...it was hot in Verona (and hell in Frankfurt)

Oh wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? I was debating whether to update this blog or not, considering I have no idea if anyone even reads it anymore, but apparently, at least one person does. So, a lot of time has passed and my life has been... pretty boring, I guess. Just working as a physio (and now as a part-time psychologist but that's a story for another time), living in Tartu and being antisocial, as per usual, but I'm not here to talk about that. No, I'm gonna tell you the story of how I went to Verona.
Now, Verona in itself is not a super exciting travel destination since it's quite small (compared to most well-known Italian cities) and despite of what our Eurovision-contestants think, it's quite difficult to get lost there because it's just not that big. Honestly, if you get lost in Verona, you're doing something wrong. Get a map! But, I digress. The reason I went there is because, every year there's this huge opera festival in Verona, where they perform famous operas in the old Roman amphitheater. My mom once told me that she'd always wanted to go and see an opera there so, once I realized I had no plans for my vacation, I asked if she wanted to head there this summer. She did and so we got the tickets, the hotel and got on our way.
We were in Verona for about four days. That was all we needed. Don't get me wrong - Verona is absolutely lovely and I enjoyed my time there but there's not that much to do there. We spent the first day checking out some Roman ruins, an old fort, a bunch of churches and stuff and there was still time to spare. At lunch we usually returned to the hotel to have a nap because it was simply too hot outside. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that this was the beginning of August during the hottest Summer in ages (at least in Estonia). It was 33-34 degrees outside and always sunny. Great, right? Well, to be honest, it wasn't that bad. Somehow, the heat in Italy was less excruciating than in Estonia and even though we went everywhere on foot, it was still somehow bearable... until it wasn't.
My mom and I decided to go see Aida during the festival (because it was one of the few performances still being held in August). The show itself started pretty late, around 21ish, due to the fact that it was hot as hell during the day and it's impossible to air-condition an amphitheater. So, we get to our seats just as it was getting dark outside and the stage looks amazing, the props are impressive, the costumes flashy and... It. Is. Just.SO. HOT!!! I'm not kidding. Even before the show started, I could tell it was going to be bad, because I'm sitting in what is basically a huge bowl with a few hundred people surrounding me and the air is just completely still. Not even a light breeze. Not even a breath of air! Just hot, still, heavy air slowly suffocating me.
The show starts. The singers are exceptional. The costumes beautiful. The mass-scenes and dancers are breathtaking... and all I can think about is the heat. There is sweat running down my back. I feel like I'm stuck under a blanket, breathing in second-hand air. It is still 33-degrees outside. 33! And it's dark! And it's still hell! Now, those who know me well, know that I hate the heat. I can't stand it! Nothing makes me want to kill myself quite like the heavy, humid Summer heat. And now I'm at the opera, trying to enjoy a genuinely good performance, but it's impossible because even my cold, dead heart is beginning to decay in this heat. I am not religious but during those three hours, I got the distinct feeling that the gates of Hell had opened under the amphitheater and that's why it felt like death there. The whole time I kept praying for the opera to be over soon, not because it was bad, but because I felt like stroking out in that heat. So, long story short: I had some difficulty enjoying the performance... even though it was good.
Now, despite the excruciating heat, I did enjoy my trip to Verona. It's a lovely little city, clean, less crowded than most tourist spots, the food was mind-blowing and the people pretty polite and friendly. It was a great trip... up until the last day(s). Then it all went to shit. And it was all because of the Germans! A few posts ago I talked about my trip to New York in January and how it ended in a snowy shitstorm that left our flights cancelled and our minds broken. Guess what happened this time! My flight got cancelled! AGAIN!
The last day started out great. We went to the airport nice and early, had breakfast and coffee, got on our plane and next thing we knew, we were in Frankfurt, where we were supposed to have a connecting flight to Tallinn. We had a few hours to kill before our next flight so my mom and I decided to sit down in a little bar, have some beer and maybe a snack. We'd been sitting there for maybe half an hour when a server told everyone in the bar to leave because, apparently, the terminal was being evacuated. Yep. The whole terminal. And since it was Frankfurt, it was a pretty damn big terminal. So, we got our things and joined the crowd heading out of the terminal, making short stops on the way because we still had no idea what was going on. The server hadn't told us anything other than they were closing and we needed to leave the area. The biggest crowds were heading toward the exits but some were coming back. We had no idea what was going on because there were no announcements, no employees directing us out - nothing! After about half an hour of slowly inching our way toward the exits while utterly confused, some airport employees did appear and started directing us out. The evacuation was real. After getting out of the terminal, we stood in the main area and tried to figure out what was going on. There were cops going into the terminal, airport employees talking to each other but still no real information. I started having flashback to New York but tried to stay positive. After all, we still had three hours to our flight. We could make it, right?
