The Lessons of Lost Luggage
How I got through eleven days of travel with no suitcase
Prologue
About a year ago, I was making my way through Greece; the first stop of what would become one of the most impactful experiences of my life.
As you can probably surmise from the title, or if I’ve regaled you with the story before, everything did not quite go according to plan.
At this point, dear reader, you may be asking why I was even in Greece to begin with. I guess that starts with the unique occurrence of attending college during the COVID-19 pandemic. I was on Spring Break when I found out I would not be returning to campus to finish out the rest of my first year. As you may remember, life only got more weird and disjointed from there. In those early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, no one knew anything about what life would look like in a year, or two, or three, or five. In my most pessimistic moments, I found myself believing that life would never be the same; instead, I would be left with some strange, distorted facsimile of what my life once was.
It was during this time that I decided to graduate college early. I came to this decision for a couple reasons. Firstly, because of my overachieving nature, I came into college with a semester’s worth of credits from my high school AP classes. Additionally, again because of my overachieving nature, I took three classes over the summer of 20201. As a result, going into my Sophomore year, I had the credit-equivalency of my university's typical Junior. Another big factor in my decision was the social disruptions caused by COVID. I did not get off to the best start socially during college, and a pandemic that required everyone to stay six feet apart and not congregate in groups did not help my situation improve. Therefore, since I was ahead in school and not really reaping the social benefits of college, I figured that it would be best to finish my education as soon as I could.
However, by the time graduation rolled around two years later, I was in a much different place. Instead of getting completely messed up in a copy machine, life was more like a new edition of an old classic. I excelled academically and I was involved with a bunch of extra-curricular activities, which, in turn, lead me to multiple groups of friends. Sans a few new details and a couple revisions, life read quite similar to its older editions.
During my final months of college, I had no idea what I was going to do after receiving my degree. Unlike some of my friends, I was not fielding job offers with start dates later that summer. In fact, I had not so much as applied to a single job. While this fact did inspire some minor feelings of inadequacy, I also realized then (and especially now) that not having a job was probably best for me. Theater, as an industry, was still trying (and mostly failing) to find its footing in a world where the pandemic was simultaneously over and ongoing. COVID-19 made producing theater a much more onerous process, and the atmosphere created by those circumstances didn’t make me excited to start my career in the arts.
However, if I didn’t want to find a job right away, then what would I do?
The answer had to do with something else I had missed out on because of COVID: study abroad. Growing up, my parents always prioritized travel. Every Spring Break, my mom would work to organize a trip for us to see a new part of the US. Additionally, through my mom’s work as well as school trips, I was able to see a lot of other places here at home. During high school, I was also lucky enough to visit Italy, England, and Ireland. These experiences inspired a good amount of wanderlust. Like many others, I wanted to see what life was like outside of the relatively small bubble that I had always known. I always assumed studying abroad would be a part of that process. Since, for a multitude of reasons, that had not been the case during college, I started to explore the possibility of traveling on my own. After my initial research, I felt confident that, should I want to, travel would be a good option for me.
As travel became more of a possibility in my mind, I realized I was uniquely situated to do it. I had completed my education, my lease in Pittsburgh was ending, and I didn’t have a job to worry about. In other words, I was almost completely untethered. If I wanted to do some kind of long-term travel, it became clear to me that that moment was the time to do it.
So, I started planning.
Baltimore, 9/2/22
On September 2nd, 2022, my mother and I got in the car and set out for BWI airport. I decided to fly out of Baltimore because it was significantly cheaper to fly out of there, connect through Boston, and then fly to Athens as opposed to flying out of Philadelphia.
After I was dropped off, I was obviously shitting myself in abject fear. I had never flown alone internationally, and I had developed my first-ever bout of flight anxiety that morning. However, in an attempt to calm myself down, I reminded myself that fear was part of what I wanted by embarking on this journey. I had spent a lot of time being safe in my bubble, and I knew I could return to it in the future. Why not take this opportunity to befriend fear? To become more comfortable with something that is completely unavoidable? Despite my fear, I checked my bag, went through security, and proceeded to my gate.
