Arrival in MSP was nerve-wracking. We got to the airport five minutes prior to my connection taking off. I literally ran from one end of the airport to the other. After de-planing, I quickly asked the gate attendant where gate G was. He raised his eyebrows and pointed in the direction I had hoped he wasn't pointing.
I ran through the airport, past the Drew-Carey-esque Scottish man that I had sat beside on the plane, past happy holidaymakers and people who were having competitions as to whom could walk the slowest.
I finally got to gate G. It was the very last gate. I ran to the desk, panting like a maniac while my legs burned only to be greeted by a dispatcher pointing me over to a middle aged woman confusedly looking at a computer screen, "Amsterdam? She can help you." Thanks buddy.
I stood in front of the woman for a good ten minutes (after saying, "I was supposed to be on that flight.") before she acknowledged me. She grabbed my ticket without a word and proceeded to squint with her mouth hanging open between my ticket and the computer screen, while slowly punching in numbers as if it was the first time she had used a keyboard. She wouldn't tell me what was going on with my flight or when I would be leaving blasted Minneapolis. The airline employees at the same gate desk were gossiping in loud, American accents and one even had hair that had arrived at gate G right out of 1985 with hot pick acrylic nails as a carry-on. After forty-five minutes of this and her calling "Marsha, line three please.... Schipol. Noooooo. Heathrow?"she seemed to notice I was still standing there. She spoke to me in a very thick accent and notified me that I would be going to London instead of Amsterdam. Here, meal vouchers. Enjoy your flight.
I mentally nicknamed here "Delta-bitch".
I called home from a pay-phone to tell my parents that I'd missed my flight and to notify my relatives in Finland. After that I grabbed some really great Chinese food from a place called Wok & Roll (clever) and sat with my Tao chicken and grilled tofu, hoping desperately that this wouldn't be a notion of what my trip was to be like. I finished, sat for a while by gate G-a and watched CNN (They actually call that news in America!) and discovered that my flight to London-Heathrow was one that had been delayed from last night, full of unhappy would-be vacationers and English wanting to get out of the land of the stars and stripes, everyone cursing Delta Airlines. I was a little glad that my misery had company, and frankly, I was a little excited to hear British accents all the way across the Atlantic. I ended up sitting to a very nice albeit platinum & orange girl from Newcastle in Northern England whom I chatted with for the first hour or so, and we then respectively went into our own little universes. I watched Date Night, listened to Lady Gaga and when we landed, I was ecstatic. Newcastle girl was jumping nervously to finally be home, and I was just plain exhausted. We walked together for a few moments when we got to the airport, and wished each other well when we separated at our respective gates.
I was in London!
Actually, London!
When I got to Terminal three (which was at least five times as large as the Winnipeg Airport itself) I walked around for a bit before settling down in a busy restaurant/pub where people were eating breakfast. I ordered a Guiness (Hey, it might've been 9:30 AM London time, but it was 3:30 AM Winnipeg time, therefore time to party.) and sat down across from a hippy-looking woman in her thirties. I got out my journal and wrote what was to be my first and one of three journal entries (all within the first 48 hours) including Stunningly Attractive Men Sightings 1 through 5 (a list that was never actually extended past five as I stopped writing in my journal and got more distracted by the guys themselves.) Number one was an English footballer on the plane that had a striking resemblance to Orlando Bloom. Regardless...
I drank my Guiness, perused some shops, saw the "eat!" place that Kayla had always talked about when she went to London and went to my gate. The dispatcher told me it was my lucky day, and upgraded me to first class after he confusedly looked at my scribbled on ticket (courtesy of Delta-bitch). So I really couldn't complain. The other dispatcher apologized profusely for not being able to locate my luggage on the system and then asked, "You just came off a Delta flight, then?" I replied and he said. "Yeah... that's why. I'm hoping it will show up in Helsinki for you." He apologized again and again, and I assured him it wasn't his fault (How could it be, with a gorgeous English accent like that?...foreshadowing) and boarded my plane.
Finnair planes might look like they are right out of 1970, but I could not complain about the unlimited champagne which I took full advantage of. I then proceeded to fall asleep for an hour (the most I had slept thusfar) and woke up as we landed in Helsinki.
The next three days were extremely memorable and ultimately, kick-ass.
Stay tuned.
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