To Brussels!
So begins the blogging of my time in Europe. It does not begin well.
First, let me just say that my original Wednesday flight was canceled due to inclement weather in the UK, and they rebooked me for Thursday same time. At least I found out the night before and wasn't trapped in the airport...
My parents are crazy. To get to Philadelphia from my house, in good weather, it takes approximately four hours, give or take. My flight was scheduled for 6:55 p.m., and if you go by the three hour check-in standard (which is actually way more time than is needed), the earliest we should have been at the airport was 3:55 p.m. Normal people, therefore, would have left the house around 11:30 a.m., leaving a bit of time for whatever.
No. No. I was awakened at 7:30 a.m., and told we were going to be on the road at 8:30 a.m. I slept maybe four hours. Maybe. A broken four hours. Whatever. I showered and tossed the last of my shit into bags, hugged my kitties (who I already miss), and jumped (or rather, dragged ass) into the car. We were feeling adventurous, so we stopped at the Cracker Barrel in Bloomsburg for breakfast, which was nice. I got a lot of food there, and all of it was delicious save for the grits. During the drive, I slept about an hour.
I had told my parents several times that nowadays, at airports, you can't get through to the food and shopping areas unless you have a boarding pass. They don't listen. They really thought they'd be able to waltz into the airport with me and have lunch before I left. Wrong. Incorrect. They were mightily surprised when they found out that they'd be spending the next three and a half hours in tiny little seats staring at the check-in desks.
So it was. I sat, my mother to my right and my father to my left, surrounded by my luggage, in the check-in area for three-and-a-half hours. My mom and I at least chatted stupidly for most of the time and entertained ourselves. Dad just got up every now and then to smoke outside. Eventually the Air France check-in opened up. This is worth mentioning because not long after the British Airways check-in opened up. With one hunch-backed old lady running the entire thing. Air France had no less than eight people, plus one at the beginning of the line formation to direct people where to go.
Not British Airways! Instructions are for the French! After half an hour, the hunch-backed old woman was joined by two other people. The Air France people had already run all their passengers through check-in rather quickly. There was a line of people in the British Airways line all the way out of the dividers. The line was barely moving. I was laughing my ass off. Even moreso because I got to skip the line almost entirely because I'd checked in the previous night online.
I bid adieu to my parents and went through security. Not very exciting. I sat in the terminal and talked to Kevin for a solid hour, and ended up accidentally getting spicy chicken at a Japanese place. Jesus, it was spicy.
The flight boarded, and I started to really fear mortal terror. That was fun though, bawling on the plane the entire way into the sky. However, I've now realized that I'm more afraid of that time spent waiting to go up than I am of just getting it over with. Overall, the flight was very nice. I had the entire seating area to myself (two open seats beside me), and a TV in the back of the seat in front of me to watch. The food was actually really good, too. I was full and more or less content while in the air, but not nearly relaxed enough to sleep.
By the time the plane landed in Heathrow, it was 2:00 a.m. eastern standard time (EST). The time was 7:00 a.m. there. Where'd my night go? I don't know. Heathrow staff rushed everyone right into and through security. While on my flight, British Airways gave me a roll, butter, and a plastic knife, which I'd unthinkingly stowed for later. As baggage check x-rays approached, I realized this was a bad idea. So I did the logical thing: yoinked out the knife and food to throw away. I tossed my bags on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. The staff directed me to a garbage can when I asked, but not before doing a double-take about the knife, noticing it was plastic and the look of sheer terror on my face. Don't tase me, bro! In reality, there are no garbage cans in Heathrow because they're afraid people will put bombs in them.
But there are recycling cans everywhere...
Anyway, I tried to call Probst before my connecting flight to say I was on time and getting ready to board. Except the phones are ridiculous, wouldn't let me use my calling card, wouldn't let me dial collect. I could not get through on one of those phones to save myself--literally, as I would soon find out.
After a quick bathroom break, I made my way to the terminal to board. Too bad the flight was canceled, and we were all being placed on the 12:25 p.m. (that's 6:25 a.m. EST, meaning that would be approximately 22 hours of consciousness for me). Not only that, but Probst was figuring I'd be on the 8:50 a.m. that would arrive at 11:05 a.m. (Brussels time). This new flight wouldn't arrive in Brussels until 2:25 p.m. Clearly, I needed to try to call Probst and let her know immediately, hopefully before she left the house.
