3.6 The Missed Flight

Missing my flight home from Paris was an experience I will never forget.

It was a bittersweet day as I was ending my visit with my best friend who was living in Western France. However, I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed after a long month of backpacking in Europe. My best friend walked me to the train station on a brisk August morning. I hugged my friend goodbye with tears in my eyes and we hoped we would see one another again sooner than later. How soon, we could not have anticipated.

I shuffled onto the train as the intercom voiced a series of words and places in a language I could not understand. This would prove to be problematic hours later as we had come to a sudden stop just one mile from the airport. Muffled French words came over the speaker and concerned looks dawned the faces of those around me. I had no google translate to assist me, so I clutched my French to English dictionary and bravely walked up to the train conductor to ask what was going on. 

In his broken English and my poorly attempted French, my stomach dropped as I began to understand a few things. Firstly, the French police decided to do a random security check of the luggage under the train. Secondly, he did not know when they would be done. Lastly, he uttered the words I feared most, "I think you not make flight."

My heart was pounding in my chest and my sweaty palms clutched the straps of my heavy backpack as I ran through the airport terminal, desperate to catch my flight. I dodged baby strollers, ran up broken escalators, and navigated my way to the gate only to see what I feared the most. "Boarding Complete". A sense of dread washed over my pale face as I remembered my phone's inability to make calls while abroad. I felt stranded in a country where I didn't speak the language, had $50 in the entirety of my account, and did not know where to start with getting back home.

As I was lying down on the cold floor of an airport McDonalds, stretching to reach a plug in to charge my phone. I began to allow the despair of the entire situation to drag me down where my backpack became too heavy to carry and I felt so defeated. I did not even utter a word to friends or family about my mistake. I was so determined to be a solo female traveler and prove to my family that I can be independent and that they didn't need to worry. My stomach was doing somersaults as I wrestled in my mind what to do, coming to the conclusion that I needed to reach out for help, no matter how desperately I wanted to keep it to myself.

Clarity eased its way into my mind after the shock of the situation had subsided. My friend in Western France, who I had left earlier that day, came to my rescue. A sigh of relief escaped my lips and a new sense of invigoration entered my body as I once again had direction. She bought me a train ticket back to her place where I would stay for an additional two weeks. I eventually faced my fear and confronted my parents about my mistake of missing my flight and not properly budgeting. After hours of scolding and several long phone calls later, I was homeward bound with the help of my parents loaning me enough money to get a chintzy airline ticket back to the United States. Rest assured, I arrived at the airport 4 hours early and have learned to budget properly.