Taking a river cruise in Europe has always been on my wife’s
bucket list.
We planned one two years ago but had to cancel at the last
minute because we sold our house and the buyer wanted to close at about the
same time.
So we rebooked and finally made it this year. We did the Rhine on Viking.
Our original itinerary had us flying on United from Orlando
to Dulles, followed by a direct flight to Brussels that evening arriving at
7:15 AM the next day. We would be picked up in Brussels and whisked away to our
hotel in Bruges. A couple of days in Bruges, then to Amsterdam for a couple
more days, and then on to the Viking ship. Then on the Rhine to Basel and fly
back home.
That was the plan.
Here’s what happened instead.
Our flight from Orlando was delayed by thunderstorms. We sat
on the tarmac for five hours. At one
point, the pilot came on to say our plane had mysteriously been dropped from
the queue by air traffic control – the first time ever in his entire career – and
that United and the controllers were trying to sort things out. Not a good start.
We missed our connecting flight to Brussels, but United
courteously texted us while we were still on the tarmac in Orlando that our
connecting flight had already departed. Thanks,
United.
While we waited to take off, we called Viking and they rebooked
us on a British Airways flight that night from Dulles, but to Heathrow, and
then from Heathrow to Brussels the next day.
PITA but hey, we were on our way!
United said they would try to get our bags, checked in
Orlando, over to the BA flight. But they
didn’t. However, at least we had a
flight and would eventually get to Brussels, even if our bags would take a bit
longer to catch up.
Okay, so maybe we got the last and worst possible seats on
the BA flight, against the bulkhead against the bathroom, no room to recline,
but we were on a plane going the right direction.
On the BA flight that night – which didn’t leave until
around midnight – they had a dinner service with wine. Nice. Except my wife
knocked over her white wine into her lap and partly into mine. It wasn’t a
total catastrophe; we had worn jeans to travel and always packed a couple of
days’ extra clothes in our carry-on bags. If need be, I could change.
Her jeans were soaked; mine were only partially wet, so I
figured mine would dry overnight. And, to be candid, it’s not like it was the
first time someone, or me, had spilled a drink on me.
Although I was usually having much more fun when it happened.
She got it much worse than me. She was drenched. They brought her a sleeper set from first
class to wear while her jeans dried. She
changed into the sleeper pants, I stayed in my jeans.
The next morning, my jeans were completely dry. Until the
breakfast service on board.
That’s when the flight attendant dropped a full glass of
orange juice into my lap. Directly into my lap. Dead center. Which, at my age
you can’t ignore – it looks like an inside job.
So now I have dried wine on one leg and fresh orange juice
and pulp in the middle.
I had no choice but to change into a spare pair of pants
from my carry on, which is a nifty trick in an airplane bathroom. (This proved
to me once again that anyone claiming to be a member of the “mile-high club” is
either lying or both parties were world-class contortionists.)
The attendants were so sorry they brought my wife a really
nice goody bag from first class. I got
soaked and she got a great gift. Go
figure.
That morning we landed safely, but late, into Heathrow. I
don’t know if anyone else has had this experience, but Heathrow is the only
airport I know where they don’t announce your next flight’s gate until 15
minutes before boarding.
Plus, you have to go through security screening all over
again. Which, by itself, is no big deal.
Except that they select every 4th or 5th passenger’s
carry-on bags for detailed inspection by pulling everything out on a table,
running an explosives scan, and examining everything.
Guess who was 4th or 5th? That’s
right, me. And we’re running tight on
making our next flight.
So while I’m frantically looking over my shoulder to see which
gate we should be running toward, and trying not to look nervous like a
potential terrorist, the security woman is calmly poring over my stuff and
assuring me my next flight’s probably delayed anyway.
Which it was, continuing our streak.
We do arrive in Brussels in the late afternoon, instead of
early that morning. Of course our checked bags aren’t there; we have to file a
claim for those. The claim agent tells
us our bags are still at Dulles, but should be on the next United flight
arriving at 7:15 AM the next day, at which time they will be brought to our
hotel in Bruges.
We can deal with that. Just one day, right? Then we’re back on track. Still, because we
got in so late, timed perfectly to hit rush hour in Brussels, it takes our
driver a couple of hours to get to Bruges; we get there and checked into our
hotel about 6 PM.
The next day, when our bags haven’t arrived, big surprise,
the Viking rep calls on our behalf and learns that our bags are probably now
headed toward London Heathrow and there’s a possibility that one bag will be
coming on one flight and the other on another. He advises the airline that if
our bags aren’t delivered that evening, they will have to go to our hotel in
Amsterdam, because that’s where we’ll be the next day.
We have started to exhaust our emergency clothes in our
carry-ons. We had our jeans cleaned at
the hotel in Bruges – only about 30 Euros for laundering two pairs of
jeans – but underwear has started to become an issue for me. I had tossed my wine and orange-juice pair –
imagine housekeeping’s surprise find – and I wasn’t ready to go commando, clean
jeans or not. In Europe or not. I was down to my last clean pair.
