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Nope, not business class. But Ladies on Scooters with Escorts get assistance to bypass every huge meandering line of poor sweaty people just trying to get checked in or through security. Hours of misery. Max reminded us, and sure enough it was like the seas parted. As good as Gold.

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I was nervous to leave the scoot at the plane door, but in we got.

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Lisa and Max – Paolo is in the other isle seat across from me. I am well protected.

 

All was well, and my scooter awaited me in Frankfurt – but then the Mis-Adventures began. After a four hour layover, we again boarded – this time to Rome…

Lufthansa Captain: “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have landed and are at the Terminal – but the person in control of the docking mechanism is not here. they say it will be a few minutes. (pause) I don’t know what “a few minutes” is in Italy.”

Oh dear.

Sure enough, no scoot. A Tall thin paramedic angel named Francesca pushed me for miles in a wheelchair and the intrepid Paolo finally tracked it down. In one piece.

Off we trooped, found our pick-up, had a fight with him, made up, and sped out to the city – – and my eyes, bleary eyes, grew wide with sights of Roman walls, tall pines and earthy coloured buildings – all troubles were forgotten when we arrived in Campo de’ Fiori…

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