Sunday, October 19, 2008
Captian's Log #6 Stardate 6741
Subtitle: Do or Die
Subsubtitle: I just got fucking rick rolled in a club
subsubsubtitle: Just how the hell do I get lost so often?
Part One: Do or Die
It all began on Wednesday night, shot night. After one to many jager shots, I get a nice long sleep, only to awake to what happens to be the worst hangover of my life, coupled with an annoying stomachache. I managed to get up, shower dress, and make it to my academic advising meeting (albeit 6 minutes late). With that over, I go to the Hauptbahnhof (main train station), and get my ticket down to Basel.
Now, when I first booked the ticket, I had a leaving time of 7:30, to arrive in London-Stansted at 8:45. So I figure, if I take the ICE train (the fast, nice, expensive one) at 5:01, I'll get into Basel around 5:45, and to the airport around 6:05, leaving me with almost an hour before gates close.
A little short, but nothing ridiculous right?
I go back, pack, take a quick nap, and head off. Get on the train, go down to Basel, no problem. I get off at the Hauptbahnhof and go outside, looking for a bus that said "Airport," oder auf Deutsch: Flughafen.
I see nothing
I go inside, and stand in line for information. My bus was suppose to leave at 5:45, and the minutes are ticking away
5:38. . .5:40. . .5:42. . .5:43. . . finally.
"I can't find the bus to the airport"
"Thats because its at the NEXT train stop, Basel SBB"
"Fuck" (naturally not spoken)
So the lady prints me a new ticket (which I don't have to pay for, thankfully), and I realize I have to chill out in the Hauptbahnhof for another 20 minutes.
This is pushing it more than a little. But I wait, get on the train, find the bus, and get into the airport around 6:30.
The gates close at 6:55. FUCK.
Theres no one at security besides the workers, so I glide through until the metal detectors. I'd forgotten to take my metal braclet (the one your mom made Kelsie-dear), so they did a body pat down.
I haven't had a body pat down since I went to that Bad Religion Show in November of my Sophmore (?) year of high school.
But they let me go, and the Basel inner-airport is a maze of shops and barely legiable signs.
I arrive at my gate, its 6:54, and there's no jet. The doors are closed. And there are a ton of people milling around. I approach a group of business men and exhale audibly, and:
"Es gibt einen Verspätung" (theres been a delay)
"Das ist fantastich!" (thats fantastic!)
"Für zwei Stunde" (for two hours)
"Oh. . ."
So I get settled down, send Noah a text explaining the delay, and get busy defeating the ghost gym leader in diamond. Plane arrives, I board with the "A Class," which meant I got to go before about half the people. Made me feel slightly elite, like the rich people on the Titanic (but without the icebergs).
Plane is nice, I forgot gum so my ears popped popped popped popped.
Plane lands in Stanstead, I get through security and get my SECOND passport stamp (oooo)
I get out to the main area, look around and I recognize no one.
I walk the length of the port. No Noah, no Erika, only lovely british accents.
I try to turn on my phone, only to realize that I don't have my pin, thus rendering my phone useless.
I got online, get Noah's cell number, try the pay phone.
It wont go through.
I panic. hXc.
Then I buy a bus ticket and head to the hostel, figuring I'd meet up with them there.
I know, somehow, that I need to get out at Liverpool station. At the first stop I'm told it isn't Liverpool, and considering how I preemptively exited the train, I stay on. And go to Victoria station via the Thames. Now, I DID get to see a lovely view of the Thames at night, along with Big Ben and the London Eye, but it ended up costing me 18.40pounds. Quite a hefty fee for a taxi ride from Victoria Station to Borough High Street (right by London Bridge).
My taxi driver was lovely, and we had a wonderful chat in which I learned the word "chockered" like "chocked full" which is use to refer to heavy traffic. He also lived in Atlanta, Georgia for a year and chased American tail, and was just overall very friendly.
So I get to the Hostel, and I have to walk to the main section of it. I get inside, and the people at the counter turn around. Erika and Noah. Thank God! I get one of Noah's wonderful spin-hugs, then checked in, and I pass out.
Part Two: To Much Time has passed to create a coherent, relevant narrative
The following days were a blur, in which everything touristy to see in London was seen, except for the changing of the guard.
Boring as hell I've been told, but something I wanted to see never-the-less. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to go back to London.
Of everything, I think I enjoyed the National Portrait Gallery to most. There are so many paintings there that I've only ever seen prints or copies of, and the see them in person was just amazing. Specifically the Sunflower painting by Van Gogh. No print that I have ever seen has captured the gold-leaf effect. It also solidified my desire to so to Prague (so that I can see Gustav Klimt's The Kiss in person).
I also enjoyed how every picture taken of the Parliament building looks like a painting. Seriously. There something magical about that building, whether it stems from the details or the history surrounding it, its a lovely place.
Overall, the town and the people we met where all amazing.
