We arrived in Toulouse, France, on Thursday to discover we only had two of our three checked bags.
“But we have on file that you have only two checked suitcases. Where are your stubs?”
It was then that we realized we were in trouble. We had not received our luggage stubs from the ticket agent in Rome, and without them, there was no record of us having a third bag.
“We will do our best to find your suitcase. With no tag, it will be difficult, plus…you know…it’s Italy,” says the French agent.
She hands us three “sorry-we-lost-your-luggage” kits (which each include one white t-shirt and a meager toiletry kit) and sends us out the door with a case number and hopes that the suitcase will be found within two days. We are not optimistic.
Did I mention that every stitch of clothing Andrew and I packed for the trip, besides what we were wearing, was in that lost bag? Including the white clothing we had searched high and low for to wear to the wedding that would be taking place two days from that very day?
We counted our blessings: at least it wasn’t Griffin’s clothes and supplies; at least it wasn’t the camera we forgot to take out of the suitcase before checking it; at least we had our toiletry kits; at least we had our swimsuits; at least it included many articles of clothing we had receipts for so we could get reimbursed.
And like stereotypical Americans, we asked how to get to the nearest mall. Right. Now. Seriously, we didn’t even have a change of underwear.
The visit to the Toulouse mall was an adventure. Neither of us speak French, there were no familiar stores, the sizes are completely different, and we were treading on thin ice with our tired toddler. But we went about it with as much grace and humility as possible, found ourselves some Euro-fabulous clothes, and laughed about how we’d be wearing the same thing in all of our pictures for the next week and a half.
After many calls to the airline to check on the situation with little hope of recovery, we fortunately received a call on Friday night saying they had found our luggage and would be delivering it between 9am and 12 noon on Saturday, mere hours before the ceremony. We were cautiously optimistic. By noon on Saturday, we were called by the delivery person to say he couldn’t find where we were staying, so we hopped in the car and met him on the highway. It wasn’t until he opened the back of the van and I saw our suitcase that I actually believed that they had it. We were ridiculously excited.
And low and behold, it DID have a tag. We received our white clothing just in the knick of time for James and Eliza’s wedding AND we ended up with some oui-oui French clothing. Win-win, in my book.
