the Andershalls: April 2010

This month I had the exciting opportunity to travel to London to spend Sarah's last week with her while she attended BYU London. We had a great few...no...ten days together, extended by the Icelandic volcano. Here's the story:

The day the volcano started erupting, we heard on the subway that there were some delays at the Heathrow airport. We figured it was no big deal and things would clear up and be fine by the next day when I was supposed to leave. Not so. Things continued to get worse on Friday and Saturday. My flight was cancelled. Everyone's flight was cancelled. All the students at the BYU Center had the same problem. Fortunately, BYU allowed the students to stay free of charge, and my hotel allowed me to stay (at full charge of course) until we could get out.

By Saturday, we had checked as many sources as possible regarding the probable length of the eruption, and made the decision to head south toward Rome, as that was the only airport in Europe that seemed to be operating steadily. Sarah was headed there anyway in order to spend a week with David, so we started working on tickets. The only tickets available to exit London were for Tuesday morning on the Chunnel. Mark had my flight changed to Wednesday morning out of Rome. If all trains had been available and running, that would have been a possibility, but the sleeper train tickets were booked for at least a week, as well as any other train into Italy that we could find online. After attending the Hyde Park ward on Sunday morning, we decided to just get going and take our chances. We prepared to leave at 5am on Monday and go to the train station with hopes of getting on an earlier train, as we knew our chances of getting to Rome by Wednesday were slim if we left Tuesday. We were carrying all our luggage, including Sarah’s four months worth, and an extra suitcase I had prepared for Sarah to take to our Grandchildren in Rome. (Originally, I was going to take her luggage home with me from England). That gave us five heavy pieces to get through Europe.

After some waiting and doubtful moments, we had a stroke of luck and the attendant released some seats on the early train to Brussels, our first destination, and we were off at 6am from King’s Cross Station toward Belgium. From there, we weren’t sure. But there was apparently a rail strike in France, so we thought we were going to have to skirt around through Germany and Switzerland into Italy. The internet was almost no help, as it was jammed by everyone in Europe trying to do the same thing we were.

I made a decision early on to talk to as many people as I could along the journey in order to get information. The train manager was a great help, and came to us as we approached Lille, France and strongly encouraged us to exit the train there and go to Paris. She had written out several itineraries we might try. We were amazed by the time she had spent for us personally, and thought it best to trust her judgment, even though it seemed crazy!

Unable to get on the first train she recommended, (US credit cards don’t work in European train kiosk machines, so every station required a long wait in line), we departed for Paris at about noon, and arrived there about 2pm, to encounter huge chaos. The line to buy tickets stretched way down the corridor, and there were confused, tired travelers crowding through the station at every angle, hefting luggage and babies and brief cases, trying to communicate in all languages and get information wherever they could. We stood in line for about two hours before finally coming to a ticket window. We prayed to get someone who would give us good help. Sometimes, the answer is “not now”. Our rather inattentive, cell phone answering, disinterested ticket salesgirl informed us that the only options we had were Geneva Switzerland and a small town in southern France called Chambery. There were no trains beyond either of those points to her knowledge, or that of her computer. We asked her if Chambery was safe. She shrugged and checked her cell phone, waiting for us to make a decision.

We decided on Chambery, as it was closer to Rome, and off we went carrying five pieces of luggage up and down stairs to subways that were closed off and on due to the strike, toward the train station on the other side of Paris. Sarah was a lifesaver at that point, as she had been in town a few months earlier and knew a few of the subway ropes. I was near panic. We both felt that we could not get out of Paris fast enough.

On arrival in Chambery late in the evening, we spoke with someone on the train who had tickets to the next town, Modane. We wanted to get as far south as possible, so even though Chambery looked safe and pleasant, we attempted to buy tickets to go one more stop. Again, the machines would not accept our card and asked for 40 Euros in COINS in order to buy our tickets, with the train departing in ten minutes at another stair ridden platform. I ran to an ATM, got bills, and started running form store to store outside the station, convincing each to give me as much change as possible. Still short with five minutes to get to the train, I ran into the train gift shop and said, “Does anyone have change? Please?” An Italian fellow grabbed his wallet and showed me everything he had while asking “What do you need?” I told him we needed to get on the train and that the machine only took coins. “Just get on the train”, he said emphatically. “Buy your ticket on the train. GO!”

I ran and found Sarah and our bags (cursed things) and ran to the stairs once again, down, up, toward the train. When we reached the last stair to the platform sweaty and dazed, there was the Italian again. “What are you trying to do?”

“We are trying to get to Rome by tomorrow” I said. “Let me see if I can help you”. He turned away, and we entered the train and sat down, exhausted and unsure of the next step.

After a few minutes, the Italian appeared again, and said we were invited to spend the night at his home in Torino Italy, including a ride there and help getting on a train to Rome in the morning. He asked us to consider it, but said there was no pressure, and that all he could offer was a couch as another friend was using the spare bedroom. He headed back to his first class cabin, and we looked at each other, ready to make another decision. Sarah wasn’t so sure, which I was glad of, thinking of a young woman making that decision. But as an old woman, who had just been helped by that same stranger in the station, I felt good about this guy, and his generous gesture. After some more discussion, we accepted his offer, and met up with him in the tiny, dark station upon arrival in Modane, France.

He had arranged for his father to drive over the border to pick him and his business partner up, and now added us… and all our luggage! While we were waiting for him to arrive, we got talking and learned he was an osteopath, and his friend a Physical Therapist from San Diego. They had been teaching together in Amsterdam, and were stranded there as well. We just happened to meet up in this tiny French town. We called him the Good Samaritan.

His father, Dimitrio arrived, and we fit snuggly into the car and drove an hour and a half in the dark through the mountains to Torino. On the way, he was on the phone with his mother, and formulated a new plan. We were to stay with his parents in their home. At this point we were so tired we were up for anything, although we felt like we were really imposing. He also insisted that we all have dinner, and that his father was an excellent cook. Mind you, it was midnight. But what do you say to an insistent Italian?

We arrived at the lovely Italian home of Mirella and Dimitrio Gandino at about midnight, were escorted to a nice bedroom to freshen up while they made dinner (at midnight!), and then went into the living room where Eric, the good Samaritan, was checking train schedules for us. We were overwhelmed by their kindness. After delicious pasta, bread, and salad, we crashed for five hours and woke to find Mirella and Dimitrio waiting at the car with our luggage. They drove us to the station, walked us into the ticket office, kissed our cheeks and said goodbye. Saints among us.

We were off to Rome on a high speed train that no internet, ticket salesgirl, or kiosk seemed to think existed, where we spent a delightful day with Sarah and Clint and the boys, catching a flight the next morning back home.