A long and drawn out tale of woe

I had only meant for this to be a quick update, but everything just sort of poured out as I began to type. Therefore, here is a fairly good account of my journey from Minnesota to Aberdeen (Scotland, not SD as some of you like to joke about). It was a most exhausting trip. I traveled by plane from MSP to ORD (Chicago Int’l Airport for those of you checking this not in the meteorology/aviation field). Pretty straightforward trip and we even arrived 18 minutes early. However, due to some logistical issues, we actually pulled into the gate 2 minutes late! The next leg of my journey was from ORD to DUB (Dublin, pretty obvious from the identifier). However, they told me the wrong gate that my plane was leaving from and after a mad dash through 90% of the Chicago airport (those of you who’ve been there probably realize that it’s fairly large) to find the correct gate I found my plane which was already boarding. Out of breath and looking like a madwoman I handed them my ticket and found my seat. Luckily the plane was pretty empty and I had the seat next to me all to myself (which would come in handy when the time came to try and sleep). We were served a nice hot meal and plenty of beverages (they were coming down the aisle every 10 minutes or so it seemed). Finally, the in-flight movie came on: Wallace and Gromit: the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I was quite pleased as I had wanted to see this movie before I left the states but never got the opportunity. It was quite cute…you’ve got to love British claymation. Spiderman 2 was the next movie to play (hey, the flight was over 7 hours long), but I was too tired and not interested enough in that movie to stay awake. So, I began my 4 hour marathon of shifting and squirming to find that perfect position to sleep…there wasn’t one. Eventually I woke up as I sensed movement around me to find out that they were now serving breakfast. I dined on a fairly simple but yummy meal. After that was done, it was time to begin descending. I was hoping to see something out of the windows, but all there was around was a thick blanket of white (and here was the captain telling us that the conditions in Dublin were “partly cloudy”). I suppose I should mention somewhere in here that at the beginning of the trip the captain had informed us that due to lack of a good tailwind, we were going to arrive a little late and that our path would take us a bit further north than they were used to…we ended up flying across Michigan, over eastern Canada, across the southern tip of Greenland and finally approach Ireland from the north. Also, there was quite a bit of light to moderate turbulence FL200-300…okay, not sure about the heights but we were flying at 30,000 feet (did you Meteorlogix guys forecast that? Hmm? I hope you put out a good NAWX  for 04Z-10Z on Jan 27th!)

Soon we landed without any problems and I had to go through customs and then onward to collect my luggage. Then I had to find the location of my next airline so that I could recheck my luggage and get my new ticket. Changing airlines is quite a pain; especially when you’re hauling 4 incredibly large and heavy bags around with you. Soon I had my ticket and was going through security. Unfortunately I was subjected to a hand search of my two carry-on bags (the second time this had happened…MSP being the first) because I had crammed them so full that they couldn’t differentiate between anything on the X-ray image. I looked at my ticket when they were done and noticed that my gate number wasn’t on it, but that it looked like she had written the letter ‘A’ on it and circled it. So, I meandered my way through the airport towards the gate A area, the entire time seeing, but not noticing, all the signs that stated “no going back,” “one way,” etc. I found a bank of monitors with all the flights listed and saw one for Glasgow that looked right. A long time and distance later I was seated in the waiting lounge for gate A18. After about ten minutes I realized that all the planes outside the window where those for Ryanair, not Aer Lingus like I was taking. After having gone through so many traumas already, I decided to listen to my gut and go back. Unfortunately, just as the signs had indicated, you couldn’t go back that way unless you went through customs again. Oy, did I feel so stupid and embarrassed when I had to explain to the customs agent what happened. Soon, however, I had found my way back to the ticket counter and had them write down my real gate number (btw, it was B24…not even close!), but then I had to go through security again. I prayed they wouldn’t search my entire luggage set again, but I think the head of security there recognized me because I went right through. Finally, I was seated in the correct waiting lounge and took in the sights out the window. Gloomy would be a good word. It would rain for about a minute, and then slivers of sunlight would filter through the clouds before it would begin to sprinkle again. At length, they announced that my plane was boarding so I stood in line. At the head of the line I showed my ticket and passport to the worker…who REFUSED me entry! He said that I didn’t have an appropriate ticket and made me stand aside. I watched all the other passengers board and waited with a sinking feeling in my stomach. A man approached me and asked all sorts of questions, then began to call people on the phone. He later told me that there was a known glitch transferring information and reservations between American Airlines and Aer Lingus. That made me feel just great, but he took care of everything and I was allowed passage. I felt more embarrassment when I saw that I was the last passenger on and that everyone was waiting for me. Exhaustion and indifference allowed me to take my seat with little fanfare and soon we were departing. The strange thing about being in Dublin is that the announcements are said in a variety of languages. Which the names of each language were, I know not…it could have been Irish, Gaelic, French, German, I have no idea. Luckily they did say something in English.