Two hours later...
Yes, for two hours we just stood there, not knowing anything, staring longingly at the terminal gates that were still closed and getting more tired and nervous by the minute. Finally, after two hours, something started happening. Employees started gathering around the security gates. 'Great!' I thought, 'Things are moving along!' But they weren't. We were still standing there. They were still denying us information and people were getting more anxious about missing their flights. Another half an hour passed before we got a little bit of information: the 'threat' had been 'dealt with' and we could re-enter the terminal... after passing the security check, again. If you've ever been in the airport in Frankfurt, you know how many people pass through there, daily. It's a freaking armada of people! Imagine all the people whose flights were supposed to leave in those two and a half hours plus all the people who'd come to the airport early, not knowing what was going on, and you have several hundred people - angry, tired, dehydrated, confused and hungry - queuing for the slowest security check in the history of the world. The employees tried to calm us by saying that there was no need to rush because 'your flight will either wait or you will be rebooked on another flight'. Right. Just a friendly tip: that doesn't happen. Nobody waits for you, nobody rebooks you just like that. You need to do everything on your own...
So, of course the line for the security check was basically static. Only half of the security gates were operational and - to add insult to injury - after about half an hour of working, the employees had their lunch break. That meant that they locked the gates again, leaving us to wait. Again. Of course they did, though: they were Germans. If protocol says employees get a break every few hours, then common sense and human decency be damned! By that time we hadn't had anything to eat or drink in about four hours, which wouldn't be an issue otherwise, but add some stress and anxiety and you get a bunch of angry people. Our flight should have left by that time but we'd received no notification of whether it had been delayed or cancelled or what... So we stood in line and waited for our security check. It took us about an hour to get through it and when we did, we were faced with another line. A line of hundreds of people, queueing for the Lufthansa information desk to rebook their flights that they missed. Because, like I said, nobody rebooks you automatically. You need to deal with it on your own. Our flight had been cancelled, of course, so we queued up and started losing our minds because there was nothing better to do.
We stood in line for maybe forty minutes before our tired and angry brains started working again and we remembered something important: in New York we didn't have to go to a desk or wait in line. We called. So, we decided to try that again. We called Lufthansa customer service while standing in line for Lufthansa customer service... It worked. In five minutes we were booked on the next flight to Estonia, which was going to leave next morning. Good enough. I still had some vacation days to spend so I wasn't too worried. Mom had a harder time but she managed somehow. After getting the tickets we booked a room and headed to the airport hotel for some much needed rest. And wine. Lots of wine...
I have never been to Frankfurt. Never seen the city. There was the opportunity to explore it that day, seeing as we had almost a day until our new flight. We decided against it. I know it's not Frankfurt's fault that our flight got cancelled. The city didn't do anything wrong. But as god is my witness, I will never willingly go to Frankfurt again! Ever! It is a cancer on the face of the planet! Oh, and as to what happened to cause such chaos in the airport? Apparently, some German security check douche fucked up. As far as I understand, someone tested positive for explosives and the security guy just didn't notice and let that person pass. Once someone noticed, they needed an evacuation. Oh, and before you freak out, it was a false positive. Nobody in that terminal had any explosives on them or around them. And for that, they messed up the plans of several hundred people. Just because Günther didn't have his morning bratwurst and felt faint or something.
I apologise to any Germans I've offended but I think it's pretty clear I'm still salty about this whole ordeal. It wasn't just what happened that got to me. It was the fact that it happened twice in a row. It's like falling from a horse, getting back in the saddle and then getting punched in the face by the horse's brother (yes, I am aware horses don't 'punch'). Two traumatic travel experiences in a row. I swear, at one point while standing in that line, I swore to myself I would never fly again. Never travel again. Never leave my apartment again!
But, all is well that ends well, I guess... except that it isn't. I still hate Frankfurt with a vengeance and a vacation that was 90% amazing still left a bad taste in my mouth. Moral of the story: never go to Frankfurt.

