The Luckiest Unlucky Day of my Life

15 July 2011. Scheduled to leave Frankfurt Airport at 17:20 for Madrid, Spain. Everything’s planned the night before. When I get out of school, several options for catching the train to the airport, when my plane leaves, when it arrives, and when and where I find my hostel. I get out of school at 13:00. I have the option of catching a train at 13:04 (too early), 14:04 (too late), or 13:34 (just perfect). 13:34 was so perfect, in fact, that I had time to run by the bookstore and pick up a special order (a French-German picture dictionary – what? Don’t give an aspiring polyglot access to pretty reference books.)

So I parked my bike outside the Hauptbahnhof and strolled inside, contemplating whether I had time to grab something to eat or if I should wait for the train. I stayed put and the train ride went smoothly. I arrived at Frankfurt Flughaven at 14:45. I boarded my plane… oh, wait, no I didn’t. Because there are two Frankfurt airports. The other one was only accessible by a 13 euro bus.

I wasn’t even in the right terminal to catch the bus to go to the right airport. So I hopped a shuttle to the other terminal and went inside to look for a red-shirted employee to ask for directions. Couldn’t find one. Minutes go by. Go back outside. Ask a man. Says, “yeah it’s the N-25 and it blah blah blah, oh that’s it, right there! (Points to one of many white buses). It’s the white bus.” Guh. I get in line for the bus he pointed at. Wait a few minutes. Not the right bus. Head to the correct bus; walking not running. If I miss it, no big deal, right? Buses come every 10 minutes, and I have two hours. Only, the sign says this bus ride is 1.5 hours. That can’t be right? Read it again. It’s right.

So I get to the Frankfurt Hahn Airport (the most liberal use of the word “airport” that was ever blogged) five minutes after my gate closed. Found the German TSA-inspection. Hand over my boarding pass. “You must go through Passport check.”

I hate planes.

17:07. Gate closed seventeen minutes ago. Thirteen minutes to departure. Line for passport check hasn’t moved in five minutes. Stop an employee. Explain to him my situation, and he expedites the check. Run to the TSA. Run to the gate. The “closed” gate is still open with 20 people in line. I made it. I made my plane. I cannot explain how unhopeful I was. For a good 30 minutes, I really thought I was going to have to catch a bus back to Frankfurt and a thirteen hour train to Madrid or not go at all. I made it.

So. Much. Win.