For argument's sake, my journey to Scotland began quite some time ago. My first application to the Study Abroad office was sent in over a year and a half ago, and now it's finally happening. After booking my flights, over-packing my belongings (No joke. You should see how packed my crap was thanks to my mom's help), and signing up for my classes, I was on my way. I gathered all my things, closed up a small chapter of living with my parents for an extended stay, said goodbye to my precious dogs, and headed to Columbus. It didn't take long for me to make my first major traveling mistake (though I have traveled plenty in the past to know that it's a no-no). When inquiring the currency exchange station as to whether they had Scottish pounds (they didn't) I set my THREE boarding passes on the counter. After getting my answer to my exchange question, I left... without the boarding passes. I headed straight to the check-point at the entrance of security and when asked for my license and boarding pass, I panicked. I didn't have them. Worse yet, when I turned to my parents to see if they were by some freak chance holding onto them, I was greeted with worried looks. My first thought... 'Shit.' Though as I have realized in life, all will be okay, which it was, because I found my passes. Phewww! That was a close one, and I hadn't even gotten to security.
Well, as all travelers know, security was next. I was ready. I made certain that I wouldn't have any problems by reading every last guideline and even searching on the TSA website whether or not I could take my feather pillow as a carry-on item (good news - you can!). I did, however, forget to take my belt off. Again, 'shit.' While I would have looked forward to be patted down by the attractive TSA attendant, it was clear he was only invested in his work and not interested in me, as he tentatively patted my sides twice and gave my belt back. Now, I guess it was finally time to begin my travels after people-watching in the C51 terminal for about an hour. (*This next section is being typed at 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I'll explain eventually, but if my writing isn't cohesive, that's why!) When I boarded the Columbus plane, nothing very exciting happened until the door was about to lock and two rambunctious, Melissa McCarthy-esque ladies run onto the plane shouting and laughing 'Hot damn, that was close." I knew we'd get along even if it would only be for the 28 minute flight to Detroit. Fortunately, they sat one row behind me, and made me laugh the entire way. They were headed to LA to see the Grammy awards, which I was kinda jealous about, but she promised me that one day if I want to see them, I will make time to see them. As I said, the connection to Detroit wasn't long at all, and before I knew it, the ladies were gone (I never caught their names, but I did give her my twitter information. She should be posting a photo one of these days!).
At this point I had lots of energy, and went on a search for two things throughout the Detroit airport. First, I needed to exchange my money. I found a currency exchange booth, and was told they only had 200 USD worth of Scottish Pounds. They also told me that English Pounds wouldn't work (which I found out is completely UNTRUE, but I figured I shouldn't question the currency exchange booth). Luckily, there was a very kind young couple and a baby who saw me and said (only the parents told me. The baby didn't talk) they were also flying to Amsterdam, which they apparently do often, and said it would be easier to exchange there. I took their word and began my search for object #2 - New York Magazine. It's the only magazine I'll actually read, and can you believe they don't have it ANYWHERE. It was so frustrating. Among the surplus of senseless magazines (who even reads a monthly magazine about guns or bears? Is there truly that much new, invigorating material to catch up on?), there wasn't a New York to be found. The other frustrating fact was anytime I asked if they carried the magazine, the shop owner would excitedly say yes and take me to The New Yorker. Not the same, kids. Not the same. So, with 2 major fails in my back pocket, I went to get a drink at the OnLine Cafe. I only had twenty minutes before boarding began for my flight, but I went in anyways. I do, however, know now that I never need to be right on time for boarding of an international flight and I could have taken my time with my drink. With a solid 350+ people boarding the flight and having to show a passport, it took the line a good amount of time to die down.
