Italian, and it wasn’t too difficult to convince her to go with me on a two week trip through Europe. Another friend of ours decided to come along, so the three of us planned to tour Italy, France, and Spain. Our plan had been to hop from city to city on trains, so we’d back pack through as light as possible. Melinda and Janine headed out a week early, and I would meet up with Melinda in Rome. We’d spend a day in Rome, then head up to Florence to meet up with Janine and continue our trip from there.

The adventure began and I was winging my way to Italy, flying solo, to meet up with Melinda in Rome. On my flights over I had an 8 hour layover in Vienna. I decided to check my main bag so I could wander around the city between flights and kill time. I’d checked my baggage the previous year going to Paris and had no trouble, so why should this be any different? So I checked everything, but retained my purse with the basic essentials (money stuff, passport, jacket, brush, toothbrush, etc).

I had no trouble with the flights, wandered through Vienna for a few hours, and made it to Rome on time and ready to fall asleep standing up. Moving on to baggage claim I waited patiently for my bag to come. After three international flights of baggage, I rummaged through the pile of unclaimed luggage and still couldn’t see mine. Uh oh. I spoke with the man at the counter, got a phone number and was told to keep calling. Most likely I’d get it in a day or two.

With no other option, and the fact I was already an hour late to meet up with Melinda at the train station with no way of getting a hold of her, I hopped on a train and got moving. Since I’d been traveling for about 30 hours and was a bit exhausted, the frustration made me a bit emotional during the train ride. However there was not much we could do until we met up with Janine in Florence the following evening.

Melinda and I met up fine, I explained the situation and she was optimistic that things would work out. So at about 10pm we headed for our hostel. After a mix up in hostel locations, we finally found ours only to discover that they had to move us to a shared room. We walked into a room of 10 bunk beds filled with 7 college guys playing cards.  Not exactly what we expected to find. We said hello, dropped our bedding on the available beds and quickly made for the bathroom.  What could we do in a foreign country where we didn’t speak the language at 11pm? We prayed that things wouldn’t get ugly. Seeing as I had no spare cloths other than the jeans and shirt I was wearing, Melinda kindly offered to loan me a pair of boxer shorts she brought along as extra sleep wear. Now, understand that Melinda was about 5 foot 5, and around 120lbs. I’m 6 ft tall, and much more than 120lbs. But when you’re desperate, you’re desperate and it's not always a pretty sight.

We made our way back to the room not sure what to expect. Luckily, the guys were pretty nice even though they were drunk. Turns out Melinda went to the same high school with one of them and struck up a friendship. The others found out about my lost luggage and long conversations (in which I didn’t have to talk much) ensued about what to do now. By the end they were offering me their extra shirts and invited Melinda and I to go out drinking. We politely declined, and our inebriated friends soon left allowing us to get some much needed rest.

The next morning we were gone by 7am and filled the day with our planned sightseeing, meeting up with Janine later that evening in Florence. After explaining to her my predicament, the next two days were spent calling the airport to retrieve my luggage. Luckily, Janine is 5 foot 10 and a bit closer to my own size. Bless her for letting me borrow her clothing while I washed what I had in the sink. She then took me to the flea market and a few other stores to get some basic essentials that I was in desperate need of. By this point I expected that I would not see my luggage again.

And it came true. My luggage never arrived and our time to move on came. We spent the next week and a half city and country hopping, and having a marvelous time and lots of amazing adventures. I bought things as I found them (or could afford them) and didn’t let the situation ruin my trip.

The end of our trip became a bit complicated. I had brought an extra pair of shoes with me in my checked luggage that had been lost. The only thing I had was the worn out ratty tennis shoes that I was wearing. My feet needed a breather occasionally, but the only shoes I found I could afford was a pair of flip flops. The tennis shoes were hurting my feet and giving me painful blisters, which forced me to use the flip flops on our all day walks. Those tore up my toes and left them raw most days. Again, what could you do but keep walking when you’re in Venice?

By the second to last day of our trip, my ankles were beginning to swell. I couldn’t fit them in my tennis shoes, so I was confined to the flip flops that tear up my toes. We were drinking tons of water, elevating feet whenever we could, but they continue to swell. Our last day, Janine’s feet too were swollen and  getting more painful. We drank more water and enjoyed the final day of our trip.

The early morning came and we were ready to go home. Both Janine and I had ankles almost triple their normal size and aching a lot. We just had to make it home and we only had one connection to make in the states. We should have known it would be the longest day of our lives.

Our flight was to leave at 6am. Because it was so early, and we were traveling as cheap as possible, the logical choice was to just sleep in the airport. Not ideal, but we were going home after all. But to truly appreciate our predicament, you need to understand that the previous night we slept on a night train (which is similar to sleeping on an airplane), and the night before that we slept on a night train. So essentially we hadn’t really slept in 3 days and have been washing ourselves and our clothes with soap in sinks. I have the utmost sympathy for those who are homeless and for those poor people who had to stand close to us at any point during those final days.