Too bad the phones don't work. I tried everything I could think of, including kneeling on the floor in front of the phone sobbing. What next? Maybe she'd check Facebook before she left, or at least see the message if she gave up and went home. How to access the internet? I had my laptop, but knew there was no free wireless. I downloaded a program for four pounds (fucking English money) that didn't work. Awesome. Then I paid four pounds to use an internet kiosk, which happily did work. I sent the Facebook message and e-mailed my parents to let them know I was alive, but miserable and trapped in Heathrow.
By this time, it was about 9:00 a.m. in London. I found a seat, curled up, and literally stared unsleeping at the flight announcement board for the following four and a half hours.
Finally, my flight terminal was announced. At the terminal I heard several people talking, who said that they'd all been told different things about why the flight was canceled. There was a great deal of--probably accurate--suspicion that this was done so BA didn't have to run a nearly entry flight. The flight we were on, BA staff actually bragged repeatedly, was very full. And it indeed it was. Anyway, boarding did not begin until 2:30 p.m. Awesome. Then the flight didn't leave until close to 3:00 p.m. By this time I had been conscious for 26.5 hours. There were moments when I really thought that I was going to go batshit-fucking crazy. But I held on.
P.S. That was the worst flight I've ever been on. It was a smaller plane, with three seats on either side of the aisle. Every minute on that thing I thought we were about to die. I swear to God, I heard the engines almost fail at least twice. Oh, and it made me airsick. At least I had a window and could enjoy the view.
Once in Brussels, I proceeded to make my way out of the airport. I called home, because I could get the Belgian phones to work. My dad told me that everyone had been calling to see if I'd gotten through, and to tell him that if I called that they were on their way back to get me, that knew what had happened, and that I should just hold tight. At this point, it was 5:30 p.m. and I was barely holding onto my sanity. I struggled to hold back the sobbing. But at the same time I was so realized that I was finally here, and because I knew that even if I had to curl up on a bench in the airport and nap for a couple hours, Probst would find me. As I moved away from the phone with my luggage, I heard my name. Perfect timing.
Kel and Cynthia drove her there, foregoing an Air Force benefit dance thing or something they were supposed to attend. I thanked them as best I could in my state. They asked if I was hungry, and I said no. It then occurred to me that I had not eaten since the dinner on the flight over and that I should be starving. But I think I was still too anxious to be hungry. Kel mentioned that there was a Chi Chi's in Brussels and that then they could show me the Peeing Boy. Despite my exhaustion, I was totally sold on seeing the Peeing Boy.
And so it was that we piled my stuff and ourselves into their car, and set out on the Autobahn for Brussels, Belgium. It was awesome, and I took a bunch of pictures. They have smart cars here. In Belgium, they also park their cars right up on the sidewalk. Pedestrians have the right of way all the time, which makes for kind of a mess. Apparently when you live in this part of Germany, you are required to have a GPS to get around because all the signs are in German. Clearly. Well, their GPS broke on the way into downtown Brussels, so we spent a while driving around before we figured out where we were going. Eventually we won, and had dinner. Then we went to see the Peeing Boy, who was just as awesome as I'd imagined. We walked around downtown and the square. It was awesome.
By the time we got back to the car it was maybe 8:00 or 8:30 p.m. After a valiant effort to stay awake, I lost consciousness--seriously, I blacked out--around 45 minutes later. When I woke up, we were still in the car and it was like 9:45 p.m. and we should have been home by then. Lost again, yay! By the time we got back, it was after 10:00. Probst was upset because it was Jon's night off and she'd missed him online (she later found out that he'd lost his internet connection anyway). I poked around a little bit, before finally sleeping around 11:15.
And this morning I woke up at 10:00 a.m. Sleeping was so incredible that there are no words. The little things, after 24 hours of not being able to do them, were fantastic. Showering was phenomenal. Today we've mostly just poked around the house, played a little Warcraft. Because that's the way we roll. Tonight we're going to dinner at Kel and Cynthia's, so that should be fun.
Yesterday, btw, I was in the U.S., the U.K., Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany. That's like, five countries. I rock.
Overall, a very interesting past couple of days. Day? I don't know.