The next part of my journey would be one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. I walked onto the massive plane and back three sections to find my seat among strangers. No funny ladies this time. Just lots of awkward glances from people likely wondering why I would be traveling to Amsterdam. Even worse? The plane had the unique, yet unfortunate, smell of a nursing home. I knew I was in for what could be the longest seven hours of my life. The plane took off right around 6:00pm and landed in Amsterdam at 10:00am. The flight, however, was only 7 hours. Think about that. I normally go to sleep around midnight. That's how my internal clock works. Midnight for my body meant that I would fall asleep (with any luck) six hours into the flight. One hour before landing: 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I lost an entire night of my life. What was even worse was my seat's position. It's practically impossible to sleep if you are on an isle seat. You must never put your feat into the aisle and I knew I couldn't count on leaning on my neighbor, a kind though quiet, man from Mumbai. So, I didn't sleep at all. The worst. The only saving grace of the entire flight was the fact that the little televisions they had for each seat were loaded with the most brilliant film selections and cd's to listen to all for free. I started with a movie. Actually, it was the only Academy Award Best Picture nominee that I had yet to see: Beasts of The Southern Wild. It was a real blessing to have that (Though it stopped half way through because of the airplane's network problems, which took 1 hour to fix by restarting all electric in the plane. That's right. All the lights went out so we could restart our electronics. Horrifying). I finished the film eventually (It's brilliant by the way. One of the best, and I hope the little girl wins best actress!) and moved on to nothing but Bon Iver until the plane landed. This is where life got interesting once again.
As I exited the plane and walked into the Amsterdam International Airport, I felt as if the world was in one spot. No body spoke the same language, the announcements being made overhead where first in Dutch, then Italian, then German, then English, then French, the several other languages I wasn't quite sure of (oddly, there was no Spanish. I think they expect you to know another language if your main language is Spanish). The people were from all walks of life, but the one genetic prominence among the crowd was an overwhelming number of blonde-haired, blue-eyed individuals. Adults, kids, teenagers alike. It felt nice to not be the only one, and while I would have loved to spark up conversation, I don't know any other language than English. So, I traveled throughout the airport to find a currency exchange, as the couple had suggested, and waited in line for 30 minutes behind 2 people to change my money. I walk up to the counter, hand the woman my 540 USD, she plugs it into her computer and offers me something around 250 GBP. Bull shit. I know how much my money's worth, and it's not that bad. I asked her politely for the exchange rate, and she proceeded to tell me that I was in Holland. A Euro country. Therefore, she had to convert my USD to the Euro and from the Euro to the Pound. I was basically being screwed twice. I told her no thank you and went on my way through more security, a waiting area of about 200 people most with British accents, read an email from my sister and messaged my parents saying I was safe, but very tired. From there I sat. And in approximately an hour, I would be in Scotland: My home for the next 4 months.
Well, as all travelers know, security was next. I was ready. I made certain that I wouldn't have any problems by reading every last guideline and even searching on the TSA website whether or not I could take my feather pillow as a carry-on item (good news - you can!). I did, however, forget to take my belt off. Again, 'shit.' While I would have looked forward to be patted down by the attractive TSA attendant, it was clear he was only invested in his work and not interested in me, as he tentatively patted my sides twice and gave my belt back. Now, I guess it was finally time to begin my travels after people-watching in the C51 terminal for about an hour. (*This next section is being typed at 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I'll explain eventually, but if my writing isn't cohesive, that's why!) When I boarded the Columbus plane, nothing very exciting happened until the door was about to lock and two rambunctious, Melissa McCarthy-esque ladies run onto the plane shouting and laughing 'Hot damn, that was close." I knew we'd get along even if it would only be for the 28 minute flight to Detroit. Fortunately, they sat one row behind me, and made me laugh the entire way. They were headed to LA to see the Grammy awards, which I was kinda jealous about, but she promised me that one day if I want to see them, I will make time to see them. As I said, the connection to Detroit wasn't long at all, and before I knew it, the ladies were gone (I never caught their names, but I did give her my twitter information. She should be posting a photo one of these days!).