My flight was scheduled to take off at 4:20 PM. Everything was very normal to start. About an hour before takeoff, the boarding process was well under way before stopping abruptly. I knew something was really afoot when those passengers who had already taken their seats were deplaned. Then, the airline delayed the flight. Now, at that point, I was not too concerned because I had a decent layover once I got to Boston. So, I went to a nearby bar and got some dinner.
I was a bit more concerned when I returned from dinner to find my flight had been delayed even more. Now, my layover was looking tight. I could also feel the confusion and anger in the air from my fellow passengers. Nobody knew what was going on, as has become a sort of custom of air travel in the United States (thanks, Pete). My takeoff time from Boston got closer and closer until, eventually, it passed with me still in Baltimore. We did, eventually, get out of Baltimore, and I was rebooked on another flight to Athens.
Boston, 9/3/22
The next day, after sleeping in a complimentary room at a not-so-nearby hotel, I returned to Logan Airport, where I had landed late the night before. It’s a little after noon at this point, and my flight for Paris does not take off until 5:25 that evening. If you’re wondering why I’m now flying to Paris, it’s because, for some reason, direct flights between Boston and Athens only run during the week. While I was originally flying to Athens on a Friday night, I was now flying there on a Saturday, meaning a layover was necessary. As I’m sure you can imagine, this was all very fun to sort out with a gate agent at 10 PM the night before.
Additionally, since I had checked a bag, I did not get that bag back upon my arrival in Boston. Luckily, before my trip, I had invested in Apple AirTags and put one in my luggage. Therefore, I could see the bag had made it to Boston with me. I was also lucky that my toiletries and all my underwear were in my carry-on bag, which stayed with me the entire time. Now, I was primarily concerned with making sure the bag followed me to Athens.
To begin this process, I go to the counter of my original airline to try and check-in:
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m here to check in for my flight.”
“Passport.” The gate agent said, extending her hand.
“Your flight is not on our airline.” she says after running my passport. “You’ve been rebooked on our partner airline. Please go to their desk for check-in.”
I go over to the partner airline’s desk and find no one there. Now, it was a European airline, so it makes sense that their hours would be different from the US airline I was flying with originally. However, after the journey I had already been on simply trying to take a flight that I had already paid hundreds of dollars for, I was understandably perturbed. I was also growing increasingly distressed. It felt like my attempt to get outside my comfort zone was becoming a flash in the pan. I could feel my experiment in befriending fear slipping away. Much like a similarly irrational Carrie Bradshaw in season two of And Just Like That…, I couldn’t help but wonder whether this whole plan had been a big mistake.
So, I did what I always do when I’m in distress: I called my mother.
I remember taking my mother, who was screaming through the phone, back to the desk of my original airline, and then back, again, to the desk of the partner airline before I finally managed to get my ticket. After the agent printed my ticket out, I specifically reminded them that I had checked a bag back in Baltimore; they assured me it would be in Athens when I got there.
Finally feeling some momentum, I proceeded, once again, to security, where I received the most thorough examination of my life. I’m talking gloved, TSA agent fingers getting up under my waistband and grazing places that, in another instance, could have gotten this agent an assault charge, or my number (depending on his demeanor). After getting felt up publicly, I forged ahead to my gate and, finally, got on a flight that was, at the very least, bound for the European continent. Sitting in the middle seat I had unfortunately been rebooked in, I checked the location of my luggage one last time before takeoff. Curiously, it had not moved since I arrived at the airport. In an attempt to console myself, I decided to believe it just hadn’t updated yet. Then, I closed the app and started to look through the in-flight movie catalog.
Paris, 4/9/22
I land in Paris before sunrise the next morning. Then, I follow my fellow passengers through a maze that has been set up for us to get through Charles de Gaulle Airport. Eventually, I get in line for border control. However, the line had stretched far away from the border control agents and, having about an hour until I had to board my flight to Athens, I didn’t have much time to wait.
Shockingly, the French people staffing the airport did not care too much about my time-based plights, or anyone else’s for that matter. It was one of my first culture shocks leaving the US; compared to the rest of the world, we’re much more concerned with being on time. In my experience, on the whole, those living in the U.S. have a greater sense of urgency whether the situation calls for it or not. Faced with the prospect of missing another flight, my situation felt particularly urgent. However, much to my chagrin, my feelings did not make the line move faster.