Quote of the day: Flight 392 was canceled...
First, let me just say that my original Wednesday flight was canceled due to inclement weather in the UK, and they rebooked me for Thursday same time. At least I found out the night before and wasn't trapped in the airport...
My parents are crazy. To get to Philadelphia from my house, in good weather, it takes approximately four hours, give or take. My flight was scheduled for 6:55 p.m., and if you go by the three hour check-in standard (which is actually way more time than is needed), the earliest we should have been at the airport was 3:55 p.m. Normal people, therefore, would have left the house around 11:30 a.m., leaving a bit of time for whatever.
No. No. I was awakened at 7:30 a.m., and told we were going to be on the road at 8:30 a.m. I slept maybe four hours. Maybe. A broken four hours. Whatever. I showered and tossed the last of my shit into bags, hugged my kitties (who I already miss), and jumped (or rather, dragged ass) into the car. We were feeling adventurous, so we stopped at the Cracker Barrel in Bloomsburg for breakfast, which was nice. I got a lot of food there, and all of it was delicious save for the grits. During the drive, I slept about an hour.
I had told my parents several times that nowadays, at airports, you can't get through to the food and shopping areas unless you have a boarding pass. They don't listen. They really thought they'd be able to waltz into the airport with me and have lunch before I left. Wrong. Incorrect. They were mightily surprised when they found out that they'd be spending the next three and a half hours in tiny little seats staring at the check-in desks.
So it was. I sat, my mother to my right and my father to my left, surrounded by my luggage, in the check-in area for three-and-a-half hours. My mom and I at least chatted stupidly for most of the time and entertained ourselves. Dad just got up every now and then to smoke outside. Eventually the Air France check-in opened up. This is worth mentioning because not long after the British Airways check-in opened up. With one hunch-backed old lady running the entire thing. Air France had no less than eight people, plus one at the beginning of the line formation to direct people where to go.
Not British Airways! Instructions are for the French! After half an hour, the hunch-backed old woman was joined by two other people. The Air France people had already run all their passengers through check-in rather quickly. There was a line of people in the British Airways line all the way out of the dividers. The line was barely moving. I was laughing my ass off. Even moreso because I got to skip the line almost entirely because I'd checked in the previous night online.
I bid adieu to my parents and went through security. Not very exciting. I sat in the terminal and talked to Kevin for a solid hour, and ended up accidentally getting spicy chicken at a Japanese place. Jesus, it was spicy.
The flight boarded, and I started to really fear mortal terror. That was fun though, bawling on the plane the entire way into the sky. However, I've now realized that I'm more afraid of that time spent waiting to go up than I am of just getting it over with. Overall, the flight was very nice. I had the entire seating area to myself (two open seats beside me), and a TV in the back of the seat in front of me to watch. The food was actually really good, too. I was full and more or less content while in the air, but not nearly relaxed enough to sleep.
By the time the plane landed in Heathrow, it was 2:00 a.m. eastern standard time (EST). The time was 7:00 a.m. there. Where'd my night go? I don't know. Heathrow staff rushed everyone right into and through security. While on my flight, British Airways gave me a roll, butter, and a plastic knife, which I'd unthinkingly stowed for later. As baggage check x-rays approached, I realized this was a bad idea. So I did the logical thing: yoinked out the knife and food to throw away. I tossed my bags on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. The staff directed me to a garbage can when I asked, but not before doing a double-take about the knife, noticing it was plastic and the look of sheer terror on my face. Don't tase me, bro! In reality, there are no garbage cans in Heathrow because they're afraid people will put bombs in them.
But there are recycling cans everywhere...
Anyway, I tried to call Probst before my connecting flight to say I was on time and getting ready to board. Except the phones are ridiculous, wouldn't let me use my calling card, wouldn't let me dial collect. I could not get through on one of those phones to save myself--literally, as I would soon find out.
After a quick bathroom break, I made my way to the terminal to board. Too bad the flight was canceled, and we were all being placed on the 12:25 p.m. (that's 6:25 a.m. EST, meaning that would be approximately 22 hours of consciousness for me). Not only that, but Probst was figuring I'd be on the 8:50 a.m. that would arrive at 11:05 a.m. (Brussels time). This new flight wouldn't arrive in Brussels until 2:25 p.m. Clearly, I needed to try to call Probst and let her know immediately, hopefully before she left the house.
