On Today's Menu:
Leah and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
So...things didn't quite go according to plan. I just scanned over my last blog entry and...wow...I made that sound so simple. What was I thinking? It's never that simple. Here's how it really happened:
Part 1: The Night Bus
First off, the night bus to Madrid dropped me off at the wrong bus station. I was supposed to go straight to the airport but instead I ended up at the Who-Knows-Where-Station incredibly tired after staying up all night and completely clueless as to where I needed to go next. I wandered around for a while, trying my absolute best to not have a panic attack, until I was approached by a man who claimed to be a taxi driver. Indeed he was a taxi driver...but he was also a sleazeball who had predetermined it was beneficial to take advantage of lost, confused, panic-stricken American students. It just so happened that he spotted me; therefore, I got to be his next unfortunate target. Lucky me. My Spanish, thankfully, did not fail me completely, so I was able to call him out on his thievery. However, it was to no avail. He still took off with just about all the money I had. Nice way to start off the trip, no?
Part 2: The Madrid Experience
Once I found my way into the most confusing airport in the world, I had about an hour before my flight was scheduled to take off. Being so, I swiftly sought out the airline I would be traveling with so that I could check in like the carefree passenger I was trying so hard to be. However, once I got to the counter, I was told that my flight would be delayed for an unknown reason and for an unknown amount of time. I was issued a new boarding pass, assigned a new seat number, the whole deal. It really wasn't a problem...until I noticed that the minutes were starting to rack up... minutes became an hour...and then some...and then some more... My attempts at being carefree vanished when I realized that if I did not leave Madrid soon, I would miss my connecting flight in London and then I would really be up a creek. As luck would have it, my newly assigned seat was located in the very last row in the very back of the plane. When I saw this I knew that the whole connecting flight thing was not going to happen. I needed to switch airlines in London, get a new boarding pass, go through customs, locate my luggage...
Part 3: Stranded in London
As luck would have it I landed in London about 45 minutes before my connecting flight to Chicago left. People, I ran like a mad person through that airport, threw myself onto the bus headed towards my next terminal, and prayed to God that I made it in time. I didn't. Oh well, I thought, it's only noon, I'll just catch the afternoon flight. Wrong. When I went to switch my ticket, the nice people from British Airlines told me that they didn't have another flight to the states (not just to Chicago, but to the entire USofA) until the following afternoon. It got even better when they told me I would have to go back to Iberia, my previous airline from Madrid, to set up hotel accommodations. That was the really fun part. I was bounced around from counter to counter from personnel to personnel, asking the same questions, looking for the same answers...and I got to do it ALL in Spanish! Yay! Talk about challenging. Anyway, eventually I found the right people and they took pretty good care of me, I must admit. They put me up in a five star hotel in central London, gave me free meal vouchers to a fancy restaurant, provided me with free transportation to and from the airport...I can't complain.
Part 4: The Windy City
The next day I made my way back to Heathrow, where I went through that same old routine I was getting to know so well: new boarding pass, seat assignment, luggage, customs, etc. It was a pain, but I was pleasantly surprised when British Airways offered to bump me up to first class "for all my troubles." I agreed, even though it meant I had to run across the airport to get to the flight they were talking about. Fortunately, I made it, and the next thing I knew I was soaring through the clouds, drinking a Coca-Cola and watching Star Trek on the little TV screen installed in the back of the seat in front of me. Nine lengthy hours later we touched down and my feet found themselves, once again, on American soil. If you have ever been on an international flight, you know that the first thing you feel after deplaning is not relief to be home, but disgust at how gross you look. Seeing as I had been wearing the same clothes since Thursday the very first thing I did was go to one of the little airport shops and buy a new shirt. I didn't even look at it...just picked it up and bought it.
I was feeling pretty good after that; I had a clean shirt, I had found my luggage, and I had plenty of time to locate the check-in counter for American Airlines. That was when my deepest fear became reality...my luggage disappeared. As I was waiting to check-in with American, one of the employees grabbed my suitcase and threw it onto the conveyer belt, telling me that I didn't need to check it since I had just come off a connecting flight. Like and idiot, I believed him. Apparently, due to all the mix up in London my case was only checked through to Chicago, not Nashville. They told me there was nothing they could do about it and I would have to file a formal claim in Nashville. That was when I hit breaking point. I was unbelievably stressed out, tired, dirty, and ready to punch someone. Don't worry I didn't punch anyone...but I did call my dad and start to cry. It sucked.
Part 4: My Old Kentucky Home
Anyway, I finally arrived in Nashville sometime Sunday evening...luggage free...but still somewhat conscious. It was a sight for sore eyes to see my parents waiting for me outside the terminal and I was relieved that they were a little more cognizant than I, so the issue of claim filing was taken care of rather quickly. Not long after, we made our way over the state line and back into the land of the Bluegrass. Horses, Cracker Barrel, white picket fences... Good old Kentucky. Home sweet home.
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