The Flying Experience

After finishing a memorable short weekend in Amsterdam, I have returned with a newfound frustration and confusion for flying. Friday night we were able to take off from Venice Maro Polo on time before we had an hour layover in Munich. The flight went smoothly and we ventured throughout the airport laughing at the German words we picked out of the advertisements we passed and trying to find our gate. We stood in awe at the sight of free coffee machines, which we were in desperate need of if we were to meet our other friends in Amsterdam for a bar crawl in a few hours. Once at the gate, we realized there weren't any people around and shortly after we heard the worker announce "Last call for Lufthansa flight to Amsterdam." We sprinted toward her, giggling about almost missing our flight, although it was leaving very early. She quickly scanned our boarding passes and we walked down flights of stairs, hopped on a bus that was waiting, and finally arrived at the plane...which was not the one that matched our tickets. With the excitement built up for Amsterdam and partial delirium from lack of sleep, we boarded the plane trying not to look suspicious, and eventually took off. We did land in Amsterdam. We did get on the wrong flight. But most importantly, we didn't get caught. There was no one in our assigned seats, so we just went with it, and it all turned out okay...thank goodness!
Our flight leaving Amsterdam was a whole different experience. The plane was an hour late due to the storm that was brewing, and we were unaware of its magnitude at the time. We watched on CNN at our gate about the recent disastrous news regarding the earthquake in Chile and tsunami alerts in Japan. Was the legend of 2012 arriving a bit early? The flight to Frankfurt, the city of our layover, was a scary one with panicked stewardesses and pilots and drops that made us feel like we were on a rollercoaster...a potentially fatal one. Once at Frankfurt, 120 flight connections had been cancelled, including ours to Venice. All trains shut down due to weather alerts until morning. Any bus, cab or car would still make us late for our 8am classes and cost a fortune. News poured in about 45 people in France that had died because of floods or fallen trees. A boy in Portugal had just been killed because of powerful winds moving heavy objects. But we had to fly. After waiting nearly 3 hours to talk to our airline, we witnessed fights between Europeans and young Americans as our knees grew numb and patience faded. We finally got a flight out to Venice at 9:30pm which, as expected, ended up being delayed until midnight. However it did arrive and we were able to take off. By that time, there was no need to be scared of the flight ahead. We just wanted to get home. And we did, after a 150 euro cab ride later. Travelling is something I love, but getting there is a whole other story. This feels like one of the longest weekends of my life!