As much as I love to travel, I hate the actual traveling process. Airports are often the source of many tears for me, and this time was certainly no exception. When I left Bangkok on Friday night, I was only looking forward to meeting my parents in Barcelona and starting our cruise. By Saturday night, I just wanted to make it out of the airport with my sanity.
I was traveling with my friend Helen, but unfortunately we were on different airlines. We had agreed to meet in baggage claim in the Barcelona airport before heading to our hotel together, where we would meet my parents. It seemed like a simple enough plan, but I should have known better. My first flight was delayed, and I spent over an hour sleeping on the freezing cold tile floor of the Bangkok airport.
By the time we arrived at London Heathrow (which is definitely on my list of worst airports ever) I was cranky and tired, which only added to the fact that my bags had not been checked all the way through to Barcelona (my travel agent booked two separate tickets, don’t ask me why), so I had a fragment of time to run to baggage claim, get my bags, speed through customs, find the airline counter (which was, of course, in a different terminal), check in again, and run to my connecting flight. Normally I’m an airport-running expert, but this time I was caught at the Iberia Airlines desk when the handsome young Spaniard behind counter told me that since I was not technically on a connecting flight, my bags weighed too much and I couldn’t take them. Faced with the prospect of missing my flight (and possibly my cruise ship), I naturally burst into tears, which is just what I do when I am angry or upset (and in this case I was both). Luckily for me, this terrified the airline representative and he frantically got on the phone and talked to someone in charge, who graciously allowed my excess baggage in just enough time for me to catch my flight to Barcelona.
Normally one bout of tears is my standard fare for airport travel, but then I arrived in Barcelona and it all went downhill. My flight arrived behind schedule because of problems on the tarmac, and Helen had been waiting for me in baggage claim for over 4 hours at this point, so I was already in a bit of a tizzy by the time I got into the terminal. After waiting forever for my bags and not seeing Helen anywhere around, I went out into the main terminal to search. An hour of walking up and down the terminal, but no Helen. I was, of course, totally freaking out that I had lost her. I finally went to an information desk and asked about her flight… and was told that it had come in at a completely different terminal. I pushed my baggage cart down to the next terminal and proceeded to wander up and down that terminal for another hour… no Helen.
After calling the hotel to see if she had checked in without me (she hadn’t), I was in a full-blown panic. In utter desperation, I went up to an airport worker who wasa standing outside that terminal’s baggage claim and begged him to go in and just see if Helen was inside waiting for me. Apparently he had just taken his daily dose of rudeness pills, and he basically told me to bug off and just suck it up and wait. Which, of course, set me off into another round of tears. I sat on my baggage cart and cried for a good 20 minutes before deciding to give the terminal one last walk-through… and there was Helen, who was also crying after having waited for me for over 5 hours in a cold, unwelcoming airport. Needless to say, we went straight to the hotel and fell asleep.
The only good part of the “adventure”? Seeing Ethan Suplee at baggage claim (who was apparently having his own European family vacation) and secretly wishing I was brave enough to ask for an autograph.
One of the first things you learn when you come to Bangkok is the always-appropriate phrase “T.I.T” – This Is Thailand. This encompasses all manner of experiences: elephants walking along a busy highway, five people piled onto a tiny motorbike, little old ladies cutting in front of you in line even if you’ve been waiting for an hour… there’s an odd mixture of charm and frustration in this city, no matter who you are or where you come from. Some experiences are worse than others (as I discovered when I spent two months trying to get internet in my apartment), and some are just plain amusing.
On days like today I find myself missing London. There’s something about it that’s just magical, it draws you in. Maybe it’s because I’m part English myself, or maybe it’s because I thrive on culture, or maybe just because I love tea and theatre… whatever it is, London – no matter how much or how little time one spends there – feels like home.