The Customer is King...or Maybe Not with Italian Airways?

We’ve all grown up hearing that the customer is king. But after my recent experience with Italian Airways, I’m starting to question this royal decree.

Living in Europe has its own charm. It’s slower, more relaxed compared to the fast-paced hustle of Asia or North America. And hey, who doesn’t want to slow down, savor nature, and escape the relentless noise in our heads? I’m all in for that serene vibe. But, there’s a fine line between enjoying the slow life and experiencing a delay-induced disaster. Let me take you through the rollercoaster that was my journey.

I was flying from Nice, France to Delhi, India with a pit stop in Rome courtesy of Italian Airways. Naturally, our flight from Nice was delayed by 2.5 hours—precisely the length of our layover in Rome. The ITA staff in Nice were as helpful as a broken GPS: “You’ll have to sort it out in Rome,” they shrugged. We landed in Rome only to discover that our boarding time had, indeed, passed.

Now, this is where things take a turn from “been there, done that” to “what on earth is happening?” In India, there’s a dedicated team—let’s call them heroes—who rush you through the airport, clear the way, and make sure you catch your next flight. But in Italy? Not so much.

We disembarked and, in true Italian style, were told in the most relaxed manner to chat with the ground staff. We couldn’t skip the queue to get off the plane, and to add insult to injury, the first airport shuttle left the moment we stepped down the ramp. We had to wait for the second bus to fill up with passengers, adding another 15 minutes to our misery.

When we finally reached the transit help desk, we explained our plight at breakneck speed, expecting a miracle. Instead, we got a leisurely: “You might try upstairs.” They offered zero details about our flight’s status—whether it had taken off or was still boarding. The FCO Rome airport is so massive, you could easily spend an entire day wandering through it. We sprinted past grand duty-free sections, luxury stores, and cafes, only to find out at our gate that the flight had indeed taken off.

The ITA counters were a labyrinth of confusion. We were shuffled from one counter to another, our passports and boarding passes taken with little to no information given in return. One particularly irritable ITA staffer yelled at us for asking questions. With no clear answers and the prospect of being reported to the polizia for our inquiries (signs at every counter suggested so), we were handed new boarding passes for the next day’s flight to Delhi and directed to another counter for hotel and meal vouchers.

Our ordeal was compounded by the lack of our luggage. The surly lady at the desk told us it would take 3 hours to retrieve our bags from transit, advising us to collect them at our final destination. “The choice is yours,” she said, cutting off any further questions.

We stumbled to the lost baggage counter where they confirmed our bags were untraceable and advised us to hope they’d make it to Delhi with tomorrow’s flight. Another two hours lost.

With nothing left to do, we decided to salvage the day. We indulged in an authentic Italian Margherita pizza and revisited the Colosseum to distract ourselves from the chaos. Amidst the enchanting streets of Rome and the grandeur of the Colosseum, we managed to forget the day’s misadventures. We even tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain, wishing to return to Rome—but definitely not with Italian Airways.

In conclusion, I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for the exemplary service standards in India. European service, it seems, has a long way to go before catching up. And I’ve discovered the true purpose of airport fashion: looking fabulous while stranded in a foreign country without your luggage.

So, thank you, Italian Airways. Consider this my royal decree: I’ll never be flying with you in the future.