At this point I had lots of energy, and went on a search for two things throughout the Detroit airport. First, I needed to exchange my money. I found a currency exchange booth, and was told they only had 200 USD worth of Scottish Pounds. They also told me that English Pounds wouldn't work (which I found out is completely UNTRUE, but I figured I shouldn't question the currency exchange booth). Luckily, there was a very kind young couple and a baby who saw me and said (only the parents told me. The baby didn't talk) they were also flying to Amsterdam, which they apparently do often, and said it would be easier to exchange there. I took their word and began my search for object #2 - New York Magazine. It's the only magazine I'll actually read, and can you believe they don't have it ANYWHERE. It was so frustrating. Among the surplus of senseless magazines (who even reads a monthly magazine about guns or bears? Is there truly that much new, invigorating material to catch up on?), there wasn't a New York to be found. The other frustrating fact was anytime I asked if they carried the magazine, the shop owner would excitedly say yes and take me to The New Yorker. Not the same, kids. Not the same. So, with 2 major fails in my back pocket, I went to get a drink at the OnLine Cafe. I only had twenty minutes before boarding began for my flight, but I went in anyways. I do, however, know now that I never need to be right on time for boarding of an international flight and I could have taken my time with my drink. With a solid 350+ people boarding the flight and having to show a passport, it took the line a good amount of time to die down.
The next part of my journey would be one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. I walked onto the massive plane and back three sections to find my seat among strangers. No funny ladies this time. Just lots of awkward glances from people likely wondering why I would be traveling to Amsterdam. Even worse? The plane had the unique, yet unfortunate, smell of a nursing home. I knew I was in for what could be the longest seven hours of my life. The plane took off right around 6:00pm and landed in Amsterdam at 10:00am. The flight, however, was only 7 hours. Think about that. I normally go to sleep around midnight. That's how my internal clock works. Midnight for my body meant that I would fall asleep (with any luck) six hours into the flight. One hour before landing: 9:00AM in Amsterdam. I lost an entire night of my life. What was even worse was my seat's position. It's practically impossible to sleep if you are on an isle seat. You must never put your feat into the aisle and I knew I couldn't count on leaning on my neighbor, a kind though quiet, man from Mumbai. So, I didn't sleep at all. The worst. The only saving grace of the entire flight was the fact that the little televisions they had for each seat were loaded with the most brilliant film selections and cd's to listen to all for free. I started with a movie. Actually, it was the only Academy Award Best Picture nominee that I had yet to see: Beasts of The Southern Wild. It was a real blessing to have that (Though it stopped half way through because of the airplane's network problems, which took 1 hour to fix by restarting all electric in the plane. That's right. All the lights went out so we could restart our electronics. Horrifying). I finished the film eventually (It's brilliant by the way. One of the best, and I hope the little girl wins best actress!) and moved on to nothing but Bon Iver until the plane landed. This is where life got interesting once again.
As I exited the plane and walked into the Amsterdam International Airport, I felt as if the world was in one spot. No body spoke the same language, the announcements being made overhead where first in Dutch, then Italian, then German, then English, then French, the several other languages I wasn't quite sure of (oddly, there was no Spanish. I think they expect you to know another language if your main language is Spanish). The people were from all walks of life, but the one genetic prominence among the crowd was an overwhelming number of blonde-haired, blue-eyed individuals. Adults, kids, teenagers alike. It felt nice to not be the only one, and while I would have loved to spark up conversation, I don't know any other language than English. So, I traveled throughout the airport to find a currency exchange, as the couple had suggested, and waited in line for 30 minutes behind 2 people to change my money. I walk up to the counter, hand the woman my 540 USD, she plugs it into her computer and offers me something around 250 GBP. Bull shit. I know how much my money's worth, and it's not that bad. I asked her politely for the exchange rate, and she proceeded to tell me that I was in Holland. A Euro country. Therefore, she had to convert my USD to the Euro and from the Euro to the Pound. I was basically being screwed twice. I told her no thank you and went on my way through more security, a waiting area of about 200 people most with British accents, read an email from my sister and messaged my parents saying I was safe, but very tired. From there I sat. And in approximately an hour, I would be in Scotland: My home for the next 4 months.
No comments:
Post a Comment