I'm going to stop the recap of Switzerland there, because frankly we didn't do much the rest of the time and I'm starting to get way too behind on my updates, for which I apologize. In brief, the last day we took a train from Basel (where we had gone the day before) to Strasbourg, France, which was unbeknownst to us the Christmas Capital of the European Union. As such, there were festive decorations and tons of Christmas lights lacing the city, which also held France's tallest cathedral. The cathedral was spectacular; my second favorite of all time (after the Kolner Dom in Cologne, Germany) and we had a good time wandering around the city, but I must now jump to more immediate matters. For the next few posts I will be going in reverse chronological order.
The 24 hour clock. It is used by many European countries, including Spain (though notably, as we shall see in a moment, not by the UK), and by the United States military, but other than my time spent living in Spain I have never lived in world run by army time. As such, when I first arrived to Spain in October, I set my newly acquired phone to 12 hour time for purposes of familiarity. It was a costly decision.
But I get ahead of myself. This weekend marked the one year anniversary for me and my girlfriend, and as she was (is) in Spain, I thought it would be fun to go to London to see Les Miserables, which is on it's 25th Anniversary tour. We left at 22:15 (10:15) Thursday night from Seville and got to London very late. The next day consisted of doing some basic touristy things which I had failed to get to in my other visit to London; notably, seeing Westminster Abbey and walking around the Houses of Parliament. Both were amazing; Westminster in particular was like having one foot in Britain's present and one in its long, rich past. Seeing the actual tomb and effigy of Elizabeth I and the place where the likes of Geoffrey Chaucer and Issac Newton are buried was overwhelming.
The next day was Les Mis day. We saw the Tower of London in the morning and then headed off to the play at night. It was stunning; I know the music so well that sometimes I forgot how much actually seeing the performance enhances the music, but it really does. In our show the unsung heroes were the lighting and effects people: some of the scenes were pure perfection thanks to the understated brilliance of the techies. Among the actors, all were good (obviously; it's a London West End production), but the older characters really stole the show: Valjean, Javert, and the Thenardiérs, although Enjolras was also excellent. Seeing Les Mis in London has been a dream of mine since first seeing it in high school and I was glad for the chance to see it and to give the same chance to Elaine, who loves the play but had only ever seen her high school perform it. A great evening, all in all.
We had been pretty busy for two days, so we decided that Sunday was more of a down day; a day to relax before returning to Spain. We went to church in the morning at the smaller church next to Westminster and then headed to Baker Street, home of the fictional but legendary Sherlock Holmes. All that remained then was to head back to our nearby hostel and collect our bags for the Tube ride to London Heathrow. We left the hostel at 4, giving ourselves an hour on the train and two hours in the airport before our 7:15 flight.
About halfway through the ride, at 4:45, as I stood idly by the doors looking out the window, it occurred to me that I hadn't looked at the tickets in a while. I unzipped my bag and got out the tickets, double-checking our departure time. Sure enough, the tickets (for the Spanish budget airline Vueling) showed a salida with the following numbers in the following order: 7:15. Only problem was, there was a 1 before that first 7. That made the departure time 5:15, better known as in a half-hour.
At the next station, I hurtled out of the train car and called for a taxi, but the second we got in I knew there was no chance. It was a 20 minute drive to Heathrow from where we were. But we hung tight until we got to the airport, when I bolted out the side of the car and did some youtube-level free running through the airport to the Vueling desk. Too late. The plane was leaving the gate as I got to the desk. We had no chance.
It is amazing how seemingly insignificant decisions have such a dramatic effect on life. If I set my phone on 24 hour time, we make that flight. If the UK uses 24 hour time, we make that flight. If I check the tickets that morning, we make that flight. Even if I check the tickets when we were leaving the hostel to get on the train, we probably make that flight (there is a significantly faster train that also goes to Gatwick). If we book a non-Spanish airline, we make that flight.
But we missed the flight. I have missed a plane once before, but the circumstances this time were completely different. To begin with, I was not near where I was living (as I was with the other), so I was faced with the costly and unavoidable decision of buying another ticket for the following day. I was also not alone this time; I was travelling with my girlfriend, who was taking an extremely intensive daily class that was about to start its last week and for all she knew, she had to be there or she would fail the class. I also had school the next day. And London is far more expensive than Valencia.
So followed several hours at the Heathrow airport internet terminal, trying to find some way to get back to Spain in the relatively near future for less than a small fortune. We eventually found a flight from London Gatwick--the second London airport--to Málaga for an amount I could swallow. The flight left at 6:30 the next morning. We took a coach to Gatwick and after a night's very deep but incredibly short sleep, boarded our flight to Málaga, from which we took another coach to Sevilla, where Elaine went home (her teacher, thank goodness, was merciful, as were mine) and I took yet another coach to Huelva and finally, after an exhausting 25 hours of traveling, got home around 5:00. Which is to say, 17:00.
Given all the circumstances, things turned out okay. Nothing except my bank account suffered any lasting damage and we still enjoyed our time in London. Little things caused my mistake, but little things also got us through the ordeal: cookies and ice cream from Aunt Millie's, kind taxi drivers and Spanish airport officials, and a hitchless travel day the next day kept us sane and even happy, which is more than I could have asked.
Traveling. I know, right?
No comments:
Post a Comment