Finally, I make it through border control and race to my gate. (And by “race,” I mean walk at a brisk pace. I’m already not a huge fan of running as a concept, and I didn’t want to be that person running through the airport). When I get there, I see a plane through the glass paneling but, from the dearth of people sitting at the gate, I can tell boarding is complete.
“Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” I hear come out of my mouth, “I think I’m supposed to be on this flight.” I say as I hand over my boarding pass.
“Ah, yes. Unfortunately, we have just completed boarding and closed the cabin doors. I can rebook you on another flight in a few hours.”
“Great…”
Athens, 4/9/22
It’s midday local time when I touch down in Athens, only twenty hours after I was supposed to get there. I was growing concerned about the time because I wasn’t doing Greece entirely alone. In my research, I discovered a cottage industry of travel companies offering group tours to solo travelers. Basically, you sign up for a trip, pay for it, and then the company books accommodations, plans excursions, and provides the group with a local guide. While I had planned to get into Greece a day before meeting with the group, the meeting time was now getting very close.
To add insult to the injury that was my newly-imposed time crunch, my AirTag indicated that my luggage had, in fact, not made it to Athens with me. Similarly to when my mother doesn’t follow the GPS because she “knows a better way,” I was, again, choosing not to trust the technology. Maybe if I proceeded to baggage claim, I would find my bag in the carousel and all would be well!
My undying, Sagittarian optimism did not prevent me from finding myself in the lost baggage line half-an-hour later. Among others, I was joined by a pair of young travelers, speaking on the phone attempting to delay their transport to an Athens Airbnb, as well as a pair of honeymooners trying to make their connection to Mykonos. It was sort of poetic; we had all come from different places, but we were all experiencing a similar fate.
Soon after my introduction, it was already time for my second lesson in the European lack of urgency. The line moved at what could generously be described as a glacial pace. Also, if you’ve never had the pleasure, the lost baggage line at an airport is already not known for its exceedingly good vibes, and the long wait times only made morale worse. Then, when I finally got to talk to a representative, the one I was speaking with took a break and told me to wait for someone else. I remember a particular deflation at that moment; it felt like no one wanted to help me.
However, I remained persistent. After filing a report, I got in a taxi headed into the heart of Athens.
The rest of that first evening was fascinating. I was jet-lagged, in days-old clothing, and experiencing a new culture all while getting to know sixteen strangers. Ironically enough, the trip was shaping up like one of those Ancient Greek plays I read in college. After manifesting a unique adventure for myself, I, like Oedipus or Medea, found myself in the throes of a unique experience that looked nothing like I thought it would. Maybe Sophocles was onto something.
Athens, 5/9/22
The next day, I watched as my luggage embarked on its own European excursion. Before ending up in Athens, I could see on the map that it had made a pit stop in Amsterdam. Absolute radio silence from both airlines, by the way.
Meanwhile, I was also trying to be present in my travels. I had spent the day exploring the Acropolis, walking around the old city of Athens, and eating souvlaki in the same Lady Gaga t-shirt I had been wearing for three days.
The next day, we were scheduled to board a ferry bound for Paros, an island in the Cyclades. Even though I could see my bag had arrived in Athens, I got no notification from the airline saying as much. I knew that I wouldn’t return to Athens until the end of my trip, so, if I wanted to try and retrieve my bag, this would be my last chance until then. So, I got in a taxi.
I get to the airport and, after a quick stop at the information desk, I’m let back into baggage claim before proceeding to the lost luggage line. It’s around 10 PM, so the airport is considerably less busy.
“Hi! I arrived yesterday and my luggage did not make it here with me. I filed a report, but I can see it has made it here.” I explain, giving my documentation over to the representative.
The Greek woman takes my papers and enters some things into her computer.
“Your bag is not in our system.”
“But I have a tracking device saying it’s at this airport.”
“Well, if it is, we have not processed it.”
“Okay,” I say, desperately trying not to freak the fuck out, “is there any way we can locate it?”
“You’re welcome to look around for it.”