Janine and Melinda checked their baggage (because we were going home) and I had no baggage to check, so getting to our gate was not difficult. 6am came and went and we hadn’t boarded the plane. 7am came, then  8am, and still nothing. Finally at around 9 am they announced that anyone with a connecting flight needed to see a ticket agent. The plane was having mechanical issues so our itinerary was completely re-routed. Now we had to go to baggage claim to pick up Janine and Melinda’s luggage and re-check in at the main counter for our new flights. When all was said and done, we made it to our 11am flight. It however was an extra 30 minutes late taking off.

We landed in Germany late, giving us 30 minutes to take a train to a different terminal, going through a surprise passport check and another security check point. There’s nothing like sprinting through an airport when you are delirious. We made it to our gate (after being told to go to the wrong gate at first) and were the last to board. But we made it.

Janine and I were completely delirious by this point. Our legs are more swollen and hurting, we’re sitting in the middle seats of a 10 hour flight, and we’re basically laughing hysterically at the plane ceiling. I’ve no doubt the people surrounding us thought we were abusing drugs.  I don’t have much memory of that flight but the vague sense that it was never going to end.

We made it Denver, where three other international flights had arrived at the same time. It took an hour and a half to get through customs and our final flight home left in 30 minutes. We sprinted to security where they refused to let us through because we didn’t have a boarding pass. We explained that we were told what we had was sufficient but security was adamant it’s not acceptable. Again, we raced through the Denver airport to the ticket counter to find that they couldn’t issue us tickets as it was too late. We’d missed the flight. By now we’re done. I’m ready to sit on the ground and burst into tears right there, and Melinda and Janine look like they too are about to cry too.

The ticket agent looked at us and said, “you guys have had a rough day, haven’t you?” all we could do was nod our heads or we’d burst into tears. Then she replied, “I’m going to make this as easy as I can for you.” Bless her! She got us on the next flight to Utah which left in an hour, which should give us plenty of time to get through security.

We walked slow and painfully to the empty security line thinking it would be a quick trip through. Nope. All three of us got flagged and had to be searched individually. While we were being searched, the friendly security guards noticed Janine’s BYU t-shirt and started joking around with us about Mormons and Utah. Then the other security guard noticed how extremely swollen Janine and I’s feet were and proceeded to give us medical advice on how we should have prevented it and what to do now. 45 minutes later, we again were sprinting through the Denver airport to make it to our flight, listening to them call our names on the loud speaker for final boarding. Once again we were the last to board the tiny commuter plane and settled in for a short but long flight to Utah.

With all the itinerary changes we arrived in Utah about 3 hours earlier than anticipated. Still, my luggage was not there. It was still overseas and would be delivered to my apartment when it arrived in 3 days time. I’m not by any means surprised by this. Janine and Melinda head back to Provo, and I sat and waited at the airport. My family was having a reunion that weekend at bear lake. The plan was for my sister to pick me up at the airport, I’d stay with her in Riverton for the night, and then ride with them to bear lake for the weekend. My lost luggage was for my family weekend as well as my European trip. Now what?

I didn’t have a cell phone. I had no American money on me. My sister and her husband had recently moved in with his parents while they were build a home so I didn’t know their phone number, or even where they lived. All I can do was sit and wait and pray they didn’t forget to pick me up.

When Janine and Melinda left, something in my nervous system snapped as I sat waiting at the airport.

I burst into uncontrollable sobs.

And I couldn’t stop.

I tried to find a secluded corner where no one would see me but it’s an airport and people are always coming and going. I finally stopped caring and cried. My legs hurt, I was tired, and I was convinced my sister would forget about me and I would die sitting at the airport all alone and no one would ever know what had happened to me.

This kind Polynesian man approached me and with serious concern in his eyes asked if I was okay. I was sobbing incoherently but adamant that I was okay. Obviously I wasn't and he could tell. After a few more entreaties he gave up and walked away. Not long lafter he drove by me again and stopped, asking if he could give me a ride and offered me his cell phone to call someone. At this I shook my head and burst into more tears telling him I didn’t know the number or where I was going but that someone was picking me up. He didn’t look convinced but drove on.

Now, in retrospect, I should have called my parents and had them get in touch with my sister, but I didn’t think of that until about a week later. It’s all so much simpler in retrospect.

She didn’t forget and picked me up as scheduled. I told her my story, broken occasionally by tears and she took pity on. After I had showered, she gave me clean clothes to sleep in, washed my filthy clothes and made me dinner. Then she elevated my swollen feet with about 6 pillows, pumped me with drugs, and I was out cold. The next morning I took a painful drive to my doctor to get looked at. I then went to the hospital to get checked for a blood clot, but ended up having stress fractures in my feet instead. I have little memory of the bear lake weekend, but I know I was there sleeping in the hide-a-bed in the living room of the cabin.

At last I made it home to my apartment. Sitting on my bed as I entered was the long lost luggage that was the beginning of a very long adventure story. During that entire escapade I learned a valuable lesson: You really only need a few basic items to travel with and still have an amazing time. The rest is just unnecessary junk.

 And that is why I don’t check my luggage on a plane.