So, I was just on facebook and my friend Richard from England messaged me for the first time in awhile! He is a writer for The Sun in London, and he bought me several Carlsbergs on a plane ride from Bratislava to London once.
Talking to him totally brought back memories of that day... and upon reflection... I think it is literally up there in the top 10 best days of my life thus far.
At the end of my three months in Vienna, I had planned to meet Mandi, Steven, Christina, and her cousin Krista in Cork, Ireland.. and then spend 10 days traveling around Ireland with them.
So, I had to get myself and all of my belongings (i.e. a giant bag with everything I had accumulated over the summer) from my apartment in Vienna, Austria to a small bed and breakfast in Cork, Ireland... by myself.
Prior to the big day of travel, I was really anxious about setting off by myself across Europe. But it was such a great, challenging, adventure of a day. It made me realize traveling by myself is one of my favorite things.
I woke up extremely early that morning, got myself ready and gathered up the rest of my belongings from the apartment Emily and I had been living in all summer. I had already said my goodbyes to Beau, Colleen, Amber, Jeff, and everyone else from Vienna. I hugged my California-girl roommate goodbye and dragged my bags down the three flights of marble steps and barely made the bus to the U-bahn (underground) station a few blocks away. I carried my heavy luggage up the escalator (only standing to the right of course, as I quickly had learned months earlier) and waited on the platform. The next train arrived shortly and I was off to the Westbahnhof (central train station). Which is a train station in the old-fashioned sense, not light rail. Months before I even left for Vienna I had purchased Eurail tickets for the 90 minute trip between Vienna and Bratislava. Before I knew it, the train was slowing down and we were entering Bratislava.
Everything is very different in Bratislava from Vienna, or anywhere else I've been... it's not quite the desolate, post-Soviet place it's made out to be in the movie Eurotrip... but it's definitely no world-class European city. The buildings look cheaper, the people look at you suspiciously (yet are friendly if they realize you are too), and the bus system is to be avoided at all costs --angry drivers, and 20-second stops during which you'd better hurry your ass on or off unless you'd like to get a Slovakian earful!
I had learned my lesson during my first time in Bratislava with Beau, Jeff, Colleen, and Amber when we flew from Bratislava to Pisa for a weekend. We attempted to take a bus to the airport. We waited at the bus stop outside the train station for nearly 45 minutes...finally a bus came flying over to us and came to a sudden halt. When we attempted to get on (no one else was waiting) the driver simply yelled something at us and walked away. Apparently we weren't getting on that bus.
We ended up taking a cab that time, which is what I did, also, when I went back.
You might be wondering what I was doing in Bratislava in the first place, when I really just needed to get to Cork. For some reason the Vienna airport, which is very nice and full of luxury shops, does not connect with many airlines.. only the major ones and some expensive inter-European lines. Thus, many travelers take the short trip to Bratislava to utilize Ryanair.. the most complaint-worthy , yet cheapest way to get around Europe.
So...I had arrived in Bratislava the second time. And for a moment, thought to myself, "what the hell am I doing traveling all alone, lugging around a bag that feels like it contains two small children, in fucking Bratislava??" This went through my mind as I struggled to get my bag up each and every concrete step of two flights of stairs. Stopping to cough for a moment (I had gotten sick towards the end of the summer... too many nights of drinking and smoking, and lack of sleep!)--Every Slovakian walking by glared (assuming I had brought Swine Flu from America). And no one thought to offer help to the American barely getting up the steps. But, I finally made it, and made a beeline to the restroom. Of course I only got in after paying 3 euro to the man in the booth next to it.
After drying my hands next to greasy gypsy-looking women who appeared to be bathing in the restroom, and blonde Euro girls putting on coats of eyeliner , I headed back outside the building to catch my cab.
A nice 30-something blonde Slovakian with a mullet put all my bags into the car and drove me to the airport. We attempted conversation... I tried two languages, English and German, but he only spoke Slovakian! The only word of it I knew was 'Miro'..the name of hot Slovak who was my roommate's secret lover all summer in Vienna.
Finally I arrived at the airport...several hours had already passed on my long day of travel! I picked up a sandwich of European mystery meat and cheese at the airport cafe, smoked a cigarette outside while a hairy old man stared at me, and then headed to the check-in area.
This is where some could say my day took a turn for the worse...but looking back..it was quite worth it. I waited in a long line of travellers to weigh my bag, and watched in horror as person after person was told their bag was over the weight limit, given some sort of voucher and told to go wait in a second big line at a separate window. People would go over to a trash can and discard random things out of their bag.
I knew there was no way I was going to get into the gate without hassle... as my bag was already twice the size of most people's and there was absolutely nothing in it I was about to get rid of. And I was correct, as I made it to the front of the line, the Ryanair girl told me I'd either have to get my bag under weight or pay 200 euro (more than double what my ticket had been in the first place). And since I'd booked two separate flights, I'd have to pay it again in London.