...I went full tourist-mode and regretted it

Okay, so I went to Hawaii this last Christmas to visit my sister and niece, right? This was my third time to the islands and the second time to Oahu. I'd been to Hawaii twice before, to visit Mary, who used to live there with her family. Now, the first two times were absolutely awesome (and terrifying). The first time was great because it literally felt like I'd entered Paradise or some fantasy world with impossibly beautiful wildlife. The second time was wonderful because I stayed for a long time and got to know Kauai in all its glory. By the third time, however, I was kind of getting over it a bit.

See, compared to Oahu, Kauai is more rural, more natural and honestly, more beautiful. Oahu is a bit too overcrowded for my tastes. Too many tourists, too many cars, not enough parking spots... and somehow the beaches in Kauai seemed more intense. I remember having to time going into the water and diving underneath the waves because otherwise I would just get slammed. The beaches on Oahu seemed more calm in comparison. Perhaps it was the season or we just visited the wrong spots but when you see morbidly obese tourists waddling into the waves and back out again it... I dunno... spoils the fun a bit, I guess. It's less of a challenge and therefore not really worth it.

But I guess that's just me. I know a lot of people like Oahu (*imagine me sarcastically rolling my eyes here*) and it still is quite pretty... But that's not what I wanted to talk about. So, my mom and I decided that while we're in Hawaii, we should just do the most tourist-y things possible because it might be our last time there. Among those touristy things was a luau (I can almost hear Mary laughing at me right now).

A luau is basically a Hawaiian barbecue, usually held under the stars with a buffet dinner comprised of local meals and a show accompanying it. I'd heard that it was a really touristy thing that was not worth paying for but I thought that I might as well cross it off my bucket list (not that it ever was there). Worst thing happens, I hate it but I'll know for sure that I do. And I'll still be richer by experience.

We got our tickets and set out on a... Wednesday (?) evening. There were several buses that brought the participants to a private beach about a forty minute drive from Waikiki. The beginning wasn't too bad. I mean, sure, the other participants were very, very typical tourists - almost like caricatures of the main types of tourists in Hawaii. Well, whatever, so were we (probably) so it wasn't fair to judge. We got our shell leis and cocktails and watched a short 'ritual' of them getting the pork out of the ground (long story, google it or something if you're interested). And then the madness started.

First was the host who sang us some godawful song about Hawaii being a paradise island where the sun always shines and people say 'aloha' and there's coconuts everywhere. Just imagine a song made up of 99% cliches, sung by a fat middle-aged lady (probably originally from Minnesota or something) wearing a muumuu and a cheap fake lei and you get the picture. Then was the hula-competition where 4 guys were forced to wear grass skirts and coconut bras and dance to some Hawaiian tunes. It made me cringe so hard I almost popped a blood vessel. Is stuff like that really entertaining to Americans? It just looks sad and embarrassing and dated. A guy in drag hasn't been funny since the 1970s (some might argue it has never been funny)... but then again, it seems nobody gave the US the memo (you know I'm right, guys).

