MARCH 4, 2018 - Right now I am sitting on a high speed train crossing the English channel and had I not slept for only one hour sitting upright on a plane last night, I may have actually enjoyed it (that’s a lie, I always love international high speed transport, we know this) (Actually I’m just gonna gush about this train for a sec, there are two dining cars, I’ve got a whole four starter table section to myself, and a sweet British woman actually asked me “anything from the trolley darling?” totally #HarryPotterstyle) but really though, I am falling asleep, Merci Dieu this train is direct.
If you could see me right now I think you’d find that I look a bit…let’s say “out of place”. To be more frank, compared to all the French people on this train - ah, the French. they always #makeitfashion - I look like a straight up vagabond. The last few days have taken their toll. But I’m getting ahead of myself. (To give you more of an image of my haggard look and downright dirty attire of old hiking boots, muddy jeans, a ratty flannel, and a beanie that isn’t technically mine, I’m pretty sure a couple was supposed to be sitting in my section with me, but saw me sitting here [also covered in popcorn that I was inhaling cuz I was ~starving~ ] and decided to find somewhere else to sit. Well joke’s on them cuz this train is full) I’m not cute and can’t be bothered is all i’m saying. Anyway let me actually start telling this story maybe some time today.
Ok. Let me take you back about 3 weeks ago...
I’m sitting in the student lounge planning my travel for winter holiday (as we do basically every other day because nothing says "I love studying in France" like obsessively planning ways to leave) and I decided I wanted to go to Ireland since it’s been on my travel wish list for exactly hella years. But since I’m the WorstTM, I waited too long and couldn’t find anyone who didn’t have holiday plans yet to go with me. But it’s chill, I’ve travelled on my own before, no biggie. I went to my handy-dandy student travel website to book myself a spot on a group tour to Dublin and Galway. Now, I’ve used this company’s services before, nothing in my past experiences with them told me I would have any problems. These were the same lovely people that got me to Morocco. It was great, 10/10, no complaints.
But damn if i’d known the shite (as the Irish say…I think…guess I’ll never know, cuz *spoilers* I didn’t get to go to Ireland) that they were gonna pull, damn. They say hindsight is 20/20, and foresight is misguided by forces I couldn’t control so it’s NOT MY FAULT!
Three days before my trip I get an email: “Hello, unfortunately we will not be leading the Dublin/Galway tour due to the lack of enough sign-ups”. A stab in the gut. The thought of being stuck on my own with just my host family all week was a bit too much. I mean don’t get me wrong I love them, but one can only eat so many salmon quiches and beet salads in their life. #frenchcuisine #ThiswasntonthemenuinRatatouille
I was so angry at the tour company. Nowhere did they say they would cancel if they didn’t get enough travelers. I felt like I was in the trolley ethics dilemma but instead of driving the train, I was the single rail worker, and they ran over my inadequate-for-a-rail-worker body without a second thought. Not exactly a lesson in morality. I took a few hours to mourn all the Irish beers I wouldn’t get to drink. Then it was down to work. I went into what I like to call “panic traveller mode”, a feeling I’m becoming increasingly familiar with, which I don’t think I’m happy about. I remembered that my flights to and from Ireland were non-refundable so #pinchmeImIrish, yo girl was going to Ireland whether she liked it or not. But since I’m just a smol bean in a big world, smol bean’s parents were not keen on me going to Ireland all alone with no place to stay ( a fair concern I’ll give them that). So I frantically searched for a new tour group. Just as an fyi, booking elaborate trips two days in advance is not as easy as it sounds. Not at all really. In fact it is hair-pullingly stressful #nowImbald. I probably spent more time on this than on any of my assignments this semester. I was on the phone with kindly Irish travel agents for hours. I have enough trouble speaking on the phone without being distracted and super confused by beautiful accents. I’m still not convinced that I wasn’t speaking to sweet little elves operating a travel agency out of a tree stump. (A concept: Keebler elves meet Trivago. No? Just me? Ok.) Where was I? Oh yeah my shit show of a holiday. Luckily at the last minute my friend Angelica, the hero I needed but didn’t deserve, swooped in and said I could join her on her trip to Edinburgh, to visit our other sweet friend Eliza, and afterwards to Dublin!
With some cunning flight rearrangements, I made it to the Land of Haggis. And it was awesome.
We ate great food, (#give me full english breakfast or give me death), drank ~excessive~ amounts of wine and beer (I regret nothing. Ok maybe I regret those four mugfuls of Australian wine. wtf was that?), I found and ate many Cadbury Crunchies (objectively the greatest candy on earth that is tragically not available in the US #openboardersforCadbury) and we climbed Arthur’s Seat in a blizzard (poor planning, even worse execution, more on that in a future post). Despite having to sleep on the floor in a tiny dorm room with three other girls, I felt very relaxed and refreshed.
