What? This can’t happen.
It did though, and after talking to many different airport employees, I was told that the only option was to buy another ticket. The cheap ticket I had found through a travel site did not permit rebooking OR the issuing of a refund. I was completely out of luck and again could not believe that, to reveal how fortunate I have been in life, this could happen to me. Two other German women were talking hurriedly with the employee at the next window, and I realized that they were in the exact same situation, also intending to go to Munich. The only difference was that they had been in the airport the whole time, drinking coffee and relaxing before the flight. I suppose I could blame the extra long bus ride to the airport, but it was quite obviously my own fault. I had gotten so used to European standards of travel, especially train, and started to maintain an unconscious belief that travel within the EU was equivalent to domestic travel in the US. One mustn’t arrive a freakish two hours early, I rationalized, for a one hour flight. There had been some close calls before, but never anything like this. Maybe the American standard of paranoia regarding punctuality and plane travel is not so bad, I thought.
I purchased the ticket with Spanair, my original airline, after comparing prices with Lufthansa. The current time was 8pm, and my scheduled flight took off at 10:30am the next morning. Feeling as though I had said my final goodbyes to Barcelona and to my flatmates, I opted rather decisively to spend the night at the airport. The story that follows is an account of the fifteen and a half hour ordeal, from the wait time to landing, complete with sketches and writing that fill thirty pages of my small Moleskine.
My night in a BCN airport.
So it begins…
You want to be that ambling nomadic Dylanesque figure you’ve always admired? Well then, here’s your chance.
Over the next few hours, I plan to observe and ponder this bizarre muddle of expectant strangers at El Prat Airport in Barcelona. This for a girl who, as a child, busied herself with elaborate theatrical pieces, roles filled by oversized paperclips, in Mailboxes, Etc. while her father filled out countless forms. Right then. Here are the details:
Original time of departure: 19:55 April 6th
New flight: 10:30 April 7th
Current time: 22:15
Hours remaining: 12 hrs. 15 min.
The first two hours have not been terribly unpleasant. Now, when the night crowd arrives, crawling out of their shadows, this is when the entertainment starts. These are the Red Eye flying, bargain-addicted travelers; they are the pissed, tired and hungry foreigners who have been screwed over by their airlines and are just, for fuck’s sake, trying to get to London. These people are the elderly hyper-punctuals and, the suave young loiterers with their crunchy gelled hair and infrequently victorious attempts at picking up the stranded and forlorn female travelers.
There are those who look as if this wait has no psychological impact on them whatsoever, as if they just happened to drive extra 10km for that cup of coffee they could have purchased down the street. Scarcely any children are around, but in their place is a staggering display of paper espresso cups, covering all available table space. There is also the fact that it is ridiculously crowded here for 10pm on a Monday night, and there are multiple games of cards, never-ending and varied in nature, concerned faces, gift-wrapped packages, waiting eagerly and pregnant with potential atop luggage, rides on baggage carts, and hushed conversations. In the midst of all this, there is also me. Hello, El Prat de Ilobregat. In the coming hours, we will become fairly well acquainted.
Original time of departure: 19:55 April 6th
New flight: 10:30 April 7th
Current time: 22:15
Hours remaining: 12 hrs. 15 min.
The first two hours have not been terribly unpleasant. Now, when the night crowd arrives, crawling out of their shadows, this is when the entertainment starts. These are the Red Eye flying, bargain-addicted travelers; they are the pissed, tired and hungry foreigners who have been screwed over by their airlines and are just, for fuck’s sake, trying to get to London. These people are the elderly hyper-punctuals and, the suave young loiterers with their crunchy gelled hair and infrequently victorious attempts at picking up the stranded and forlorn femaletravelers.
There are those who look as if this wait has no psychological impact on them whatsoever, as if they just happened to drive extra 10km for that cup of coffee they could have purchased down the street. Scarcely any children are around, but in their place is a staggering display of paper espresso cups, covering all available table space. There is also the fact that it is ridiculously crowded here for 10pm on a Monday night, and there are multiple games of cards, never-ending and varied in nature, concerned faces, gift-wrapped packages, waiting eagerly and pregnant with potential atop luggage, rides on baggage carts, and hushed conversations. In the midst of all this, there is also me. Hello, El Prat de Ilobregat. In the coming hours, we will become fairly well acquainted.
Observation #1:
It’s peculiar how linguistic quirks, filler words and idioms from your mother language spill out of the mouth violently, rapidly and without your knowledge or permission. I overhear a man with impeccable, rapid English who nonetheless repeatedly says “pero, pero que…, bueno, or sí, sí” in conversation.