Things went downhill from there. See, every bus had a so-called guide who explained the routine of the luau, gave us our drink tickets and checked our reservations. They were mostly senior citizens with mobility issues. So it only made sense to drag them on the stage and force them to dance for us as well. There is really nothing sadder than watching a hunched over octogenarian with a quad-cane trying to do the hula for a bunch of starving tourists. Oh yes, because we hadn't been fed by that time. The show was a nightmare of epic proportions and I couldn't even watch it due to the cringe-levels being too high. I was honestly afraid that one of these senior citizens might break their hip while awkwardly swaying to ukulele music. At least that would have brought an end to the whole ordeal. I downed my cocktail and hoped that alcohol would soothe my pain. It didn't.

The next part of the show was... less painful. Okay, to be honest, it was even kind of fun. First we got fed and then they started the cultural programs with dancers performing traditional dances from different Polynesian islands. It was short and pandering but at least it was fun to watch and these dancers were professional so it was beautiful to look at. I think it was the only part of the show that I actually enjoyed because after it was over we were forced to suffer through another audience participation number. The dancers tried to teach us some basic hula dance moves - and by 'us' I mean all the female volunteers who ran to the stage because apparently Americans like this sort of stuff. I stayed in my seat and kept drinking, hoping the night was almost over. It wasn't. After the ladies were done with their dance, they dragged the men onstage and tried to teach them... I have no idea how these people thought this was fun. Maybe I just wasn't drunk enough...

When we were done dancing and singing and 'having a good time', it was time to go back to Waikiki. 'Finally!' I thought, feeling relieved, 'I can sit on the bus, zone off and pretend that none of this really happened. I am finally free! The worst is over!'

But it wasn't! It got so, so much worse! It was like in a horror move where the protagonist thinks the psycho killer is finally gone but then discovers he's been hiding under the bed the whole time... I thought the worst was over, I thought I was safe... and then I got into the bus. You know what's a fun thing to do in a bus? What's that? You think the answer is 'sing a kid's song together'? Then you can probably relate to our bus guide who thought the best way to kill time on our way back was to sing horrible, horrible songs in a faltering voice that sounded like a cat with lung cancer. Also, if that really was your answer then you're a horrible person who should never be allowed on a bus. Just imagine sitting in a bus filled with strangers while a feeble old man sings some horrendous coconut song (no, not the chill one - the one that's awful and you've probably never heard... pretty much he made it up himself) while trying to clap and make others join in. A few tried, mostly people sitting in the first row because they couldn't avoid eye contact with him. The song had like 12 verses... it went on forever... But I wasn't in Hell yet, oh no! We passed the gates when he started singing 'He's got the whole world in his hands...' That was the point I was ready to throw myself out of the still moving bus. I might get hurt, I might get killed but anything was better than this torture! Again, the song had at least 10 verses, all sung horribly off key by an annoying old guy who didn't know when enough was enough. 

Needless to say that when we finally arrived in Waikiki I almost ran off the bus, never looking back. Had I forgotten something on there I would have just left it. No way I was ever returning to that bus or those people. So, a little word of advice to people thinking about visiting Hawaii: luau's aren't worth it. There might be some good ones out there - pretty sure the Hilton one would have been better - but if you're unsure whether to do it or not then just don't. You don't need that kind of horror in your life. Just go to the beach or something - you'll live longer. 

...I went through Hell

If Hell is real, it's an airport. There is no other place that manages to continuously shatter hopes and dreams quite like an airport. You go there hoping to head out for an adventure or a nice vacation and instead you're faced with waiting in line, losing your shit in the security check, waiting in more lines, waiting for your flight, losing your way, crappy airport food, too many people and waiting for your luggage only to realise the airline has lost it. No, honestly, airports are Hell. If you ever meet someone who says 'I actually like airports', they're probably an alien or a demon out to steal your soul.

But, let me get started with my story. The story of my trip through Hell aka the Estonian version of Dante's 'Inferno', only in modern times and without a helpful guide because that would've made things way too easy. Just a little while ago my mom and I decided to visit my sister in Hawaii for Christmas. We (read:she) planned a three week trip to the US with the goal of visiting my friend Mary in Denver, then going to my sister's place in Honolulu and then heading to New York for a three day culture program. The trip was great but I'm not going to go into detail about it now. Maybe I'll find the strength to talk about it later. We got to Denver and then to Hawaii and then to New York and everything went smoothly. Life was good. And then it wasn't anymore.

