Monday, December 21, 2009
A Little First Class Goes a Long Way
My travel woes vanished as soon as I boarded my long flight from Paris to Detroit. Through all the re-booking of my canceled flights, I miraculously ended up with a first class seat. Oh heavenly, heavenly day. As I looked wondrously at the recliner I would sit in, the flight attendant took my coat and hung it up. He came back to ask if I’d like a glass of champagne. I think I cried inside with joy and a flower bloomed in my heart.
Train Trio
I had never been to the train station at 3 o’clock in the morning before this weekend. I do rather love new experiences and I will stow this one in my memory bank for years to come. And when I think back on the experience, I will hope to never experience it again.
As I walked in to the Aachen main train station at 3am, utterly tired and irritable, I found out where all of the homeless people sleep. As I shivered and tugged my scarf, I did have the wherewithal and energy to feel thankful and blessed that somewhere I had a comfortable bed to sleep in and I did not have to live in the Bahnhof. The Obdachloser, the roofless in German, looked like a troop of boy scouts at a camp out all snuggled on the cold floor of the station in their sleeping bags. I felt rather like I was intruding on their personal space.
But I learned that in the wee hours of the morning you do not just see the homeless. This is where one apparently ends up when they have consumed, or are still consuming, generous amounts of alcohol. I wasn’t sure whether or not to feel apprehensive or intrigued, and I think I felt both in my sluggish stupor. Everywhere I looked, swaying people peered at me or ignored me with glassy eyes or crooked grins. Some spoke emphatically and passionately the way inebriated people can, pointing their fingers and waving hands to make their words clearer. Others lolled their heads around, no longer concentrating on the world around them and apparently feeling as tired as I did. The club-goers seemed to have also moved their parties to the train stations at that hour and I dodged high-fiving guys and girls in very short skirts.
I had three trains to take to get to the Duesseldorf airport. The first train I simply gave the world the skunk eye I wondered why on earth anyone would be up at that God forsaken hour to take a train somewhere. What was I doing taking a train at that hour to try and catch a plane I wasn’t even booked on?
The second train had clearly been the party transportation. I sat in a compartment with a window freshly doused in party puke. And if the stench hadn’t let me know it was all-too recently thrown up, I knew for sure after I stepped in what was covering the aisle. Fresh and sticky vomit. The large, bloodshot eyed (however, no more bloodshot than my own) man in my compartment dealt with it by drinking Jaegermeister. It was now approximately 5am.
On my third train, I had stowed my suitcase where I could not see it and I was so tired I had a moment of panic, certain I had forgotten it on another train. No. Whew. It was still there. I then enjoyed the chatty Serbian man who was very focused on the quality of water in Aachen, and Bill Cosby. I’m not sure there was a connection between the two.
As I walked in to the Aachen main train station at 3am, utterly tired and irritable, I found out where all of the homeless people sleep. As I shivered and tugged my scarf, I did have the wherewithal and energy to feel thankful and blessed that somewhere I had a comfortable bed to sleep in and I did not have to live in the Bahnhof. The Obdachloser, the roofless in German, looked like a troop of boy scouts at a camp out all snuggled on the cold floor of the station in their sleeping bags. I felt rather like I was intruding on their personal space.
But I learned that in the wee hours of the morning you do not just see the homeless. This is where one apparently ends up when they have consumed, or are still consuming, generous amounts of alcohol. I wasn’t sure whether or not to feel apprehensive or intrigued, and I think I felt both in my sluggish stupor. Everywhere I looked, swaying people peered at me or ignored me with glassy eyes or crooked grins. Some spoke emphatically and passionately the way inebriated people can, pointing their fingers and waving hands to make their words clearer. Others lolled their heads around, no longer concentrating on the world around them and apparently feeling as tired as I did. The club-goers seemed to have also moved their parties to the train stations at that hour and I dodged high-fiving guys and girls in very short skirts.
I had three trains to take to get to the Duesseldorf airport. The first train I simply gave the world the skunk eye I wondered why on earth anyone would be up at that God forsaken hour to take a train somewhere. What was I doing taking a train at that hour to try and catch a plane I wasn’t even booked on?