Observation #2:
A giant group of Spaniards most likely returning from Mexico is talking loudly, wearing obscenely bright colors and sombreros, eating, laughing, and taking chaotic group photos. I wonder what they are doing here, why they aren’t going directly home or onward to the next destination. Strange…
Observation #3:
The noise is what is most surprising. It could easily be 2pm, based on the level of energy and volume with which the people all speak.
This place is like an overly lit and very spacious bar, although albiet located.
Sketch: paper plate, crumpled paper pastry bag, apple core
Observation #5:
It is getting colder with each passing hour. My friend’s warnings about the frigid temperature in the Istanbul airport may hold true here as well.
Sketch of one of van Gogh’s drawings
Observation #6:
The Italians – they have ceased to be Spaniards in my reassessment – are howling like wolves. This was sparked by a simultaneous “Oooh” emitted by a group of teen girls (presumably from the same group). The boys responded in kind, only as animals.
Night. Night. Night.
Van Gogh was obsessed with the shadows, alleys and lurking miscreants that came out at that time. Bars are always ripe for social observations. Oh yes, it’s strange that I see myself now, with a rapid turn-around at age 13 (public school and puberty being likely contributors) into a more outgoing person, as an extrovert. I am passionate about psychology for many reasons, though, and one of them is that I understand what it feels like to be an outsider, as well as what this perception does to a person. It means to live with a self-imposed stigmatization that is more egoistic that outwardly obvious, but detrimental nonetheless. In the end, to bring to mind Susan Sontag, it is all about the ego.
Who are we other than the minds we possess and the bodies we inhabit? [This is an atheist’s statement if there ever was one.] We relate to others only in terms of how similar or dissimilar they are to us. If we find their shared characteristics and foreign ones fascinating, we are then compelled to see them as fascinating. When the differences are too great (or when they are perhaps really our own qualities but exaggerated like the disturbing reflection in a carnival mirror in that person’s seemingly cumbersome fashion), we are uninterested in the individual.
Current time: 11:00pm
11.5 hours to go, and I desperately want to scoff at that miniscule amount. I have slept that long before. I have been suspended in flights on long-distance plane trips in that amount of time. This should be manageable. It is highly likely that I am still in denial of what lies ahead.
Or maybe the Spanitalians are actually Portuguese. It is normally not this hard to tell. It just sounds so similar but not quite identical to Spanish.
Thoughts on Venice: [A planned trip that I rethought after this unexpected expense]
Ultimately, the option of rescheduling or canceling my trip (and not losing money in the process) is not up to me but rather to the travel company. It can’t hurt to make a list of pros and cons for later reference, though.
PRO – Venice Apr. 13-16
- I really want to go (in life or now)
- The beauty, architecture, canals and museums, plus the markets and people
- The sun, the moments in cafés that will be had
- It will still be very festive after Easter, I believe
CON – Venice Apr. 13-16
- Money reasons, especially after having to purchase the ticket back to Munich from BCN
- I have been sitting in cafés and unwinding or reflecting for the past month. It’s almost getting old.
- Registration issues with my classes [for Lewis & Clark College in Portland next fall], waking up at 5am for it
- It will be so very expensive
With this BCN-MUC ticket I could have traveled from Munich to Copenhagen to Stokholm and back to Munich (the 217 Euro combination of plane tickets I researched earlier), the trip I am planning for July and August. Gah.
Why am I still here? I want to go home. Home: Munich, Portland, San Carlos, even Tempe with my parents. That is more homey than this airport.
Oh god. It’s only 11:15pm.
11 hours, 15 minutes left.
Stop. Counting. It’s like math class as a kid. Tick, tick, tick. When will that damn bell ring? I want to go to recess, play four square and eat string cheese. Are these my own memories? Collective consciousness ingested through film and television? I think they are somewhat my own. I remember the string cheese vividly.
I ate snails last night in Spain. Out with flatmates, four glasses of wine (over a many hour period). There was also something that might have had…
Interrupt due to Observation #7:
RANDOM SPONTANEOUS APPLAUSE, YELLING. Then silence. Some people filmed it. What the hell was that about?
…ham in it, but you couldn’t tell because it was breaded and fried, with no visible… chunks. Meghan (also not a carnivore) ordered it and we sinned together, each making the other’s misstep slightly less shameful. Bad semi-vegetarians. Bad, bad, bad. Hilarious jackassery on Charlie’s part, with the squealing piglet imitations and all.
BEST thing about going back to Munich = Far. Less. Mullets.
Observation #8:
I was amused by and photographed a bouquet dispenser in the greeting area for arrivals. “Hi hon, I picked up these flowers for you, along with some Cheetos and a Coke – man, is that a multi-purpose vending machine!
Observation #9:Terminal A is, as if its name were to reflect its letter grade in cleanliness, better equipped with better seats (the ‘comfy’ kind) and has more restaurants than Terminal B. There is also non-stop classical music. If B is poorer than A in aesthetic niceties, is C therefore much mangier than B and therefore the ultimate in shoddiness?
