That needy island Iceland should keep its volcanic mouth shut! Yesterday morning I spent almost fifty dollars just to get to the airport and be told that all flights to Ireland were cancelled. Contemplating my situation in London Stansted airport I realized what fate wanted to happen.
At the beginning of my semester in Ireland, I attempted to use the train and ferry route to London and failed miserably. It was time to see if three months in Europe had honed my travelling capabilities. I would brave the train and ferry.
A trip from London Stansted to Liverpool Station in London proper costs twenty pounds (about forty dollars), at best. Having already paid the fare once just to get screwed out of a flight, I decided it was time to forge the date on my pass and avoid paying for another trip. Needless to say, it worked and my checking account was spared. From there it was a four pound (eight dollar) tube ride to Euston Station where I briefly wandered around searching for the right ticket counter. I eventually found it, but now it was a race against time. If I didn’t board a train within twenty minutes, I wouldn’t be getting to Ireland until five AM the next day. Luckily I made it in time and swiftly boarded the very crowded train. The Irish just wanted to get home.
Five hours later, I left the UK Rail System behind and made for the ferry port. This is where things got stressful. I was one of the first of about five hundred people to get my ticket checked, but I didn’t officially have a reserved seat. This meant that I was on “standby” until everyone else with a reserved seat was placed on the ferry. An hour of watching people check in left me with low spirits and plenty of time to ruminate on what I could spend the next nine hours before another ferry arrived doing. At last, all passengers were aboard except about twenty of us. There were twelve seats left on the ferry.
I have had plenty of adventures and misadventures during my time in Europe, and if there is one rule I always follow, it’s be friendly to everyone behind a desk, and down right obsequious to the desk jockeys with sour dispositions. It is my strong belief that the fact that I didn’t become belligerent or visibly upset when the man behind the ferry counter told me I would have to wait that led to his saving me at that crucial moment when it came time to decide who would board, and who would not.
“I remember this girl at the beginning of the queue.”
Never have more romantic words been spoken to me. At this point I had been travelling on a train, subway, or bus for over ten hours, I hadn’t eaten all day or received more than a few hours of sleep for the past four days. I wanted to get back to Ireland desperately, and even the Jonathan Swift Ferry couldn’t stop me. It was an uneventful trip, and I soon found myself running towards my apartment complex. The score was settled, Irish Ferries: 1, Carissa: 1.
I think the most interesting part of this journey was the fact that I had to be self-reliant the entire time. I can avidly remember those times when my father would pick up my mother, sister, and me at the airport, and every worry and care seemed to drain from my body because I knew I didn’t have to be responsible for myself anymore. I never felt that on this trip, I was completely dependent upon my own abilities the entire time, and I have a hunch that it will be a very long time before I experience anything else. Is that adulthood?
Irregardless of what it is or isn’t, I am in Dublin, having just roused myself from a dreamless and rejuvenating slumber. I think it’s time to post some pictures of Frankfurt.