I wanted to cry, but I just thought "fuck, I have to pay the fee to get my bags over with me." And I thought maybe I'd try to fight it in London. I distracted myself by watching a white-haired man in shorts, socks, sandals, a yellow t-shirt, and a plaid blazer argue with a clerk in a thick Scottish accent...over the very same problem I was having. I eventually made it to the front of the line and behaved like an American bitch, but still had to pay the fine.
At this point I was in an awful mood...I checked my bag after waiting in a third long line, and sulked to my gate. I slumped back in my chair, and prepared to wait for 45 minutes before we would board.
A few minutes later, someone sat next to me, I had put in my iPod and didn't even look over. "Where are you off to??" he said in a very British accent. I looked up and realized this English man, who happened to look eerily like J, was talking to me. I told him I had just finished a summer studying in Vienna and was headed to meet friends in Cork. He was a journalist who had just finished a trip through Eastern Europe and was headed home. His name was Richard Newlove. Richard Newlove...what a great name.
We made light conversation.. and a few minutes later the white-haired Scottish man came hustling over and sat next to us... still complaining about his baggage fees. I told him I sympathized, and had to pay them, too. Richard and this man (Ian was his name) had a short unintelligible conversation amongst eachother in equally strong brogues, and then turned back to me to involve me in the conversation.
We ended up sitting together, the three of us.... English man, American girl, and old Scottish man.....on the plane (and yes I sat there thinking, this is my dream come true!!). We had several Carlsbergs (my first and only Carlsbergs) on the plane bought by Richard and shared travel stories. Ian told us about a group he was in called Hash (??)...apparently not drug related whatsoever...but an international group for going running and then getting heavily drunk right after. According to Ian, there are branches of this group all over the world... and he had just left a Hash Meet in Vienna (where he was a professor and split his time with living in London). It turned out that Ian and I knew the same bartender, Ollie, at the Irish pub that I had frequented all summer, Flanagan's. We all went through customs together after landing, and then we had to say farewell to Richard. I had gotten his information, and as noted, we became facebook friends eventually.
Ian offered to buy me lunch, knowing that I had no pounds...only Euros, and was not going to exchange my Euros for pounds since I was only going to be at Heathrow for a few hours. We ate at Starbucks-type cafe and he gave me several pounds to use for the remainder of my time there. I don't remember everything we talked about... but I do remember that when he had to leave...he said it was nice to meet me and walked away... took a few steps, turned back around came over, kissed me on the cheek and told me he just loved to stare into my eyes... and then he turned back around and walked off again. I was a bit stunned...but flattered...that a 60-something Scottish man had said this to me.
Soon, it was time for me to check-in to my next flight-- London to Cork. I got back into another very long line in the Ryanair area. And of course, encountered the same thing. I was told I had to pay to weigh my bags so they could calculate the correct fee and then directed to one of the coin operated machines for doing this. At this point, my good spirits just about wore off again. Time was beginning to tick and I didn't want to miss my final flight. I didn't have enough pounds to pay for this machine, and I sure as hell didn't want to wait in two more lines only to give up another 200 euro! An airport employee, probably noticing the look of defeat on my face, came up and asked if he could help me with anything. And , low and behold, it was a red-haired Irish man. I smiled gratefully, said yes!, and explained my lack of British currency. At this moment an angry-looking businessman approached the Irish man, inquiring about something in a hurry, and the Irish man told him he'd have to wait since someone much prettier had gotten to him first!! The Irish man took me over to a check-in counter that was not being used at the moment, told me to wait there, and sent over a woman, who also turned out to be Irish. She said "don't tell anyone, my dear, just put your bag here, and we'll take care of ya." She weighed my bag for me, for free, gave me the voucher, and sent me back off to wait in just one more line. I couldn't be mad though, because the Irish people had been so nice, and had reminded me of my destination... which was the whole reason why I'd set off on my journey in the first place. And they'd been fine examples of the very reason why I love Ireland.. the people!
So I forked over the fee, and hurried across Heathrow to my gate. Once there, I waited in line again...but this time it was a line full of Irish people, with Irish accents. And I had no problem at all standing among them. I was tired, and quite drained of funds, but brimming with excitement to get to my favorite place in the world!
It was a very quick flight to Cork! I got through customs there, picked up my 400 euro bags, and headed outside to have a smoke (back in the country that had got me started in the first place). Two older ladies, also smoking lady-fags (as an Irish girl called them...the long ones like Virginia Slims), said hello to me...and asked how my trip was. They advised me not to let a taxi driver charge me a penny over 20 euro for a trip to Blarney...where I told them I was headed. I thanked them, smiled to myself over meeting two more friendly Irish people, and hopped into a cab...finally on my very last leg of the trip!!
Twenty short minutes later...it was dark out and I was finally reunited with two very good friends, in my very favorite country in the most adorable little bed and breakfast!
What a day!!!!
Love reminiscing about it... and I'd love to travel by myself like that again!
14 hours ago
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