Flight of the Bumblebee is playing and my heart has started to race.This melody is way to stressful for this environment, I couldn’t imagine a worse pairing. Perhaps pop music and gang violence, though I can’t say for sure.
Observation #10:
I’m sorry not to mask my utter wonderment, but I just saw the first homeless person here. That is to say that his home is the airport, so perhaps that title does not fit – nor is the pretension and disgusting classism implicit in the novelty I saw in this situation excusable. But still, the thought of living here, spending both your nights and waking hours in this vast fluorescent hell… the knowledge of its unfavorable conditions for sleeping followed by the submission of sleeping here, where it is warmer and safer than outdoors, and where there are many toilets… that is surprising yet understandable to me. The fact that I could afford to pay for my stupidity by booking a new flight, the fact that I can afford to fly in general, have a laptop, attend a private university, have an individual room and health insurance and all these luxuries means that I am not aware of suffering on any real level. I am not lacking in amenities or belongings, family support or education.
Swallow that first, then whine about one night in an airport. This is an exception to my normal daily activities and a fairly romanticized notion of adventure, not my forced way of life.
The TIME is: 12:00am
10.5 hours left
First attempt at sleep was made.
Duration: 25 minutes
Method: As the benches were designed to discourage people from lying down and thus have a large half-trapezoid steel bar between each seat, reaching a position that mimicked something close to comfort proved challenging. I wrapped my scar around my eyes, faced belly toward rather than away – this is impossible and could result in curving your spine in an inhuman way – from the divider, in something like a fetal position, used my bag and large jacket as a pillow, and a smaller jacket as a blanket. This worked pretty well, but my comfort level was about here:
See Graph
Food Consumed Today:
- Bran cereal with strawberries. Only the small boring ones were left.
- A few stolen stale biscuits from my flatmate’s forgotten box in the kitchen
- SUSHI BUFFET
- Apple, cheese on baguette with strange lackluster tomatoey spread, most of a baby Toblerone, water
- Second apple
Current Apple Ration: 2 eaten. 1 remaining.
I also have bran cereal in my suitcase…
Moment of Weakness 12:48am
I ate the second to last triangle piece of Toblerone. It’s almost all gone now.
The classical music never stops.
Second Attempt at Sleep:
Duration: 41 minutes
Method: See previous trial
Results: I feel mildly refreshed, but my eyes feel terribly dry and I could probably sleep for about fifteen hours if placed in a big cushy bed in a pitch black right now. My dreams were fantastically psychedelic, rapid, colorful, and creative. Sleep deprivation and classical music can have that effect, I suppose. Also, when a person is very exhausted, the brain enters REM immediately to recuperate from the lack of rest and the dreams are exquisitely intense.
I had the scarf wrapped around my head like a blindfold, blocking out the light. It looked very silly [Drawing].
Current Time: 1:50am
Remaining Time: 8 hrs. 40 min.
Time goes faster when I write than when I try to trick my body into sleeping. [Drawing of bed in Munich].
I desperately need to brush my teeth.
Update 2:20am
Time Remaining: 8 hrs. 10 min.
I feel better after washing my face and brushing my teeth. The nighttime ritual also established some sense of normalcy and helped to eat up time, of which I have plenty. I have never been this on time for a flight in my entire personal history. Ha.
Noteworthy Victory:
I have found and secured a bench for myself with NO CENTER BAR! Lying down! The negative side is that a man in the bathroom right next to this bench is hacking up a lung and lots of mucus. Where did that classical music go?? I also have a neighbor on this bench who is reveling in its semi-sleep-worthy capacity. She looks normal, young, well dressed. Just another person who messed up and didn’t want to book a hotel. Her feet smell horrendous, though, and she has kindly removed her shoes to allow fellow bench dozers a better whiff.
Current Time: 3:56am
Time Remaining: 6 hrs. 34 min.
I had a somewhat successful attempt at sleeping and made things more or less comfortable. Even though I have not, in all these naps and attempts, drifted out of consciousness and was always cognizant of the sounds (hand dryer, four times in a row… your hands are fucking dry, ok?) going on around me, it’s been helpful to have a little bit of peace. I am already excited about the stores opening in the morning – New Things To See! – and going through security at 5am or so. I have a window seat in the second row. Munich. Munich. Bed. Bed. So much thinking while I try to sleep. In my thoughts I am more articulate that what I am writing now. The effects are already showing, which makes me feel weak. I pulled so many all-nighters for IB classes in high school or exams in the past three years of college. This should not be so hard. Oh nooo… asshole spitting man sauntered over to the bathroom just now. Here we go again.
