VALENCIA, Spain -- The airport luggage carousel goes around and around. Who are these lucky people who push through the mob and claim their bags first? If luggage retrieval were a lottery game, I'd lose my money every time.
The crowd thins. The mechanism that spits out bags, random ly and sporadic ally like beads thrown from a carnival float, has stopped. As a few unclaimed suitcases rumble past on the belt , I realize with a sinking feeling that I am the only person still waiting.
A delayed flight from John F. Kennedy International Airport to Madrid caused a missed connection, but I figure my bag will eventually arrive. I file a claim, with the luggage I D code and the address of my hotel, and leave, assured it will be found and delivered, possibly that afternoon.
I wander the streets in this bustling Mediterranean seaside town, overdressed in clothes donned yesterday morning for the flight: pants, long- sleeve shirt, socks, and leather shoes. Did I mention the temperature is in the 90s?
And that it's Sunday? Most stores appear to be closed. The banks are closed. The streets are oddly empty. I stumble upon a local department store and it's humming inside. I thought everyone was at the beach but, no, the town's population is here in this six-story wonder, riding escalators, buying perfume, and spending euros.
I see everything a traveler without luggage could possibly need. Using mime-like gestures (my foreign language skills are of the American variety), I locate a few necessities, just in case my bag is delayed a day: two sleeveless tops, some underwear, flip-flops with a stylish graffiti pattern. The salesperson removes the tags and I exit wearing my new fashions, satisfied and cooler. Things are looking up. I stop for pizza and a glass of wine before heading back to the hotel.
My room has a few basic s: comb, shampoo, soap. For the long flight, I had a toothbrush in my carry-on purse. I make a mental inventory of what I'm missing: toiletries, vitamins, various over-the-counter medicines, prescription medicines, my favorite black pants from Miami, my favorite stretchy orange tank top, my favorite lime green sun hat from France, my favorite . . . well, just about everything.
I had been so pleased with myself before embarking on this two-week European trip. I managed to squeeze everything into a small suitcase that could have fit in the airplane's overhead bin. Why did I check my bag? The hotel personnel nod their heads in sympathy. They call the airport. They call the airlines. There is no record of the bag existing anywhere in the known universe, but they are certain it will be found. Maybe tomorrow. Of course it will. It must.