Last year on this day I arrived home from Europe. I’d been in Ireland and Scotland for 10 days, and had had enough of my ugly American travel partners. When our plane left Edinburgh, I already knew I’d be flying home two days early…alone.
Traveling together can ruin a friendship, and I’d been miserable since we left Indiana. I’d sneak to computers late at night and email Matt and my family. My favorite memory of the entire trip was sitting at an antique desk on the third story of an old mansion in Cork, Ireland. The wind blew the curtains next to me as the rain pounded the shutter roof. I sat and wrote to Matt; he replied in 30 seconds.
I am smitten with Europe, but at that moment I knew there could be something better than architecture, cobblestone streets and tea with milk.
On our plane to Amsterdam, the last leg of the trip, I sat in the middle seat; my travel partner listened to music blaring from his iPod. I whispered to the stranger sitting next to me on the other side: I need help getting away from this person.
I was trying to be discreet, but I freaked the guy out and he loudly asked, “WHAT?” I shushed him and said, “This person I’m with is crazy; we’re in a huge fight and I’m leaving for the States the minute I get to Amsterdam; can you just make sure he doesn’t, you know, kill me?”
I felt like I was escaping from an abductor. The stranger quickly became my ally and mentioned that he had four other friends on the flight and that they’d all keep an eye on me.
When we landed, I explained to my co-traveler that not everyone was meant for seeing the world together and that I was leaving...on a jet plane.
He screamed at me in the middle of the airport, but my eyes were on my new Dutch friends, who were lurking near us and gesturing in an “are you ok?” way. I nodded. I was fearless and I wanted out.
My now ex-friend and I parted ways, after he refused to give me any information regarding our flight home. Credit card in hand, I walked to a help desk and explained that I had no ticket, no idea of when my flight left, but that I needed to get the hell out of Amsterdam immediately.
The attendant told me this was the worst travel debacle he’d ever seen, and so took pity on me; thank God for e-tickets or it would have cost me $3,000. He booked me a first class flight for the following morning, so I stayed alone in Amsterdam for one night. I drank a couple of glasses of wine and emailed Matt: I’m free! I’m coming home!
The flight home was one of the best experiences of my life. I’d flown first class before…but alone?! Never. The crew did everything except give me a sponge bath, which I’m sure I could have requested.
When I took my seat I was offered champagne. I said, “Keep it coming – I really deserve it,” and they did. I ate one of each of everything and drank a few glasses of wine too (longer flight returning to the States, darn that air stream). I slept a lot too: the seats reclined completely! I may be the first person in history who departed a flight refreshed and satiated…and 5 pounds heavier.
Matt picked me up at the airport; I haven’t left him alone since.
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