We were supposed to fly back home on the 5th of January, around 22.00, so we had the whole day to kill in New York. It started snowing on the 4th of January and it was a pretty bad storm. It was cold, windy and the snow just kept coming and coming. Almost all the flights to and out of New York were cancelled that day but I didn't worry. The storm was supposed to subside by nightfall and that it did. The 5th of January was actually a pretty lovely, albeit cold day. We went to the Guggenheim museum (boring, do not recommend) and then headed to JFK airport after getting lunch.

So we get there and go through the security check and get to our gate to see that our Lufthansa plane was already at our gate. 'Great!' I thought, 'We still have like three hours to go but the fact that the plane is here is a good sign'. The only problem was that the monitors above the gate were telling us that the next flight out of that gate would go to Jeddah. It had been delayed and would leave at 20.00. I didn't think much of it at that moment because our flight to Frankfurt seemed to be okay.

Fast forward about two hours. It was 20.00. The flight to Jeddah still hadn't left. In the meantime they moved our Lufthansa plane out of the way to make room for the plane that was supposed to take the others to Jeddah. That was... a bit upsetting but I was sure they would just find us another gate or something.

One and a half hours later...

It was 21.30. The plane going to Jeddah had arrived but wasn't going anywhere. People were waiting. We were waiting. There was no information and the airport was getting more crowded by the minute because flights kept on getting delayed.

Then it was 22.00 and we still didn't have any information about our flight that was supposed to be leaving already. It took a little more waiting until they finally changed our flight status to delayed and told us it would be leaving at midnight. That meant we would miss our connecting flight to Tallinn. I was not too happy about that but it was only the beginning.

Fast forward two hours. Yes, again. It was midnight. The flight to Jeddah had still not left and we had no information about our flight to Frankfurt. Nothing. It was already midnight and nobody would update us on what was happening. Around 00.30 we found out that our gate had been changed and our flight would leave at 2 in the morning. Great! Just great! We went to our new gate and sat there, feeling pretty upset and tired. We'd been waiting for ages now and it was getting pretty tedious. But that wasn't the worst of it.

'Okay, guys, all of you heading to Franfurt - you need to get your stuff and go to the baggage claim to receive your checked luggage! Your flight has been cancelled!'

Yes, after all that waiting they cancelled our flight. Not because of the weather but because the crew couldn't legally fly anymore - they needed a certain amount of rest before they could fly again. So, long story short: our flight was cancelled because another flight hijacked our gate and the airport couldn't get their shit together.

But wait, there's more!

We headed down to the baggage claim, 300 or so people, and waited for our luggage. We were all tired, angry, disappointed and confused. 'What now?' was the question on everybody's lips but there were no answers. Nobody would tell us what was going to happen to us now: there were no airport employees around and the few that appeared rushed away in an instant. So we just waited for our luggage. And waited... and waited... and waited...

One hour later! Yes, for about an hour we waited with no answers and no luggage. Nothing was happening. And then an announcer told us that the door to the cargo hold had frozen over and they couldn't get it open - that's what the wait was. Just wonderful news, right? In the meantime I started noticing that there were a few airport employees in the baggage claim and they were providing information... but only if you went up to them and asked for it. No general announcement to the 300+ people - just one lady in a corner somewhere, waiting for people to come to her.

We found out that since our flight was cancelled we had to contact Lufthansa and ask them to re-book us. The employees gave us little cards with phone numbers on them and told us to call. Of course, if you have 300 people calling one number at the same time, it's no wonder almost nobody can get through. The line was busy and there was no hope of solving the situation at that moment. Then, the airport employees started to hand out hotel vouchers. They told us that after we get our luggage - whenever that might be - we had to go out of the airport where shuttles would take us to our respective hotels. Then, at 11.00 the shuttles would take us back to the airport so we could catch our new flight or get another voucher (because the hotel vouchers were only valid for one night).

