On to Melbourne

I thought it was strange that I kept getting these e-mails asking me how I liked my stay at the Doubletree in Melbourne. I looked at them and thought, but I haven't been there yet. Strange. Of course, it's like some pain or ache that one has but ignores. One does so at one's own peril sometimes. So I got up on Tuesday morning prepared to have a leisurely departure for the airport. I had done most of my packing the night before, I had taken myself back to Alpha, the Greek restaurant near my hotel, and figured I could work on my blog entry for Monday. Then I thought, "Well, let me just get my next reservations in order before leaving the hotel." So, I took the folder out of my bag, found the flight info and then went looking for the hotel reservation confirmation. I pulled the papers out of my folder and stared in disbelief. My reservations were for June 26-27! Now I knew why I was getting those e-mails. But it made absolutely no sense. I was never going to be in Melbourne on June 26-27. Why had I made reservations then and only for one night? I had no answer, but I also had no hotel room waiting for me in Melbourne. So Booking.com to the rescue. I got right on-line, plugged in the dates and found a room. Not the greatest hotel, but hey. The price was right and since there was no need to pay the cancellation premium, the room was very reasonable. OK. Great.

Boarding my flight to Melbourne

I get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I found a nice spot and had a leisurely breakfast - my first ham and cheese jaffle -  before heading to the gate. As always, in my experience, flying on a Virgin flight is as good as it's going to get; and Virgin Australia was no different. The flight to Melbourne was about an hour and a half, roughly like flying from Newark to Chicago. We landed and I headed to the baggage claim area which opened to the outside. The first thing I noticed was the cold. I thought, wow, it's chilly in here. That's because it was chilly outside - about 52 degrees. I collected my bag (next to last, of course) and got in line for a taxi. The driver pulled up and away we went. When we got to the hotel, I gave him my credit card, which he put in the reader. After a bit, he said "It's been declined." I said, "it can't be. Try again." He inserted the card again and this time was prompted to indicate which account, and I told him "Checking" which he entered. Declined again, he said. Hmmm. I thought. Very odd. "Do you have cash?" he asked. I said that I did, but preferred to use a credit card, but under the circumstances I gave in. Needless to say I was a little distracted by all this and got out of the cab.

When I got inside to check in, the nice young woman said to me "I need a credit card to check you in." I handed her the one I had just tried to use and told her that it had been declined in the cab, so I wasn't sure what was going to happen. When she swiped it, it went right though. "No problem" she smiled and handed the card back to me. It was then that I began to have doubts about my cabbie friend. Had he just said the card was denied so he could have cash? I'm just saying . . . I went upstairs, stowed my bags and went off to find a quick bite. Found a little funky joint and ordered soup and a salad. It's when the food came and I wanted to take a picture that it all began. I didn't have my phone. I searched all my pockets, but nothing. "I must have left it in the room" I thought. "It will be there when I get back to the hotel" all the while trying to stave off the growing sense of panic. I paid for lunch with the previously denied credit card and rushed back to the hotel.

I got to the room, rushed over to my things and make a quick search. Then my heart sank. I must have left the phone in the taxi. With all the distraction over the denied credit card, I had probably left the phone on the back seat. No big deal. A quick call to the cab company . . . and then I remembered. I paid cash - no receipt, no cab number, no driver I.D. Ugh! I went down to the reception desk and the nice young lady said "Not a problem. We'll put a call in to the cab company." Which is what we did and were directed to file a report on-line, which we did. Nothing left to do at this point but wait. . .and wait . . . well, finally I thought I'm not just going to sit in my room. So Melbourne has a great tram system and they even offer a free circular route which takes you around the major parts of central Melbourne. So, I did that and was reasonably distracted. I got back to my room as the sun was setting and e-mailed Dan to tell him of my plight. He e-mailed back with encouragement that the phone would turn up. . . but what if it didn't? Coming from a long line of Divenys who have perfected the art of fretting, I just couldn't stop thinking about my phone. Here I was, 8,000 miles from home an no phone! At least I still had my laptop, so I wasn't totally cut off from civilization. I tried to reason with myself that I could survive for another week without a phone, but I was already having withdrawal symptoms. There was only one remedy - food, and possibly drink, lots of it.

Fortunately just steps from my hotel there was a place advertising authentic wood-fired cooked pizza. The place was named S.P.Q.R. and had been hopping when I went by at lunch time, so comfort food to the rescue. Was promptly seated and was given the menu. Lots of mighty tempting things to eat, but I went with the classic - pizza capricciosa - red sauce, prosciutto, mozzarella, anchovies & mushrooms. All your food groups on a pizza! When I ordered, I said to the nice young waitress. "I'll have a glass of the house white" to which she replied rather conspiratorially "We just opened a bottle of this" and pointed to an Australian Fiano. "It's really good" she said. Things were starting to look up. "Yes", I said, "that would be perfect." The pizza was excellent and the wine delicious. I was beginning to throw off my gloom. When I was finished eating she asked whether I wanted coffee or dessert to which I said, "No, but if there were some grappa in the house, I'd be interested in that."  And, lo, grappa was produced. Tomorrow is another day, I thought, as I sauntered back down the lane to my hotel. Twenty minutes into an episode of "Midsomer Murders" that I'd seen multiple times, I dropped of to sleep.

So, dear reader, ended a downright dreadful day; but, so as not to leave you hanging, I shall reveal that the phone was restored to its rightful owner the following morning. But, more about that later.