Travel Diaries: part I

This is my first time flying internationally alone. I fly domestically alone quite frequently. I love it. I'm a champion at TSA checks and kiosk ticketing. The anticipation, though, of flying from Dublin to London and London to Tel Aviv is a trip that creates a lot of apprehension. There's a lot that can go wrong.

My previous blog discussed a lot about my anxiety and panic attacks and triggers. Because I am ridiculously self-aware and beginning to do a better job at actually doing something with my awareness--I do a lot to be proactive about preventing triggers from occurring. This is apparent in the saga of preparing and executing the plan for traveling today. 

For example:

I showed up the airport eleven hours before my flight takes off. one more time, in case you're scanning ELEVEN HOURS EARLY. Sometimes, even I surprise myself, and I am both calmed by such ridiculousness and amused by what I will sometimes choose as the most stress-free plan of action.

Let me defend, momentarily, my decision to arrive so prematurely. 

I have a very short layover in London. (but wait, Katie, you're obsessed with plans, and you are so thorough, what happened? My travel agent is a bit inept, that's putting it nicely. Lesson: book your own tickets, kids) So, I decided I would come to the airport with my class in hopes that I could switch my flight to an earlier one (one leaving in two hours). Switching flights is appealing for multiple reasons: 1. I am at the airport 11 hours before I need to be. 2. I want my bags to make it to Bethlehem, too 3. I have been sick, and the idea of rushing my butt to an entirely new terminal sounds like the literal worst. 4. I like my class, the taxi was cheap, etc, etc.

Here's how that went:

Katie approaches Aer Lingus desk in Terminal 2 of Dublin Airport, and explains above situation. 

Nice employee says that I can't do that for some completely understandable reason that will result in Katie getting charged a no-show fee. and directs me to terminal 1 for the sake of double checking with the parent airline.

 Katie walks with a 20 lb duffle bag and carry on to the terminal next door, through said terminal, to a very small desk being manned by two very unpleasant women. Women provide same answer, suggest I call my travel agent (at 3:00am in the US, on a weekend) to reschedule, and quickly dismiss me.

Katie returns the way she came to terminal 2. Tries to call Elly, who is obviously NOT AT WORK AT 3AM ON SUNDAY. and decides to just check in and write a blog about it.

So I did. 

I am going to get on this flight in 8 hours. 

I am going to 'trot' (as nice travel man from above scenario described it) from terminal 2 to 5 in London. And I am going to make this dang flight if it is the last thing I do. 

All the while doing all of that in chocos, a maxi skirt and weird cotton t-shirt. I look very very very mennonite farm-kid meets amish mafia meets gap. It's a good look. At least I don't need to worry about being abducted. 

All for now. 

KC