I have really bad travel karma. It began with my never failing to get lost. Doesn’t matter if I’m in a car, on foot, if I’ve got maps or a GPS.
Once I got lost going from one end of the Canal Street where I interned at Cox to the other to see “Spellbound” at Canal Place. I knew I’d gone too far when I hit the New Orleans Sports Arena. Or how about that time it took me 45 minutes to get to my University Commons apartment from LSU? I
know, I’m awesome.
The fact that I now travel between countries is just too tempting for the powers that be, and every other road trip I take, they’re chucking curve balls in my general direction. It’s not just a matter of being geographically ditzy anymore, because now the vehicles are turning on me.
In the five weeks I’ve been in Oxford, I’ve had the bus to the train station stall, my train to Stonehenge delayed, the tube in London breakdown and my Saturday flight to Scotland canceled. Somehow, I always seem to get to my destinations two hours late.
According to my paranoid calculations heavily padded with “safety minutes,” I left my dorm at 6:40 a.m. to catch my 10:50 a.m. flight to Edinburgh. Fine, I got to the airport at 8:10 a.m.
Then the honey-voiced airline worker announced, “The plane had technical problems and you’ll have to get the 12:50 p.m. flight, but hey! we’ll give you a food voucher for 3.50 pounds. Cheers!” The bratty tears of I-am-traveling-all-by-myself-this-is-so-not-fair began to well. So being the self-sufficient, independent, tiny little woman I am, I made for the ladies’ and started reciting “Serenity now!” and bought myself a grande mocha frappachino, courtesy of We Hate You, Amy, Airlines.
Then security made me throw out my coffee before I went through the metal detectors. Apparently, it may contain metallically dangerous sharp objects.
Know what else is fun? Circling the tarmac for 20 minutes before the plane can take off and not getting ginger ale because of turbulence.
I’ve chilled out now that I’ve had the luxury of crashing on my cousin’s couch in Stirling, Scotland, and vegging out with some classic “Even Stevens” and “Antiques Road Show.”
I even ventured a solo visit to The National Wallace Monument, which honors Mel Gibson in “Braveheart” and a self-guided tour of Stirling Castle. The castle wouldn’t have been as scary if it weren’t for the medieval wax people carving ducks in The Great Kitchen. Inanimate objects made to look like people give me the wiggins.
I pressed my luck even harder by roaming the busy streets of Edinburgh, Scotland, with only a map to accompany me. I never got lost and even made it on time for dinner with my cousin! I’d like to thank Joey from “Friends” for giving me the idea to “get in the map.” And thank you, BMI Airlines, please don’t delay me tomorrow.