The trip to Scotland was short, just shy of 50 minutes. Again, I had hoped to see something of the Scottish landscape but to no avail. Just as with Ireland, a thick sea of white obscured the land below. My first glimpse of land was upon our descent when I finally got to see the far-lying tracts of green leading up to the beginnings of the Scottish Highlands toward the far horizon. The one sad pang I felt was that there was no snow to be seen…not even a miniscule trace. In fact, I hadn’t seen snow since crossing over Michigan just as the sun was setting on Thursday night. Nonetheless, the visual was very pleasing and a small pang of pride hit me, for this was to be my second home for some time to come. We landed in Glasgow and taxied to the middle of the tarmac and stopped. How odd, I thought at the time, before I saw the staircase awaiting us. This was the first time that I had to debark outside. We climbed into waiting buses which ushered us to the airport. Quite strangely, there was no customs area to go through. I was worried, as I figured that with a visa, someone would want/need to see it. I asked a worker and he told me quite lazily that “if I hadn’t been stopped yet, then it shouldn’t be a problem”. Okaaaay. So now my problem was how to exit the airport and get to Aberdeen. How indeed.

I located a kiosk that looked like it had travel information and enquired with the woman. She informed me that I needed to purchase a bus ticket to Queen Street Station and from there take the train to Aberdeen. I purchased my ticket and went in search of a money exchange booth. I nearly cried as I handed over my hard-earned $400 and only received £209 and some change back. I lugged all my bags to the bus and held on for dear life as the bus hurled itself through the city. I know with all my heart that I will NEVER drive in Scotland for as long as I live. The bus gets just inches from everything around it and apparently does not like to waste break fluid, as it waits until just nanoseconds before collision until it begins to break. What an experience! Eventually I got off near the train station and had to lug all my bags (without the help of a trolley this time, I might add) up a never ending expanse of stairs. Huffing and puffing some minutes later, I completed this gargantuan task and tried regally to wheel my luggage towards the ticket booth (with complete failure). I soon purchased my train ticket to Aberdeen at the cost of £36.50 (~$62.00) and waited patiently for my train to come in. As I tried to recompose myself after all my exertions, I took in the sights around me. A very pleasant train station with the quintessential pigeons flying and walking about. Soon though, they announced my train and I had to again move the large bulk of demonic items that I had brought with me. Of course the train would be boarding at the far far far end of the platform. At length, I reached the doors and had to quickly hurl all four of my bags onto the carriage before the doors closed. Then I had to find a place to put all my items before finally finding a seat to throw myself into. Let me just say for those that haven’t traveled by train before…the aisles are extremely narrow and trying to wheel a huge bag through them was almost an impossibility.

Three hours later I arrived in Aberdeen. By this time it was approximately 6:30pm and dark so I didn’t get to see any of my new home city. When we stopped, I again had to hurry and throw all my bags off the train before the doors closed. Looking ridiculous, I wheeled my three rolling bags and carried another bag toward the exit. I had to idea where I was going or what I was doing, I just knew that my patience was wearing thin and I had to find my way to my dorm before I completely lost it. I saw a line of taxis parked outside, but having never had to hail a taxi before I didn’t know that procedure. I watched until I saw someone open the door to one of the cars and get in and so I followed suit by opening the door of a big black car and asking him if he knew how to get to Hillhead. He responded with an affirmative and I let out a sigh of relief as I began to throw my bags inside. We were soon racing towards the city center and I nearly had a heart attack (remember what I said earlier about driving in Scotland?).

Soon we pulled up to my new residence and I got out and gave the cabbie £10 (£7 for the ride, £3 for a tip). I went into the building and they told me that my lease didn’t start until the 29^th of January (it was currently January 27^th). My heart sank and I almost gave into temptation to wail and give up completely. Luckily for me the front reception workers were so incredibly delightful and fun that I began to feel better. I had to pay £28.50 for the extra two night accommodations before my own room would be ready. I was directed to Adam-Smith House and told that my room was on the third floor (I will now interject to say that the third floor in Britain is actually what we would call the fourth floor: it goes…ground, first, second, third, etc.) and there are no elevators! Aaaaah! So ten minutes and a few buckets of sweat later, I arrived at my temporary abode: T15. I turned the key and turned the handle (it’s a very strange door assembly) and…nothing! The door wouldn’t open. So, I had to go down three flights of steps and over the central building again to tell them what was wrong. A very nice woman accompanied me back up three flights of stairs and unlocked a ‘cleaner’s lock’ before I could get in. Finally I threw my possessions inside and heaved a sigh of relief and quickly dug out my shower things as I was by now a pool of my former self. Traveling for upwards of 20 hours did not leave one looking like a fairy princess, I can tell you.

For two days I hung out before I went and got my ‘real’ room key. Then what do you think I had to do? That’s right boys and girls, I had to haul all my bags down three flights of stairs again and over to Fyfe House. I think the gods were finally taking pity on me, as my room is on the first floor (not the ground floor, mind you) and I only had to climb one set of stairs. So there you have it, my complicated and embarrassing and altogether exhausting trip to Scotland. Here’s a quick recap for those of you playing the home game: MSP to ORD, ORD to DUB, DUB to GLA, bus from Glasgow airport to train station, train from Glasgow to Aberdeen, and finally a taxi from Aberdeen train station to Hillhead Hall. 

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