Next stop: Ireland
Yes. Finally I was gonna make it to Ireland. I was so excited. But, say it with me now kids, ALAS twas not to be. Recall that aforementioned blizzard. The threat was not apparent at first. The first sign of danger was poor Angelica’s flight getting cancelled the day before, forcing her to be on the phone with travel assistants for a calculated total of about 9 hours. These people were definitely not Keebler elves. My friend Peggy and I watched helplessly from the sidelines as Angelica valiantly did battle with travel agent after travel agent. It was so impressive I’m pretty sure it warrants a Winter Olympics medal. She went full soccer mom, hitting them with “that is unacceptable”’s and “let me speak to your manager”’s. She at one point actually pulled out receipts and read them their own terms and conditions. It was magnificent. I lost all the weight I had gained in english breakfasts just stress-watching her. All the while, Peggy and I frantically checked our flight status to make sure we had a way of getting out of what I now lovingly refer to as Jack Frost’s left armpit, Edinburgh, Scotland. (EDIT: As of March 9th, 2018 I have labelled the American east coast as Jack Frost’s right armpit)
It was finally time to go to the airport. We call an Uber because all other transport had shut down (cowards) and drove to the terminal. Angelica came with us to 1. try and get on our flight that was still indicating that it was good to go, and 2. just to yell at someone because, stress.
We get to the airport, enter the departure gate, turn to look at the flight screens and…I see red. In every sense of the word. Every single flight, including ours, had a big, red “Cancelled” sign blinking next to it. Honestly I wasn’t that surprised. What really ground my gears, as the kids say, in that moment was the false hope that the damn Aer Lingus website (Aer lingus: enemy no.1) gave us to the point that we got dressed, like whole-ass pants and everything, and paid a whole-ass Uber to get all the way there and back. I felt used, for money I didn’t even have. I felt betrayed by the mode of travel I love so much.
How could they do this?
Now what?
You know that feeling when your life kinda derails for a second and all you can do is just kind of…sit? Just sit and stare at nothing cuz you’re not sure what to do with yourself as if you’re a robot and you need a minute to reset your programming? Well, that’s what we did. We sat in an airport cafe, that wasn’t even really a cafe because it was basically demolished for remodeling. (A good metaphor for our mood in that moment now that I think about it.)
After some real good sitting we solemnly make our way back to Eliza’s dorm like some kind of twisted, team-effort walk of shame and we kinda just laid on the floor for a while. I can’t even really say anything funny about it. It was a low moment (lol get it? cuz we were on the floor? I did say something funny. Well at least I make myself laugh.) After a while we rallied (not with alcohol, that came later) and it was time for Panic Traveller pt 2: The Wrath of Aer Lingus. When I tell you that Aer Lingus has the worst customer service I’ve ever encountered…y’all…like I can deal with rude people, and people who don’t know what they’re doing, etc, it’s fine, it’s not an easy job. We complain about being on customer service calls once in a while but they are just as annoyed with us as we are with them and they have to deal with the annoyance ALL DAY. But guys. GUYS. There was NO ONE WORKING AT CUSTOMER SERVICE. I got the equivalent of their answering machine. No one leaves voicemails these days, what was I supposed to do? I mean I’m frustrated, but I also thought about it from their perspective and they handled this snowstorm the same way I handle my problems: pretend they’re not happening and don’t talk to anyone ever.
These guys didn’t even put me on hold. They had an automated service that would straight up hang up on you. I used to think Siri was a pain in the ass but damn. Siri’s got nothing on Aer Linda over there. It wasn’t until the second day of trying to contact them that I got some semblance of a real human interaction, and it was through a freaking TWITTER DIRECT MESSAGE. Is this the world we’re living in now? I have to act like a creepy frat bro at 2am and slide into Aer Lingus’ DMs to get a refund? This isn’t what I signed up for. I’m upset mostly that that poor soul running the Aer Lingus twitter had to go into work that day when the entire customer service department decided to take the week off.
Anyway, I got my refund (or I will in 8-10 business days, but who knows when that will be? Aer Lingus’ business day schedule seems to be different than mine) and then we had two days to kill which we filled with Bachelor episodes (What did Arie do?? I need to know!) (EDIT post-Bachelor finale: ARIE THAT ABSOLUTE TOOTHPICK-LOOKIN ASS) and packing to move our nomadic butts from dorm to dorm since sweet Eliza couldn’t shelter us from the harsh winds forever. It was a stressful time.
But this story ends on a high note...
Our last night before our flights out (finally) Peggy’s friend who is studying in the UK had her birthday. So to celebrate we decided to go full Scotland and found a pub with live Scottish folk music. When we were at the pub, drink in hand, listening to such thickly-accented singing that I thought I was back in France, we had one of those moments that you just want to pause and savor. I wanted to gather the feeling in that room and mix it into my cider. After freezing in the beastly snow storm for a week I finally felt warm listening to the music. For the last song in the set everyone who knew the words hugged each other and sang along in a cheerful, drunken daze. The room was full of good vibes. Scotland may be one sloppy lady but man does she know how to make you wanna stay when you thought all you wanted to do was get out.
Moments like those are why I travel and why I keep getting myself into these awful transportation situations. It’s all worth it in the end.
xo PZR
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