Fortunately, because our bags had been lost for more than 24
hours, we were allowed to buy some more stuff and be reimbursed by the
airlines. My wife bought some things. And
the supermarket down the street from our hotel sold men’s underwear.
When we leave for Amsterdam our bags remain in transit.
We tour Amsterdam that day. It’s gray and rainy. Still, I
have a pack of overpriced spare underwear so I’m calm. When we get back from
dinner that night the concierge has great news – our bags are in Amsterdam!
But there’s a problem. They can’t release the bags without a
customs form.
The airline agent suggests we come to the Amsterdam airport
to sign the forms and retrieve our bags. My wife convinces them to e-mail the
form to the concierge, we will complete it and fax it back. They give us 15
minutes to do this. They do it, she completes it, the hotel faxes it back.
At 11:05 PM that night our bags finally arrive at our
room. We wept in joy.
Not really, but we were truly relieved to see our luggage at
last. That’s a really good thing because
I’ve just discovered that men’s underwear marked “medium” must mean something
entirely different in Europe than the States. European men must have hips like
little girls. I don’t.
The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful by
comparison.
How could that be? It was Europe! It was a river cruise on the Rhine – castles,
touring historic cities, experiencing European culture!
Yes, it was all that. And in fairness to Viking, the river
boat was modern and beautiful, the staff exceptionally friendly and helpful,
and the food was terrific. Since we had a beverage package, drinks were awesome
and generous and the bartenders amazing.
Would I do it again?
I don’t think so. Not my kind of
vacation. Not Viking’s fault.
When I’m on vacation, I’m not fond of rigid schedules or set
seating for meals. On the boat breakfast is 7-9:30; dinner at precisely 7 PM.
Tours start at 8:30 or 9 AM, and you’re back on the boat around noon, in time
for lunch, which ends at 2 PM. Then you have about four hours of “free” time –
with absolutely nothing to do, no place to go, and no on-board diversions,
until the bar opens.
What about the tours? Didn’t we get to tour amazing places?
We did, but not the way I hoped. It was more like elementary
school field trips. Only you didn’t need
a permission slip from your parents or a PBJ wrapped in wax paper and an apple
for lunch. Other than that, it brought
back memories of chaperones keeping everyone in line.
Let me start by saying I’m not a paddle-following kind of
guy. Especially now that I’m an adult. I’m
more a get me to the city, give me a map with what I should see, tell me when I
have to be back, and let me wander around on my own kind of guy. I’m all grown up.
But all the guided tours on Viking had you follow a guide
who held a paddle aloft to keep everyone in the group together, like ducklings.
Plus, everyone had to wear a “quiet box” with an ear plug to
hear what the guide was saying.
Which in Belgium is how much they hate the French, and also stupid
and lazy French-speaking Belgians who refuse to learn Flemish, and the Spanish,
and, being a proudly Catholic nation, how awful and disruptive the Protestant
Reformation was.
Which in Amsterdam is how rich it became because educated
and wealthy Jews relocated there when the Catholics and their Inquisition chased them out
of other parts of Europe, and how so many Jews were later saved from the Nazis
by the brave locals. (Cue Anne Frank story.)
Which in Brussels is how proud they are to have the EU
headquartered there, the great work the EU is doing passing numerous wonderful
laws and regulations about everything, and how the Brits are misguided idiots
for voting to leave the EU.
And which in Germany is how most of the buildings including
cathedrals had to be wholly or partially rebuilt following the devastating
bombings by the Allies in WWII, so most of what you see is a recreation. (I
couldn’t help thinking: well, if you hadn’t started the war in the first place
the Allies wouldn’t have bombed you. Just saying …)
Oh, and almost all the “medieval” castles you see on the
Rhine are actually restorations from the 1800s during the “romantic” movement.
Okay. We did see a lot of cathedrals. We did see some
interesting cities. And as I said before, the Viking boat, staff, and food were
all excellent.
Except for the next-to-last night on the boat.
Before we could go to dinner, the hotel manager and program
director for this boat assembled all the guests to pitch us on leaving
additional gratuities for themselves and the rest of the staff. They paraded members of the restaurant staff,
including the dishwashers, the wait staff, the bar staff, and told us not to
forget the housekeepers as well.
The only thing missing was pictures of their kids with outstretched
hands.
We were advised there would be envelopes in our rooms for
the program director, and we could get additional envelopes at the reception
desk for others.
It was truly awkward.
And in extremely poor taste.
Especially since I’m certain almost everyone on board had already been
handing out tips to the service staff all along, or planned to do it anyway, and
some people had bought their trip packages with built-in gratuities.
River cruises are not inexpensive.
But Viking’s beg-a-thon near the end unnecessarily cheapened
the experience.
Overall, a European river cruise is a great adventure. For
the right personality type, I’m sure it’s a wonderful experience. For me it was
a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Literally.
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