You’ve gotta love airports. Everyone’s disorganized, awkward, anxious and in a hurry to get somewhere. This provides for frustration and comedy across the board.
I said goodbye to my mom after exchanging currency and buying an international calling card (10 dollars for 6 to 8 minutes is probably the worst deal on the market). I sobbed but got in the line for security and stayed there. I put my luggage through the x-ray machine, walked through the scanner, grabbed my things and started down the escalators to the N gates. About halfway down the escalator, still with tears on my flushed cheeks, I felt like I was missing something. At the exact moment that I realized I didn’t have my pillow, the f-bomb flew out of my mouth, the man behind me replied with an “uh-oh” and I brainlessly turned around to run back, forgetting that I was on an elevator. Smooth. But I returned to the security checkpoint in a matter of seconds, grabbed my pillow and made it to the N gates.
When I reached N-15, I sat down and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to miss my first flight. I made a conscious effort to lower my pulse and waited to board, but the boarding time came and went, so I asked a guy sitting next to me if his gate was N-15. Yep. Headed to Toronto? Nope. All I could do was laugh, say thanks, stand up and drag my things to find my re-scheduled gate. Fortunately it was close.
I’m now in Madrid with a Benadryl hangover, completely exhausted, hot, and a bit hungry and nauseated. Fun stuff. I finally got my luggage and ran into two people who really wanted to help me get to the train station. The general consensus was that it would be smarter to take the metro. The first said it’d take 20 minutes and that a taxi would be 60 Euros. The second said it’d take an hour and that a taxi would be 35 Euros. As much as I wanted to save money, I couldn’t imagine trying to take the metro (and make three changes) with a backpack, shoulder bag, purse, pillow and 49.0-pound suitcase. So I took a cab and spent about 45 Euros. Yay for European currency. I’m not in South America any more. :(
So I’m sitting in this faux rainforest that’s part of the Atocha train station waiting for my departure, which is supposedly at 17:00. I hate military time. I know that 17:00 is 5:00 pm and that it is 2:15 pm right now, but it still just stresses me out. I can’t wait to get to Cadiz.
As much as I love to travel, I’m beginning to understand that my body really doesn’t. Anxiety reaches its full potential, people. And my body bears the brunt.
I said goodbye to my mom after exchanging currency and buying an international calling card (10 dollars for 6 to 8 minutes is probably the worst deal on the market). I sobbed but got in the line for security and stayed there. I put my luggage through the x-ray machine, walked through the scanner, grabbed my things and started down the escalators to the N gates. About halfway down the escalator, still with tears on my flushed cheeks, I felt like I was missing something. At the exact moment that I realized I didn’t have my pillow, the f-bomb flew out of my mouth, the man behind me replied with an “uh-oh” and I brainlessly turned around to run back, forgetting that I was on an elevator. Smooth. But I returned to the security checkpoint in a matter of seconds, grabbed my pillow and made it to the N gates.
When I reached N-15, I sat down and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to miss my first flight. I made a conscious effort to lower my pulse and waited to board, but the boarding time came and went, so I asked a guy sitting next to me if his gate was N-15. Yep. Headed to Toronto? Nope. All I could do was laugh, say thanks, stand up and drag my things to find my re-scheduled gate. Fortunately it was close.
I’m now in Madrid with a Benadryl hangover, completely exhausted, hot, and a bit hungry and nauseated. Fun stuff. I finally got my luggage and ran into two people who really wanted to help me get to the train station. The general consensus was that it would be smarter to take the metro. The first said it’d take 20 minutes and that a taxi would be 60 Euros. The second said it’d take an hour and that a taxi would be 35 Euros. As much as I wanted to save money, I couldn’t imagine trying to take the metro (and make three changes) with a backpack, shoulder bag, purse, pillow and 49.0-pound suitcase. So I took a cab and spent about 45 Euros. Yay for European currency. I’m not in South America any more. :(
So I’m sitting in this faux rainforest that’s part of the Atocha train station waiting for my departure, which is supposedly at 17:00. I hate military time. I know that 17:00 is 5:00 pm and that it is 2:15 pm right now, but it still just stresses me out. I can’t wait to get to Cadiz.
As much as I love to travel, I’m beginning to understand that my body really doesn’t. Anxiety reaches its full potential, people. And my body bears the brunt.
