England-Part II

So after a wonderful day of sight-seeing, we had planned to return to the hostel by 5:30pm. I had to take two trains to catch my flight, and the directions at the hostel listed my journey time at 45 minutes. We did not really lose track of time towards the end of the day, but we did have to wait for our tour bus a couple of times, which put us behind schedule. I knew I was pushing it and began to prepare myself to miss my flight. However, I did not prepare myself for what was really ahead. Catherine and I ran to the tube station, said goodbye, and I hopped on the tube, which I took to a particular street. I got off at the correct stop, raced upstairs, and found the Stansted Express ticket line. I bought a ticket for this train which was supposed to go directly to Stansted Airport. I walked under a huge orange sign that read Stansted Express: the fastest way to Stansted Airport. I should have considered it an omen. I slid my ticket into the machine, the little gate opened, and the machine spit my ticket back out. I ran to the train and hopped on. The ticket master on the train took my ticket from me, examined it, punched a hole in it, and gave it back to me. Although I had a weird feeling in my gut that I was on the wrong train and should ask someone for confirmation, I dismissed the feeling as silly fear and tried to feel comforted by the fact that the ticketmaster had checked me in without indicating any problems. If that conductor had been around about one hour later, he would have regretted the day he became a ticketmaster! He is a lucky little man! So I rode this train for some time, expecting to miss my flight but hoping for a quick and easy exchange for a later one. I stepped off the train and knew immediately that something was wrong. Nothing looked familiar, and I knew I was not at Stansted Airport. I followed the crowd upstairs and approached the ticket/information counter. I explained to the worker that I was looking for Stansted Airport but was apparently lost. He replied that I could take a bus outside to the airport. At first I thought maybe the hostel information center had neglected to include that minor detail, but then the worker informed me that the bus ride would last one hour! Naturally, I reacted strongly to this. I told him that was strange because I was told to do exactly what I had done and that I would arrive at Stansted. He then told me that I had travelled in the wrong direction and was currently one hour away from my destination. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. In defeat, I stepped outside into the freezing night air to wait for the bus. I called my colleague, Stephi, to tell her not to pick me up at Weeze, but the call would not go through. By the grace of God, the call to my boss was successful. I told him my dilemma, and he called Stephie for me and then called me back. He said he had bad news. According to the internet, the flight I missed was the last one of the night, and the next one left at 6:40am the next morning. The time was currently about 7:30pm, and I cringed at the thought of that possibility. I told him I would go to the airport and find out my options and then call him back later. Two men nearby heard my conversation, and the younger approached me. He was a young man from Poland, travelling with his father, and they had also taken the wrong train and were trying to get to Stansted. He told me that there had been some sort of mix up with the Stansted Express, so really it was not completely my fault. They caught me on the verge of tears, mostly from anger and frustration, so their timing was perfect. These two gifts from God distracted me with kindness and lovely conversation about our countries and lives therein. We parted ways at the airport, and they rushed to catch their flight, since they had been smart enough to leave time for such mishaps in their schedule! I went to my airline, which was dark and completely shut down except for two desks. I expained my problem, and a woman told me that my flight had indeed been the last of the night, and my next option was the 6:40am flight. In hopes of finding a flight with another airline, I went to information, who shared the blessed news that all the other airlines were shut down for the night with no more outgoing flights! Awesome! So I went back to my airline and paid about $100 to exchange my missed flight for the next one. Luckily, there was one cafe open 24 hours, so I drank hot chocolate and ate a muffin. I called my boss and upated him, and he told me I could take a cab from Weeze back to Straelen, and he would see me later. Then I called my parents. My mom answered and called me right back so it would be free for me to talk. Hilariously, my phone cut off right after I told her that I had missed my flight and was stuck in the airport. What a perfect place to end the conversation with my mother, leaving her to worry about me. Later, I remembered a genius invention known as a collect call and was able to get back in touch with my parents. We talked a while, laughing about my circumstance and how I was not at all surprised that it had happened to me! Anyway, to make a long story shorter, I spent the night in the airport. I tried to sleep, but that was nearly impossible. Choosing between a hard bench and the cold floor was a real tough decision, and I found myself lusting after the mats, sleeping bags and blankets of those around me. I frequented the cafe, watched the snow fall outside, listened to music on my i-pod, and immortalized my experience in a notebook. Sadly, I had packed lightly with one carry-on, excluding toiletries like face wash and toothpaste, which I borrowed from Catherine. So I chewed a lot of Orbit and felt pores clogging every minute. I laughed at myself and this miserable destiny, and I wished I had a travelling companion with which to share it. But I survived, and that is really the point. I took care of myself, caught the flight at 6:40am, took a taxi back to Straelen, and slept all day. Luckily, my boss is a gem and gave me the day off to recover! So I am glad to be back and am actually still quite exhausted. But I will definitely never forget the night I spent in a London airport, completely exhausted but as strong and independent as ever!