Travelling is a rather strange
experience if you think about it. You
become part of a bubble. The real world
and your real life pause. The only
people you communicate with are total strangers. Your focus and ambition in life is getting
from one place to the other. Something
that can be to next to impossible as I found out this week. A journey that only has to take 7 or 8 hours was
enhanced, embellished and elongated until it was actually 72 hours later that the
final destination became a reality rather than a far off dream.
Airport.
A word I now hate. Along with border control (having been through it
practically a hundred times), baggage (having lost mine somewhere in the ‘polar
vortex’), boarding pass (having racked up an impressive collection of now just
empty promises) and the dreaded word of ‘delayed’ highlighted red on the board
(you know that hour by hour the delay time will increase until suddenly, ‘cancelled’
flashes up. Hope once more crushed into the frozen ground that is currently North America).
72 hours ago I was rather excited to be
returning to the land of snow and ice.
That excitement has evolved into frustration, anger, tears to pure
numbness. That 24 hour wait I had for my journey home
at Christmas was nothing compared to four airports, two nights stranded in
cities which weren’t even on my original journey plan, sitting on planes
multiple times waiting to leave to be told we have to return to the terminal
once more. It’s the expectation that this time shall be the time we get lift off.
Everyone has their own horror story. Though not going to lie, I did have to bite
my tongue multiple times when I heard people complaining about having been
waiting in the airport for 12 hours. That,
my friend, is nothing. Trust me and the guy on his way back from Malaysia. Though one plus is that unlike not wanting to miss Christmas two weeks ago, the only thing I’m missing is
introductory lectures which I probably would have skived anyway. And it does slightly put life into
perspective. All I really suffered were
uncomfortable seats, a lack of sleep and a touch of mental anguish. Nothing if you really think about it.
I’ve met a range of people along the
way. You’ve got those bitching about
every little thing, trying to place the blame on anything and everything. All they are doing is making everyone else
around them more pissed off than they were before. Helpful.
Then there are those who take out their anger and frustration on the
nearest person wearing a uniform.
Because they were obviously the person who chose to shut down the whole
of Toronto airport right and personally caused you to be stuck on the ground,
right? Sure. There’s the teenage girl sat in the corner with tear stained
cheeks. The parents trying to entertain
two 5 year old girls for hours upon end, drawing other passengers into the mix
(impressive job indeed). The restaurant
manager, just glancing at my face and its expression, giving me a free drink of
coke even though I didn’t have enough money. The woman with her pet dog which
had the power only animals and babies hold to put a smile on people’s faces
which were ones of thunder just moments before.
Then those to whom you say a random comment to or ask a question about
which gate to be at and suddenly you’re just chatting away like you’ve known
them for years. They are the people who
help you forget that you’re on your own and life is pretty crap and just dull
dull dull.
My holiday at home is a distant
memory. Even English accents are already
foreign to me. I feel like I should have
done something momentous during this epic ‘adventure’. Rather I’ve just read over about a thousand
pages of Games of Thrones and literally just sat.
And all of this sounding like I’m
actually home. Oh no. Abandoned the
airport after losing all hope in the air by means of transport after 24 hours
of 5 cancelled flights to go back to basics: four wheels on the ground. Good old Greyhound. Only 5 hours of icy road separating me from
my bed. Though this is me however, so I’m
expecting the bus to not arrive/break down half way in the snow/or simply look
at me and decide not to take me as I’ll surely bring a curse upon the journey.
Nevertheless, I refuse to think that
this disgraceful start to the term is a sign of things to come. It better not be anyway...
Eleanor so sorry it's taken you so long to get back. But it's another story to tell, and a proper good blog post it was too :-)
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