So here I am. Less than 24 hours until my first plane ride in almost 2 years. Last time I was on a plane was my journey home from that incredible adventure I call study abroad. I went from being on a plane every weekend for 11 months, to not even stepping foot inside an airport, let alone a plane, for 2 years. I could have flown a lot sooner, I used to in fact for holiday breaks, but unfortunate events in my 4 day trek home prevented me from even thinking about planes. I can't believe I haven't written about this story before. It's quite a good one and loaded with travel tips, warnings and "Thank Goodness That Wasn't Me" statements. (Hopefully I can do it justice as it has somewhat faded from my memory).
So there I was. Packed and not ready to go home back to the U.S. The first leg of my journey really set the tone for the rest of the trip, but only do I realize that now. Hindsight can be a bitch.
Walking away from my room in Flogsta with 1 huge rolling bag, 1 small rolling bag, 1 backpack, 1 over the shoulder bag and my computer bag. Needless to say I was loaded down. Plus I was wearing my peacoat, leather jacket and sweatshirt in order to make more room/less weight in my luggage; of course it was warm that day. I made it to the bus stop. Awkwardly got onto the bus. Awkwardly got off the bus near the train station. Walked the rest of the way to the train station with short rest breaks in-between as my arms, back, fingers and neck were already hurting. Bought an earlier ticket to Arlanda Airport thinking I would be there in plenty of time, not realizing that I was not getting on the Arlanda Express (a train meant for travelers with luggage) but the regular train until I saw stairs leading up to the seats. Really this wouldn't have been a problem, actually those trains are cheaper, but with over a 100 pounds of luggage, it was a huge problem. Made it onto the train while sweating up a storm and shaking my head at myself. I mean, how many times had I taken the train? Arrived at Arlanda, exited the train, made my way to check-in knowing I'm was about to get hit with massive amounts of overweight fees. Yet to my surprise, I didn't manage to just have heavy bags, I had a bag over the over weight. So then I found myself out of line and next to the trash can sorting through all my bags, creating an overflow in my computer bag and backpack in order to create less weight. Back in line, back on the scale to reveal I had barely made the cut, and I forked over the cash (knowing this would happen 2 more times before I reached America).
The flight to London was smooth (yah!) but I truly learned the meaning of "cotton-mouthed" as I almost didn't get access from the customs official to enter their country due to my lack of presenting my ticket to my flight in 3 days. Thankfully they allowed me in, as I ran down to the luggage carousal, and with what troubles I already experienced, I left the huge bag at Heathrow until my return (more cash) hoping that would lessen my troubles. Off to my hostel, which took an hour on the tube, to only find that they had placed me in an all male dorm. As it was 10:30 PM, I asked, "as long as it doesn't go against your policies, I don't care staying in that dorm. My train leaves in the morning, I won't even be here that long." So no sleep that night as I shared a room with 7 males. Next morning, took a train to York to stay with my friend, had a fabulous time. 3 days later, trained back to London in order to tube it back to Heathrow.
And the real chaos begins. All tubes to Heathrow are closed. The farthest you can go by tube is to Paddington Station where there is an overhead train that takes you into the Heathrow underground station, which I found by complete chance and made by only 4 minutes (something has to go right amongst such bad luck). Go to the terminal where I left my bag, found it was not the same terminal I would be flying out of (sweet), so I had to go back onto the Heathrow underground with my massively heavy bag that I got back WITH NO WHEELS (super sweet). Fun right? Finally I get to the right terminal, check-in, pay more fees and safely make my way to the waiting areas with 30 minutes to spare before boarding. Not even sure what to do with myself at that point, don't even manage to take off my 3 jackets I'm wearing or attempt to sit down. Sadly, the fun doesn't end. I load the plane, wondering why at take-off time the plane has about 7 people. Apparently I was not the only one affected by the tube closures and the take-off time has been postponed due to travelers still arriving at the airport. I think "that's nice" but once 2 hours have gone by before we take-off not really so appreciative as this is an 11 hour flight and I have already sat for 2 hours now before that. As I settled into my middle seat, luckily by really nice people, we are at the head of the runway, all cleared when suddenly we are turning back. Yep. Someone is too ill to fly and must be taken off the plane and their luggage searched for below. At this point, with all my fabulous luck, I was not surprised. So I order another wine and wait another 2 hours while crazy people get themselves situated. (If you have been counting, that is now 4 hours of sitting added to an 11 hour flight. Fabulous.)
Now we are ready. Again. This time we do take-off, are airborne and flying smoothly towards LAX. You thought my story finishes happily there. Oh no. Since we were delayed 4 hours in London, the terminal we were originally suppose to fly into was changed and therefore another terminal was opened up for us, however, the information was relayed until after we landed in the old terminal meaning we had to take off, fly around LAX and then land in the new terminal whereupon our landing, a flight attendant hit the activate emergency slide button causing the door to be stuck along with all of us on the plane. You are probably thinking, "is this for real?" And I can tell you with an exasperated sigh, "yes." There are two doors on an airplane but apparently we can only use one to load and unload the guests. Like it would have been hard to just bring the stairs and we can walk down through the other door. I just shake my head and take my seat while we wait an hour for someone to unstick the door while preventing the slide from fully taking form. So final count, 4 + 11 + 1 = 15 hours on a plane. My luck did get better from there as customs was smooth sailing and my baggage (still without its wheels) was first and I was out the door, seeing my family for the first time in 11 months and (unfortunately) in a car for 2 hours. But I was on my way home. And the journey was complete.
The next day I was taken ill with exhaustion (surprised?) and mentally saying sorry to all those celebrities I made fun of for being hospitalized for exhaustion. There really is such a thing and it sucks. I never knew my body could hurt so badly without being internally ill (aka vomiting). I would rather have mono again.
Isn't traveling fun?
Safe travels!
