How (Not) to get Arrested in Sicily

Picture this –

You’re standing at the arrivals gate at the airport, waiting for your loved one to walk through those large double doors. The first person to emerge is a woman who has no luggage, not even a handbag, and she’s talking on the phone in a language you don’t understand, though it’s clear from her tone that she is NOT happy. A large throng of noisy travellers emerges from behind her. Still talking, the woman turns and attempts to fight her way back through the crowd. As she’s about to reach the doors an alarm sounds and a small commotion ensues as armed officers rush towards her, shouting at her to stop. You watch in disbelief along with everyone around you as this woman, totally oblivious to the fact that the alarm is screaming and she’s surrounded by armed officers yelling at her, seems determined to push through those doors, which are by now almost closed.

What is she thinking??

I’m glad you asked!

We were on our first family trip and had checked in at the airport in Venice early that morning for a 2 hour flight direct to Catania, to be followed by a 2 hour train journey to my father’s hometown of Patti. I was excited! Soon we would be sitting around the kitchen table enjoying lunch with new found family. After a long delay we finally left Venice under a new arrangement, which involved a changeover of flights in Rome, with only a 45 minute window between each. I began to worry. Could they get our luggage off one plane and onto the next in time?

The answer is No, as we discovered when we were left standing, sans luggage, at the carousel long after the last passenger had left the arrivals lounge at Catania airport. The staff at the lost luggage counter assured me that our luggage was not lost, it was being loaded onto the next flight as we spoke and due to arrive at 7pm that evening.

It was 1:00pm, we still had at least another 2 hours of travel to reach Patti.

The staff suggested that we could leave and a taxi would deliver our luggage on Monday, sometime between 9 and 5. We only had 4 days in Patti, we didn’t fancy giving up a full day to wait for luggage and we weren’t sure what stores would be open over the weekend to buy essentials. The answer was No. They suggested another option – wait 6 hours in the empty arrivals lounge, with nothing more than a vending machine filled with junk food.

I suggested a 3rd option – Air Alitalia could pay for a courier to deliver our luggage that night. They didn’t like my chances. I wasn’t going to give up that easily. So I called Air Alitalia to ask them myself, only to discover that their ‘Customer Service’ guy (who shall be known as CSG from here on in) didn’t like my chances either.

I was in the middle of trying to explain to CSG that my request was perfectly reasonable, when I began to hear a dull roar. Hundreds of very loud Italians were flooding into the arrivals lounge. I quickly escaped through two large double doors, only to be faced with dozens more Italians waiting on the other side, all staring at me. I ignored them and kept trying to negotiate with CSG, but the noisy throng of newly arrived travellers were right behind me.

Gee Italians are loud! There was no escape. I decided I was better off in the arrivals lounge and turned to head back through the doors. An alarm sounded and armed officials came out of nowhere, shouting at me. I figured if I could just get through those doors, away from the noise, they would follow me in there and I could explain everything after I’d finished negotiating with CSG. They would understand, they’re reasonable people right?

Wrong. They surrounded me. A guard, a Police Officer and a Carabiniere (military police). I was about to ask CSG to please hold for a second, but he had used the commotion as an excuse to hang up on me. How rude! People were still staring, the officials didn’t look happy, and it’s worth noting at this point that hubby and the girls were still waiting in the arrivals lounge, unable to speak the lingo, and totally oblivious as to where I was or what was happening on the other side of those double doors.

It was at this point that it dawned on me that trying to go back through the arrivals gate at an airport makes people with guns very nervous, therefore it’s most likely an offence (yes it takes me a while). The guard spoke some English so I explained to her about the events leading up to me committing said offence, and she translated to the Police and Carabiniere, who told her to go check it out while they stayed with me.

It’s also worth noting that at this point they didn’t know I understood them. After a while the guard returned and confirmed that my story had checked out. Before the others could respond I replied in Italian, Of course it’s true! I wasn’t making it up.

The look on their faces was priceless as they exclaimed in unison, You speak Italian?

Her translating duties done with, the guard left. By now the crowd had begun to disperse, and I was left with two heavily armed officers who were determined to have me see things their way, while I was equally determined to have them see things my way.

The negotiations began!

They told me in no uncertain terms that I would not be permitted to return to the arrivals lounge. I’d gone past the point of no return. I pleaded with them. My husband and kids were in there, they didn’t understand Italian, they had no way of contacting me. They would be distressed. The officers offered to bring them out. I pleaded again that we were waiting for our luggage.

We went back and forth for a while and eventually it was obvious that I’d worn them out. The police officer looked at the Carabiniere and shrugged, with a look that said She’s all yours. Good luck! and he left.

I love how expressive Italians can be without saying a word.

The Carabiniere told me to follow him. However as he turned to lead me away I noticed the kiosk. Can I stop to buy some water? He turned and looked at me in disbelief. You want to go to the kiosk??

I’m thirsty I shrugged

He sighed audibly and rolled his eyes. I interpreted that as a yes and headed to the kiosk. After making my purchase I dutifully followed him as he led me to a remote part of the airport. If I hadn’t been scared of the guns, I probably should’ve started to worry now.

But I had an Ace up my sleeve. Sidling up to him like an old mate I said, My dad used to be a Carabiniere. And the connection was made. He asked me all about my dad and where he was from. We went outside and entered another security gate, where the luggage is scanned before loading onto the plane. The women in there were practically falling asleep from boredom and they jumped up in surprise as we walked in. I had to put the water on the conveyor belt and the women’s quizzical looks were met with a shrug from the Carbiniere. Eh! it’s water.

Finally I was back in the arrivals lounge. By now the Carabiniere and I were buddies. I even knew his name. He offered to go out and buy food for us, and every now and then over the next 5 hours as we waited for our luggage (CSG was ghosting me by now, so we had to wait), he popped in to check that we were OK.

As for hubby and the girls, they had made a complete liar out of me! Distressed? Huh! They were completely unaware that I’d even been missing!