The second train had clearly been the party transportation. I sat in a compartment with a window freshly doused in party puke. And if the stench hadn’t let me know it was all-too recently thrown up, I knew for sure after I stepped in what was covering the aisle. Fresh and sticky vomit. The large, bloodshot eyed (however, no more bloodshot than my own) man in my compartment dealt with it by drinking Jaegermeister. It was now approximately 5am.
On my third train, I had stowed my suitcase where I could not see it and I was so tired I had a moment of panic, certain I had forgotten it on another train. No. Whew. It was still there. I then enjoyed the chatty Serbian man who was very focused on the quality of water in Aachen, and Bill Cosby. I’m not sure there was a connection between the two.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Don't Forget Your Flexibility
Sometimes, things just don't go as planned. Today was not my day for public transportation.
I am scheduled to be on a flight to Amsterdam right now. I'm not on it. At 7am this morning my wonderful mother, who I just know is all ready for me to be home so we can go shopping, calls to tell me that Washington won't accept any flights due to snow predictions. That means I won't get my second or third flight. Yet my first flight from Duesseldorf to Amsterdam is still supposedly a go.
What to do, what to do?
Luggage dragging, the sun not yet up, and frigid temperatures outside, the choice is made. Taxi to the train station and an hour and a half train ride to the Duesseldorf airport.
Trains are a wonderful invention. Yet, it never fails. When you have a plane to catch, something will go wrong.
Half way to Duesseldorf, the train slows down. And stops. Chemical spill on the tracks. The route has been shut down. At this point, you mainly have two options. Sit for hours on a stationary train. Or get off and go out into the cold world to try your luck with something else. Man, it is cold.
Dozens of people watching their breath and huddling into themselves are standing outside awaiting taxis, or rides, or for some magic bus to come and get them. The taxi to Duesseldorf will be more than 120 Euros. And no guarantee I'll make my flight. Coffee in the warm train station cafe is 2 Euro and 10 cents. The coffee wins. It's time to call the airline and catch a train back to Aachen. Sometimes you have to call it a day.
After a few conversations with other cranky train passengers and a hot cup of coffee, there is good news. All of my flights have been canceled. Really, that is good news. That means they will have to re-book me for tomorrow.
On the way home, our main street is shut down. There's been a gas explosion in someone's apartment.
Let's try again tomorrow. Only this time I need to be up at 4am to catch the train to Duesseldorf at 5am. Detroit or bust. Flexibility is packed.
I am scheduled to be on a flight to Amsterdam right now. I'm not on it. At 7am this morning my wonderful mother, who I just know is all ready for me to be home so we can go shopping, calls to tell me that Washington won't accept any flights due to snow predictions. That means I won't get my second or third flight. Yet my first flight from Duesseldorf to Amsterdam is still supposedly a go.
What to do, what to do?
Luggage dragging, the sun not yet up, and frigid temperatures outside, the choice is made. Taxi to the train station and an hour and a half train ride to the Duesseldorf airport.
Trains are a wonderful invention. Yet, it never fails. When you have a plane to catch, something will go wrong.
Half way to Duesseldorf, the train slows down. And stops. Chemical spill on the tracks. The route has been shut down. At this point, you mainly have two options. Sit for hours on a stationary train. Or get off and go out into the cold world to try your luck with something else. Man, it is cold.
Dozens of people watching their breath and huddling into themselves are standing outside awaiting taxis, or rides, or for some magic bus to come and get them. The taxi to Duesseldorf will be more than 120 Euros. And no guarantee I'll make my flight. Coffee in the warm train station cafe is 2 Euro and 10 cents. The coffee wins. It's time to call the airline and catch a train back to Aachen. Sometimes you have to call it a day.
After a few conversations with other cranky train passengers and a hot cup of coffee, there is good news. All of my flights have been canceled. Really, that is good news. That means they will have to re-book me for tomorrow.
On the way home, our main street is shut down. There's been a gas explosion in someone's apartment.
Let's try again tomorrow. Only this time I need to be up at 4am to catch the train to Duesseldorf at 5am. Detroit or bust. Flexibility is packed.
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