The Travelling Fairy DancerThe Backpacking Chronicles - Edition 2
April 17th 2008 09:33
Ever missed an international flight, rendering you homeless, moneyless and clueless?
One eyebrow raised and lip slightly curled, the immaculately dressed woman behind the counter spoke clearly and with utter finality. "That flight left half an hour ago."
"It couldn't have." I whispered and stared at the friend beside me, her mouth gaping opening and legs poised as if ready to run (just quietly, we'd been late before).
"It has." The woman responded, moving her focus to my waist length hair, normally straight and silky but now in the process of moulding into much desired dreadlocks. Her lip curled further towards her nostrils.
"Wait one moment please." She left and we quietly had simultaneous breakdowns, looking around at the bleak solitude of night time Heathrow Airport. The benches looked particularly hard and the smell of cleaning products and unemptied rubbish bins wafted over us.
A giant of a man resembling a polar bear came to direct us to another counter. With a polite smile, he informed us in three days we could get a flight to Singapore and then a further two days would see us back in Brisbane, for no extra cost.
Rush of joy! End of panic! Extended adventure!
Until we boarded the tube and thought to look in the bitter emptiness of our torn wallets. Memories of a last, expensive dinner out, spending our exchanged cash on a trip to Madame Tussauds, last minute shopping.
"We should have stuck to pizza," I said uselessly.
"Pizza Hut has been our best friend, we shouldn't have betrayed him." My friend replied as we rested our heads on each others and rocked to the motion of the tube.
Earls Court seemed a dark and desolate place when contemplating a bed in the gutters. We began to shuffle from place to place, desperate for a room and constantly haggled by drunk passers-by.
The clock struck 10:00pm and we drifted into a hostel we'd stayed at, where they offered us a basement room, previously closed due to a leak in the roof and a strong odour of mildew. With gleeful relief, infinatley happier with the stench of wet carpet than rotting beer and infested urine in the gutters, we dumped our packs on the damp beds.
The pub around the corner was half full, warm, light and welcoming. Considering we were supposed to be squashed, side by side in economy eating slushy mushroom omelettes and lamenting the end of our trip, it equated to pure heaven.
Bless fellow travellers; we were taken in by a rowdy bunch of backpackers, fed, watered (and wined) as they laughed at our collective inability to read 24 hour time and the consequent misfortune.
But, as often happens while travelling, accidents simply mean the beginning of another adventure...
Earls Court Hostel tip: YHA Earls Court London. Email - earlscourt@yha.org.uk. (No leaky basement rooms there).
One eyebrow raised and lip slightly curled, the immaculately dressed woman behind the counter spoke clearly and with utter finality. "That flight left half an hour ago."
"It couldn't have." I whispered and stared at the friend beside me, her mouth gaping opening and legs poised as if ready to run (just quietly, we'd been late before).
"It has." The woman responded, moving her focus to my waist length hair, normally straight and silky but now in the process of moulding into much desired dreadlocks. Her lip curled further towards her nostrils.
"Wait one moment please." She left and we quietly had simultaneous breakdowns, looking around at the bleak solitude of night time Heathrow Airport. The benches looked particularly hard and the smell of cleaning products and unemptied rubbish bins wafted over us.
A giant of a man resembling a polar bear came to direct us to another counter. With a polite smile, he informed us in three days we could get a flight to Singapore and then a further two days would see us back in Brisbane, for no extra cost.
Rush of joy! End of panic! Extended adventure!
Until we boarded the tube and thought to look in the bitter emptiness of our torn wallets. Memories of a last, expensive dinner out, spending our exchanged cash on a trip to Madame Tussauds, last minute shopping.
"We should have stuck to pizza," I said uselessly.
Earls Court seemed a dark and desolate place when contemplating a bed in the gutters. We began to shuffle from place to place, desperate for a room and constantly haggled by drunk passers-by.
The clock struck 10:00pm and we drifted into a hostel we'd stayed at, where they offered us a basement room, previously closed due to a leak in the roof and a strong odour of mildew. With gleeful relief, infinatley happier with the stench of wet carpet than rotting beer and infested urine in the gutters, we dumped our packs on the damp beds.
The pub around the corner was half full, warm, light and welcoming. Considering we were supposed to be squashed, side by side in economy eating slushy mushroom omelettes and lamenting the end of our trip, it equated to pure heaven.
Bless fellow travellers; we were taken in by a rowdy bunch of backpackers, fed, watered (and wined) as they laughed at our collective inability to read 24 hour time and the consequent misfortune.
But, as often happens while travelling, accidents simply mean the beginning of another adventure...
Earls Court Hostel tip: YHA Earls Court London. Email - earlscourt@yha.org.uk. (No leaky basement rooms there).
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