Okay, great! At least we had some semblance of a plan. We finally got our luggage and headed outside to catch the shuttle... only there were none. Only rows and rows of taxis and nothing else. 'The buses will be here,' yelled an airport employee and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. It was cold, we were tired and now we had to wait for a bus that wasn't even sure to appear. There was a lady from our flight that told me and my mom that we could also take a taxi, keep the receipt and then ask for reimbursement from Lufthansa so that was what we decided to do. We took a taxi to our hotel, which was 45 minutes away, and paid 200 dollars for it.

After getting a solid 4 hours of sleep we woke up in our hotel and headed to the reception to find out what the plan was. Turns out Lufthansa had decided to prolong our stay in the hotel for another night - nobody was going to the airport because no flights would be leaving - at least not for us. So we stayed and contacted Lufthansa to get re-booked. That turned out to be almost impossible. They offered us a flight on the 9th of January (just as a reminder, it was the 6th and the 9th was a Tuesday) through London, Frankfurt and Tallinn (yup, sounds weird but that's what they told us). I asked them to check other airports - Newark, La Guardia - for any earlier flights but there was nothing... And then I asked about Philadelphia. There was one flight on the 8th of January through Munich and then to Tallinn. It wasn't perfect but at least it was better than waiting until Tuesday and then having two connecting flights. We took that one.

We thought it would be a good idea to head to Philadelphia on the 7th - by bus because even the internal flights were getting cancelled - spend a night there and then be ready on the 8th. We made the arrangements, booked our bus tickets and our hotel and then we waited. There was nothing else to do. The hotel we were staying at (Hyatt Regency on Long Island) was in the middle of nowhere. There was an overgrown park on one side and a landfill on the other and the weather was still cold as hell so we decided to stay in. The whole day we could see new groups of people coming in - people who's flights had also been cancelled - and the whole scene looked like something out of a war movie. You just had these groups of tired, broken people who were confused, angry and in despair and that were trading 'war stories' about their airport experiences:

'We had no idea what was going on! There was no plane, no crew and nobody knew if the flight was cancelled or delayed.'

'I got re-booked for Wednesday but I have a family back home! Kids! They're waiting for their daddy to come home!'

'I was on the plane... I was on there. We almost made it... and then they turned back and told us we had to get off. I was already on!'

The whole building was filled with anxious, tired people who just wanted to go home and you could feel the tension in the air. My mom and I decided that the sooner we got to Philadelphia the better. Sure, Lufthansa was paying for our hotel but we didn't want to stay in a place filled with broken dreams and despair. We needed to leave. So the next day, on the 7th we got an Uber and headed to Manhattan to catch our bus. I think it was the right thing to do because by midday on the 7th there was no word from Lufthansa or the airport if they would extend our stay for another night, give us another voucher or take all the passengers from the cancelled flights back to the airport.

We got to Manhattan pretty quick and had a nice lunch before heading to the bus terminal. Our bus was supposed to leave at 15.00 but we were 15 minutes early (because our ticket told us to). Waiting in line I heard a woman say 'I can't believe I have to wait 2 hours for a freaking bus!' Wait, what? What was that? Why was she waiting for that long? And then a terminal worker told us:

'So, for the people that just arrived, here's an announcement. We don't have any buses at the moment. They should be coming in but we don't know when. But don't worry: we have the drivers and everything else is set so if the buses do come in we have to clean them, fill them up with gas and then we're gonna get you on there. There are still people that are waiting for their 1 o'clock and 2 o'clock buses so we're gonna put them on first...'

Yeah, I was getting the distinct feeling that I was cursed. First the flight and now the bus?! The bus should have been a sure thing! But no, of course not. Once things started to fall apart they wouldn't stop until there was nothing left but a burning rubble. So, there was nothing to do but wait... and wait... and wait... in a cold bus terminal with no seats... for two hours. No, I'm not even exaggerating. It took them two hours to get some buses ready and get us on there. Two freaking hours of standing in line and waiting for the bus! 

But wait, there's more! 