She then gestures out towards the luggage carousels. I notice the piles of luggage strewn about between them. I begin to look through them, but I am unable to find my suitcase. Another lesson: in situations like these, it’s an advantage to have brightly colored luggage.
“My bag is not in any of those piles.” I say after returning to the desk.
“There’s one other place you can check. Go wait over there.”
So, I wait another fifteen minutes. During that time, deciding to make the laissez faire attitude work for me, I remember looking over some partitions, trying to find any sign of my luggage. Finally, a man in uniform comes, takes me down a level, and leads me to a set of double doors in the bowels of the Athens airport. It’s sketchy, but what have I got to lose?
I walk into the room and am immediately amazed. Hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of luggage sit in a room that has to be a quarter mile long. The expected rows of suitcases are joined by an innumerable number of golf bags, pet carriers, and even strollers. About halfway through the room sit three people. There are two security guards, one of whom smokes a cigarette while the other flirts with the third person, a beautiful woman typing on a computer. I try my best to comb through the room, but, again, it’s quite large, and looking for my black suitcase among all the others feels like looking for a specific drop of water in a large pond.
After about fifteen minutes, the woman finally takes pity on me, asking, “Is there anything you’re looking for?”
“Yes, I flew in on [Airline] and I’m looking for my luggage.”
“All their lost luggage is over there. When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday.”
She looks surprised. “Oh, your luggage wouldn’t be down here. You’ll have to talk to my colleagues upstairs. This is all the luggage that we’ve had over one hundred and forty-five days.”
One hundred and forty-five days!
I find myself at another dead end. It’s almost midnight at this point, and, knowing I have to wake up early to catch the ferry tomorrow, I, once again, find myself in a taxi headed for my hotel in Athens, finally internalizing the fact that I would not have my luggage for the rest of the trip.
That process of internalization really helped. My situation was not ideal, but what’s the point of getting mired in what had happened? It was already done. The bag was gone. Probably temporarily, but maybe forever. Firstly, I was incredibly lucky that there was nothing irreplaceable in there. Sure, it would have been something of a personal tragedy to lose my khaki Ralph Lauren jacket or my rainbow tie-dyed hemp hat, but they were just clothes. Miranda Priestly might take issue with my saying this, but it was just stuff. Whether I was conscious of it or not, similarly to how I realized I had a unique opportunity in being untethered and booking the trip, this whole situation had presented another unique opportunity: to surrender.
Luckily, I found myself in an opportune position to surrender. Firstly, I felt so incredibly lucky to be able to explore a new country. And, if you’ve ever been there, you probably know that Greece, with its beautiful natural landscapes and exquisite food, makes it quite easy to be grateful for your surroundings.
I also realized how rare it was to come into contact with sixteen strangers, all of whom I may not have met otherwise. I got to hear about their careers and the places they lived. One was a nurse from Cleveland, another a brand strategist from Iowa, and there was also a real estate agent from Florida. I learned what had brought them to the trip and got to relate to them in that way. There were multiple times when, in our conversations, one of them would say, “I don’t know how you’re staying so calm” regarding my bag, but it mainly had to do with rooting myself in those positive aspects of the life around me. Allowing my gratitude for those blessings to prevail over any sense of loss I was also feeling was essential to my staying sane.
It also helped that, the day after I scoured the basement of the Athens airport, our ferry to Paros was delayed, thus giving me a chance to buy a new mini-wardrobe before my journey across the Cyclades. Looking back now, though, perhaps that opportunity to acquire some new clothing only came as a result of my acceptance of the situation. It could have also been a coincidence; or, as I’ve been thinking more often whenever I’m presented with a binary, maybe a little bit of both.
Either way, I stopped looking at my luggage on the map for a while. I knew I would come back through Athens to reach my next destination, and I was confident my bag would be waiting there for me. Or so I thought…
In the meantime, I focused on enjoying my time in Paros. I got to swim in the Aegean Sea, take a cooking class, and dance in a Greek nightclub. After a couple days in Paros, we went to Naxos, where I got to hike through the countryside, visit the ruins of a temple dedicated to Apollo, and solo-run a kilo of lamb.