Too bad the phones don't work. I tried everything I could think of, including kneeling on the floor in front of the phone sobbing. What next? Maybe she'd check Facebook before she left, or at least see the message if she gave up and went home. How to access the internet? I had my laptop, but knew there was no free wireless. I downloaded a program for four pounds (fucking English money) that didn't work. Awesome. Then I paid four pounds to use an internet kiosk, which happily did work. I sent the Facebook message and e-mailed my parents to let them know I was alive, but miserable and trapped in Heathrow.
By this time, it was about 9:00 a.m. in London. I found a seat, curled up, and literally stared unsleeping at the flight announcement board for the following four and a half hours.
Finally, my flight terminal was announced. At the terminal I heard several people talking, who said that they'd all been told different things about why the flight was canceled. There was a great deal of--probably accurate--suspicion that this was done so BA didn't have to run a nearly entry flight. The flight we were on, BA staff actually bragged repeatedly, was very full. And it indeed it was. Anyway, boarding did not begin until 2:30 p.m. Awesome. Then the flight didn't leave until close to 3:00 p.m. By this time I had been conscious for 26.5 hours. There were moments when I really thought that I was going to go batshit-fucking crazy. But I held on.
P.S. That was the worst flight I've ever been on. It was a smaller plane, with three seats on either side of the aisle. Every minute on that thing I thought we were about to die. I swear to God, I heard the engines almost fail at least twice. Oh, and it made me airsick. At least I had a window and could enjoy the view.
Once in Brussels, I proceeded to make my way out of the airport. I called home, because I could get the Belgian phones to work. My dad told me that everyone had been calling to see if I'd gotten through, and to tell him that if I called that they were on their way back to get me, that knew what had happened, and that I should just hold tight. At this point, it was 5:30 p.m. and I was barely holding onto my sanity. I struggled to hold back the sobbing. But at the same time I was so realized that I was finally here, and because I knew that even if I had to curl up on a bench in the airport and nap for a couple hours, Probst would find me. As I moved away from the phone with my luggage, I heard my name. Perfect timing.
Kel and Cynthia drove her there, foregoing an Air Force benefit dance thing or something they were supposed to attend. I thanked them as best I could in my state. They asked if I was hungry, and I said no. It then occurred to me that I had not eaten since the dinner on the flight over and that I should be starving. But I think I was still too anxious to be hungry. Kel mentioned that there was a Chi Chi's in Brussels and that then they could show me the Peeing Boy. Despite my exhaustion, I was totally sold on seeing the Peeing Boy.
And so it was that we piled my stuff and ourselves into their car, and set out on the Autobahn for Brussels, Belgium. It was awesome, and I took a bunch of pictures. They have smart cars here. In Belgium, they also park their cars right up on the sidewalk. Pedestrians have the right of way all the time, which makes for kind of a mess. Apparently when you live in this part of Germany, you are required to have a GPS to get around because all the signs are in German. Clearly. Well, their GPS broke on the way into downtown Brussels, so we spent a while driving around before we figured out where we were going. Eventually we won, and had dinner. Then we went to see the Peeing Boy, who was just as awesome as I'd imagined. We walked around downtown and the square. It was awesome.
By the time we got back to the car it was maybe 8:00 or 8:30 p.m. After a valiant effort to stay awake, I lost consciousness--seriously, I blacked out--around 45 minutes later. When I woke up, we were still in the car and it was like 9:45 p.m. and we should have been home by then. Lost again, yay! By the time we got back, it was after 10:00. Probst was upset because it was Jon's night off and she'd missed him online (she later found out that he'd lost his internet connection anyway). I poked around a little bit, before finally sleeping around 11:15.
And this morning I woke up at 10:00 a.m. Sleeping was so incredible that there are no words. The little things, after 24 hours of not being able to do them, were fantastic. Showering was phenomenal. Today we've mostly just poked around the house, played a little Warcraft. Because that's the way we roll. Tonight we're going to dinner at Kel and Cynthia's, so that should be fun.
Yesterday, btw, I was in the U.S., the U.K., Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany. That's like, five countries. I rock.
Overall, a very interesting past couple of days. Day? I don't know.
Quote of the day: Flight 392 was canceled...