That wasn't the end of it. We got to Philadelphia at 20 and went to our hotel. Turns out they had a busted water pipe so the kitchen didn't have any warm food and the emergency lights were constantly blinking. Compared to everything else that'd happened up to that point, it was a small issue. At least our room was pretty okay and we got a good night's rest. The next day we had breakfast and headed straight to the airport, ready to finally get out of the US.
The flight was on time, the plane was ready at the gate and despite the fact that the boarding time was delayed maybe ten minutes or so, everything went according to plan. I got into the plane, took my seat next to an anxious-looking German lady, browsed the movie selection for a bit and then chose one to start watching. And then I sat there and watched my movie. Some time passed... and then more time passed... and then more time... and then I realised I was an hour into the movie, which meant we'd been standing in place for an hour, not moving anywhere.
Then our captain tuned on the intercom and told us what was wrong. The area surrounding the plane was covered in ice, meaning the cargo trucks had a very hard time getting to the plane and loading our luggage on. We needed to be patient and wait while they negated the icy roads. Okay, it wasn't perfect but at least it was understandable. There was ice-rain coming down that day so no wonder it was slippery. And at least we were given information about what was going on. So, I focused on my movie and tried to stay calm.
Then my movie ended. Did I mention it was a two hour movie? Yeah, the movie ended and I realised we'd been standing in place for two hours. The German lady in the next seat told me that she'd been waiting to get home since Thursday - her flight was supposed to leave on that day and they even got on to the plane but after two hours of waiting the captain decided to cancel the flight and forced everyone out. So, understandably, she was a bit on edge... and so was I.
Another half hour passed until we started moving, but only a bit. We still needed to go to the de-icing station to get the plane de-iced. So we waited. Another half an hour passed. We'd been waiting for three full hours now and I felt my hands starting to shake. I was at my breaking point. After all the bullshit I'd went through the past three days, this was almost the final straw. I wanted to throw a fit, to yell and scream and tell the captain to just get us off the ground - de-icing and safety was for losers anyway - but I knew I couldn't. If even one of the passengers became hysterical or showed signs of distress, they would be forced to turn the plane around and de-board us. And that was the last thing I wanted.
'Don't worry, guys, it shouldn't be too much longer now,' said the captain through the intercom, 'We're in line for the de-icing process now. We're the 10th or 12th plane in line and the line is moving. It should only take about five to ten minutes to de-ice so it shouldn't be too much longer. Hold on, guys, we're almost done.'
My math isn't great but even I could figure out that if there were 10 planes in front of us and it would take minimum 5 minutes to de-ice one of them then... I wouldn't call it being 'almost done'. Sure enough it took us another hour before we were finally done with the de-icing and could take off.
In the end we didn't get stuck in Philadelphia so I guess you could say that all's well that ends well? Except it's not. Waiting four hours in an airplane with no food or water is excruciating, especially if you've already suffered an emotional trauma from having your flight cancelled. We had a twelve hour layover in Munich (which turned to eight hours thanks to our flight being so late) and we had the chance to go to town and look around a bit but we didn't. By that point we were already too tired to care about anything other than our next flight.
Once we hit Europe everything was going smoothly again. Our flight to Tallinn was on time, we arrived 5 minutes before midnight on the 9th and spent the night in the airport hotel because neither of us was willing to drive home after such an ordeal. I got back to my place on the 10th and spent most of the day just sleeping - I'd never had jetlag as bad as this last time. And that's the story of how I missed my first day of work in Viljandi (I did let them know I was in trouble though, so it wasn't a big issue)! I wish I could say that all the things I had to endure made me stronger or that I learned something about myself but I don't want to find anything good about the experience. It was horrific, exhausting and just the worst thing I've ever experienced... travelling. Okay, sure, maybe it did make me stronger, maybe I did find out that I am not as neurotic and helpless as I think but I didn't need to find out like this! I don't need to know where my breaking point is. I'm fine with not knowing. So stop testing me, universe!
But a bit of advice to all of you, who might want to travel to New York in Winter: don't. Just don't.