I feel a certain sense of solidarity with this nice jeans smelly feet girl sleeping two seats over. We are both trying hard and putting in a great deal of effort into accomplishing something highly unlikely to succeed: sleep in this airport. I feel guilty chewing bran flakes and moving the plastic bag. I tried no to move around too much while lying because it rattle the bench. It’s an odd thing to bond with a stranger over something so miniscule and without their knowledge.
P.S. Spitting man seems to be feeling better.
The time is 5:15am, and the airport is alive again. Time remaining: 5 hrs. 15 min. It is still too early for me to check in and the latest flights displayed are only at 9:10, but a glimmer of hope exists. I am having a supremely mediocre café con leche and a several day old croissant.
It is now 6:15, exactly an hour later. I putzed around on my computer for a while sans internet-connection and read many PDF versions of Spanish children’s stories that Andrew sent me. Look! I’m being industrious. The battery reached a critical low and I am left to my own devices for the time being. They are playing Beyoncé’s If I Were a Boy in the candy and stuffed animal shop that just opened. Who wants Beyoncé and candy at this hour?
6:17am
I suppose I do. The last mini triangle of Toblerone has been consumed.
Still don’t think I can check in. The latest flight is at 9:10, as it was before.
Observation #11:
There is an utter lack of power outlets in this airport. Where are they?? Have you seen any?
I have developed a nervous tick from consciously sniffling once (it’s really more like a subtle intake of breath) every time I move my hair over my ears. I notice whenever I do this, but just after, when it’s too late to catch it and correct the behavior.
It’s now 7:32am. I am past security and have been browsing around in the shops. It’s all so lively and fancy and I am just so very tired…
But The End Is In Sight!
Shops, shops, shops. Such shiny objects and so expensive, too. I almost fell asleep in a bathroom stall. I closed my eyes and tilted my head down a little, then suddenly I made an involuntary jerk. Awake! Yes, I am awake! The time is 7:55am. I have 2,10 Euro and urgently require orange juice. I think I know where my gate it now. There is a huge waiting space with benches sans dividers. Oh yes.
8:20am
I am drinking an over-priced, far too sweet glass of Minute Maid orange juice and the taste is, at this very instant, much appreciated. I have no complaints. I am watching the planes pass, take off, and taxi like fat oblong seagulls against the pastel pink backdrop of a sky. This is calming, yet I do not know why. That must be the reason they created those enormous windows, to let in light and to pacify and distract stressed travelers. It’s rather hypnotic. After seeing my reflection in the bathroom mirror on this side of security, where the lighting is warmer and less harsh, allowing you to encounter a more human, healthy person in your reflection, I noticed that I did not look all that bad for someone who spent the last 13 hours in the airport without real sleep.
It’s now 9:40am. The benches in the M3 waiting area are so unbelievably comfortable and ergonomically designed. Lack of a soft surface has made me so grateful for them that I’d fill my living room with these tilted back benches, perhaps lining them along the walls as couches or in rows like a movie theatre. Chop a bench in half and you have a love seat, whereas one chair alone is perfect for reading. When friends visit, you can sit face to face, reclining leisurely in your own row of airport chairs.
I have such a headache and am so damn hungry again. I want that emergency chocolate!
10:20am
Boarded. Sitting in the plane. Thank god.
11:50am
This is by far slowest plane flight ever. The clouds look like letters and spell out sideways A and vertical F. AF. I get frantic with anticipation whenever I hear the wheels of a could-be beverage cart moving or the crinkling plastic sound of joy that accompanies snacks. My current greatest fear is (aside from the rational fear of losing luggage) missing the snacks.
I WANT TO GO HOME NOW PLEASE.
Lesson learned. Very expensively, at that. Don’t dilly dally on your way to the airport. Always be early. I was awake for the last snack handout and extended my hand enthusiastically. It was a lozenge. How disappointing. Still, I would have hated missing it.
12:30am
Regardless of all this, the feelings of glee and warmth I experienced while looking over my picturesque fairy tale German city were so profound. I am happy to be back. Tired, extremely sore, and a bit poorer, but glad to be home again. Endlich wieder zu Hause.
The End. El fin. Das Ende.
2:18pm
Just kidding. Apparently all forces are working against me. I am ONE STOP from home and the U-Bahn is stalled indefinitely, so I stand here with my bags. I bought potatoes at the supermarket in the airport so I could make soup tonight. Yeah. They are great fun to carry.
At 2:30pm, April 7th, I arrived in my room, flung open my windows and washed up, dancing with glee at having my very own room again. The weather was glorious and my mood was elevated. I slept for a few hours and then spent time with friends. It was quite amazing after the hectic experience.
Hello again, Munich. I have never been so happy to be home.
1 comment:
just to let you know, i read every single word of your post. and loved it. I mean, I think that David Sedaris would be proud of your observation skills along with the ability to find the insanity in the mundane. well put darling, well done.
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