The first time I flew by myself, I was flying down to Ft Lauderdale to meet a friend. The excitement and freedom of checking in on the automated kiosks and the thrill of de-metal-ing yourself before going through customs.. while waiting in line and walking at the same time, (a talent that has since been perfected), was all I needed for a little adventure in my life. I would make sure to always choose a window seat so that i could look out over the earth and see big patches of field and baseball diamond dirt. I would see mountains, lakes, rivers, and oceans. It was all so intriguing.

I was ready for that excitement again as I prepared to fly to Dublin, flying into Newark for a layover first. I arrived at the airport and they quickly swept me onto an earlier flight because of bad conditions. I walked through security with not one person ahead or behind me and I made it to the gate in time to adjust my bag and board the plane. This is was about the time that I started to dislike airports. Still a bit excited, I found my window seat and sat down next to two very nice ladies, but the rest of the plane was practically empty. Once situated in our squished row I looked out the window for a quick glance. There it was, the ever dreaded wing. I was disappointed. I sat on that plane for about 45 minutes to an hour before we started taxiing the runway for takeoff and a little over an hour or so later, after peeking through the window in front of me where the wing wasn't abstracting my vision, I was in Newark.

I enjoyed a $4.00 bottle of water and a delicious sandwich while waiting for my flight to leave, at this point already delayed about 20 minutes. Everyone scrambled to the line with their carry-ons askew from trying to entertain themselves, once the announcements for boarding started. After taxiing the runway for close to two hours, we departed. I arrived safely in Dublin with a greeting from a chauffeur and Stephen, the head of the program here.

I still seemed to be OK with airports at this point as two other girls and I booked our flights to various European destinations. After the first trip last weekend, I was even ready to take on the airport again this weekend until... dun dun dun

We took the 14 euro (return) bus to the airport, made our way through security, got a slightly expensive sandwich and water, and sat and waited with a slight pity for all of those other flyers whose flights seemed to be switching to canceled on the big screens. We waited.

and we waited.

And then we checked the screen, just to make sure. And sure enough, there it was in small innocent white letters, the word that would cause us the rest of the day, our feet, our minds, and our money. CANCELED. We could not believe that a flight to Barcelona would be canceled. With the small portion of little money that I have left sitting in my pocket, I slowly came to realize just how much we had lost. We were directed to a long, which seemed short at first, but ended up being about 4 hours line. During this time we went through the fazes:

Faze 1: hahaha ohhh that stinks maybe there is another flight or we'll just go home whateverr
Faze 2: hmmm I don't think we're going to get another flight out, we'll just get our money back.
Faze 3: wow this line is long let's play a game
Faze 4: It has been 2 hours, we're so not getting there let's call the hostel and cancel, costing us the first night (18euro each)
Faze 5: Wow we paid 14 euro each for the bus and 18 euro each for the hostel ughh that's 32 euro... this really really stinks and ensue frustration.
Faze 6: lady behind us on the phone with ryanair figures out that she will not be refunded for return flight as THAT flight hasn't been canceled.... begin anger and add on another 25 euro to the tab of lost money
Faze 7: Finally make it to the counter after 4 hours to recieve a piece of paper with a fax number on it, find out that we could fly out sunday and fly back sunday, and that Madrid is booked... even though we did not ask about it, the lady felt the need to tell us 4 times.
Faze 8: mope all the way home

After we made it back home and dropped our stuff, we ranted, got our emotions out... as I am doing now a bit...

and then we went to Porter House and got the best fish and chips I have ever tasted, which made everything ok in the end... well for the most part.

Next weekend, our romantic valentines weekend away in Bruges and Brussels, will be a test of my love for the airport. I might have anger and hatred toward Ryanair but we'll be flying Aer lingus from now on, so I can't hate the airport too much! :)