I wish I had worked on this entry sooner. . .
Subsubtitle: I just got fucking rick rolled in a club
subsubsubtitle: Just how the hell do I get lost so often?
Part One: Do or Die
It all began on Wednesday night, shot night. After one to many jager shots, I get a nice long sleep, only to awake to what happens to be the worst hangover of my life, coupled with an annoying stomachache. I managed to get up, shower dress, and make it to my academic advising meeting (albeit 6 minutes late). With that over, I go to the Hauptbahnhof (main train station), and get my ticket down to Basel.
Now, when I first booked the ticket, I had a leaving time of 7:30, to arrive in London-Stansted at 8:45. So I figure, if I take the ICE train (the fast, nice, expensive one) at 5:01, I'll get into Basel around 5:45, and to the airport around 6:05, leaving me with almost an hour before gates close.
A little short, but nothing ridiculous right?
I go back, pack, take a quick nap, and head off. Get on the train, go down to Basel, no problem. I get off at the Hauptbahnhof and go outside, looking for a bus that said "Airport," oder auf Deutsch: Flughafen.
I see nothing
I go inside, and stand in line for information. My bus was suppose to leave at 5:45, and the minutes are ticking away
5:38. . .5:40. . .5:42. . .5:43. . . finally.
"I can't find the bus to the airport"
"Thats because its at the NEXT train stop, Basel SBB"
"Fuck" (naturally not spoken)
So the lady prints me a new ticket (which I don't have to pay for, thankfully), and I realize I have to chill out in the Hauptbahnhof for another 20 minutes.
This is pushing it more than a little. But I wait, get on the train, find the bus, and get into the airport around 6:30.
The gates close at 6:55. FUCK.
Theres no one at security besides the workers, so I glide through until the metal detectors. I'd forgotten to take my metal braclet (the one your mom made Kelsie-dear), so they did a body pat down.
I haven't had a body pat down since I went to that Bad Religion Show in November of my Sophmore (?) year of high school.
But they let me go, and the Basel inner-airport is a maze of shops and barely legiable signs.
I arrive at my gate, its 6:54, and there's no jet. The doors are closed. And there are a ton of people milling around. I approach a group of business men and exhale audibly, and:
"Es gibt einen Verspätung" (theres been a delay)
"Das ist fantastich!" (thats fantastic!)
"Für zwei Stunde" (for two hours)
"Oh. . ."
So I get settled down, send Noah a text explaining the delay, and get busy defeating the ghost gym leader in diamond. Plane arrives, I board with the "A Class," which meant I got to go before about half the people. Made me feel slightly elite, like the rich people on the Titanic (but without the icebergs).
Plane is nice, I forgot gum so my ears popped popped popped popped.
Plane lands in Stanstead, I get through security and get my SECOND passport stamp (oooo)
I get out to the main area, look around and I recognize no one.
I walk the length of the port. No Noah, no Erika, only lovely british accents.
I try to turn on my phone, only to realize that I don't have my pin, thus rendering my phone useless.
I got online, get Noah's cell number, try the pay phone.
It wont go through.
I panic. hXc.
Then I buy a bus ticket and head to the hostel, figuring I'd meet up with them there.
I know, somehow, that I need to get out at Liverpool station. At the first stop I'm told it isn't Liverpool, and considering how I preemptively exited the train, I stay on. And go to Victoria station via the Thames. Now, I DID get to see a lovely view of the Thames at night, along with Big Ben and the London Eye, but it ended up costing me 18.40pounds. Quite a hefty fee for a taxi ride from Victoria Station to Borough High Street (right by London Bridge).
My taxi driver was lovely, and we had a wonderful chat in which I learned the word "chockered" like "chocked full" which is use to refer to heavy traffic. He also lived in Atlanta, Georgia for a year and chased American tail, and was just overall very friendly.
So I get to the Hostel, and I have to walk to the main section of it. I get inside, and the people at the counter turn around. Erika and Noah. Thank God! I get one of Noah's wonderful spin-hugs, then checked in, and I pass out.
Part Two: To Much Time has passed to create a coherent, relevant narrative
The following days were a blur, in which everything touristy to see in London was seen, except for the changing of the guard.
Boring as hell I've been told, but something I wanted to see never-the-less. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to go back to London.
Of everything, I think I enjoyed the National Portrait Gallery to most. There are so many paintings there that I've only ever seen prints or copies of, and the see them in person was just amazing. Specifically the Sunflower painting by Van Gogh. No print that I have ever seen has captured the gold-leaf effect. It also solidified my desire to so to Prague (so that I can see Gustav Klimt's The Kiss in person).
I also enjoyed how every picture taken of the Parliament building looks like a painting. Seriously. There something magical about that building, whether it stems from the details or the history surrounding it, its a lovely place.
Overall, the town and the people we met where all amazing.
I wish I had worked on this entry sooner. . .
3:18 PM
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