Note: This is why I recommend that you put the address of your destination (including a phone number) on your bag, plus another address label inside your bag. This year (knock on a luggage carousel), we have had no lost bags! Maybe Linda Stasi’s article has had some effect. Here is her recent article in the New York Post. I loaned her clothes, too, but it’s a better story to focus on charming B.J.!
-Chris Spencer
EVER spend two weeks in an ancient, charming city in Italywith no money and nothing to wear but a pair of giant men’s boxershorts and a trashy tank top with the word “Ciao!” emblazoned in rhinestones?
I have.
The story of how I went frombliss in Air France’s first-class cabin to looking like an escapee from the cast of “Rent” is fairly simple.
It started with me finally deciding to take the trip that I’d dreamed of taking since Jesus was in swaddling Pampers - a stint at the Art Workshops International Summer Program in Assisi.
Two weeks of writingmy heart out, along with other writers, artists and seekers. Unfortunately, when I packed back home it never occurred to me thatthe Italians might be in the midst of yet another airport workslow-down. By the time I’d landed at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport, CNN wasreporting that possibly 100,000 pieces of luggage were lost, missing or otherwise unavailable to their owners there. The chances of ever finding my bags? Slimmer than Amy Winehouse’s thighs.
Luckily I was met at the airport by several other students who had volunteered to pick up newbies and drive them to Assisi. They waited patiently while I tried to find my bags. Right. I snuck into an area roughly the size of the Coliseum and saw thousands of bags covered in a month’s worth of dust.
I wasn’t worried. Air France had told me, “no problem” - right? They had promised to find and deliver my bag the next day. Clue: As soon as someone in Europe says, “No problem,” you may as well kill yourself.
Oh well, I’d just have to buy a few things to hold me over in the fabulous airport shops - some undies, a sundress, sunglasses.
That’s when “no problem” became a “huge problem.” Citibank had also decided to invalidate my ATM card because I hadn’t informed them that I was traveling.
A few hours later I found myself in Assisi without clothes, without money - and worse - without cosmetics and phone charger. You mean I couldn’t call home? My hair would remain frizzy?
With the few Euros I had brought from home, I bought apair of men’s boxers and tank top at a kiosk.
Instead of being bohemian chic at breakfast, lunch and dinner, I was the skank at the table in the same outfit everyday at every meal. It was so bad that I was thrilled to find a safety pin. At least I could finally close the fly.
On day three a student either took pity on me or couldn’t bear looking at me any longer and bought me a cool pair of Italian rubber sandals. Finally, something other than my ratty, sweaty giant clogs. Sweet.
Next day a guy in that same class bought me some socks. On Wednesday a woman in the painting class bought me bikini underpants - red, white and black. Someone else gave me a bracelet.
For an elegant dinner the school was hosting, my sock dealer -CBS producer B.J. D’Elia, as it happens - lent me his button downshirt. An 80-year old painter lent me her embroidered gypsy skirt.Cellphones and cameras were offered. Ah, the kindness of strangers.
Ten days later, my luggage unceremoniously arrived.By now, I was almost indifferent. Did I need all that stuff?
To learn more about the program, visit artworkshopintl.com.