While I was on Naxos, curiosity killed the cat, and I checked on my bag, expecting for it to still be in the Athens airport. Imagine my surprise seeing it come up in Paros. How could this be, you may ask? Well, when I first filed that my luggage had been lost, I told the agent that I would only be in Athens for two days before going to Paros. While she had asked for the address of my hotel in Athens, she had never asked about my accommodations in Paros. I assume that, once the bag had been processed, they sent it to the Paros airport, thinking I would be there to pick it up. Now, somewhere in here, an email or a phone call would have really helped and clarified the entire situation but, alas, I was not so lucky.
Paros, 13/9/22
I awoke that morning in my hotel. The day before, after saying goodbye to my new friends, I boarded a ferry from Santorini, our final destination, to Paros. After getting breakfast in Naoussa, I made my way to the front desk and asked them to call a taxi bound for the airport.
When I got in the car, my driver was on the phone. Something I will always remember about riding around Paros that day is just how many phone calls my driver took. I ended up being in her car for about an hour and a half and, in that time, I’m going to say she made at least thirty phone calls.
However, in a lull between her numerous phone conversations, we got to talking. I assume I piqued her interest when she saw I didn’t have any bags with me.
“How long have you been in Greece?” She asked.
“About ten days.” I replied.
“Oh, that’s a good amount of time. And now you’re going home?”
“No, actually. My luggage has been lost my entire trip and I’m going to pick it up.”
“Oh, really?’
Then, I proceeded to regale her with a more fresh account of the story you’ve now read.
“Give me a minute.” She told me in her thick Greek accent.
She made a couple more phone calls that I could not understand.
“Good news. I got my brother to cover a ride from the ferry port so I can wait for you at the airport and drive you back.”
She proved me wrong; someone did want to help me.
“Oh my goodness, thank you so much!” I replied.
We spent the rest of the ride talking about Paros. She had grown up there and had a lot of knowledge about the island. Completely unrelated, but if I were to cast a movie telling this story, or a movie telling the story of her life, which would probably prove much more intriguing, Captain Sandy Yawn of Below Deck: Mediterranean fame would play her.
It’s pretty anticlimactic once I reach my destination. The Paros airport is orders of magnitude smaller than its Athenian counterpart, so there were not many places for my suitcase to hide. After giving the staff a piece of paper with my file number on it, they immediately brought the bag out to me and claimed they had tried to get in contact with me.
It had taken eleven days, but I finally got my bag back.
It’s a funny story now but, like many others, it seldom felt that way in the moment. Looking back, though, I realize how that entire ordeal really prepared me for the rest of my travels. It was not the last time an airline would lose my luggage, and it certainly wasn’t the last time one of my flights would be canceled. In fact, the longer I traveled, the more opportunity I gave for new problems to arise. I got on trains headed in the wrong direction, encountered challenging language barriers, and contracted debilitating mystery illnesses. Again, much like those Ancient Greek heroes, I had to face the reality of the prophecy that had been told for me. However, losing my luggage taught me that, while everything will not be absolutely perfect in every moment, that doesn’t have to tarnish the entirety of my experience. Sure, there were those moments of extreme frustration but, a year later, I’m enduringly proud of myself for not allowing that frustration to overtake me. I surrendered myself to what my circumstances were rather than getting upset at what they “should” have been.
More than just offering a lesson on surrender, losing my luggage showed me just how strong and resourceful I can be. While I was in daily correspondence with my mother about the situation, when the airlines had no information for either of us, I was the one who located my bag. I was also the one who found a store to buy new clothes. Hell, I even made my way through a fucking island chain in the Aegean Sea to get my luggage back. Navigating all of that led me to a deeper trust in myself. I faced fear, figured out how to handle it, and came through on the other side. And, once I found that deeper trust in myself, life became a lot less scary.2
I’m reminded of a quote I read recently. In his book, And the Category Is…, Ricky Tucker, reflecting upon his decision to take his first vogue class, writes, “I believe we’re divinely rewarded for taking risks and making space for new experiences to move it.” In booking this trip, and remaining committed to it when times got tough, I took many risks. And, without a doubt, I reaped the divine rewards for taking them.
Because what the fuck else was there to do that summer?
I am also aware of my innumerable privileges, all of which worked together to make this experience less scary.
Awesome!!!