Days 365-366 - The EPIC journey home

For those of you still reading this blog, it may seem like I’ve been stuck in limbo land between Croatia and Australia for months now. Though I’ve been home for a while, the journey to get here certainly felt like it took months. Below is a belated description of my Lassie-like trip home.

Day 365 (Sat) – Fly from Dubrovnik to Dusseldorf, train to Maastricht, train to Amsterdam, hotel stay in Amsterdam overnight.

The LOOOOONG trip home – about 8 hours travel time between Dubrovnik and Amsterdam, plus a whole lot of rushing contrasted with plenty of waiting around. We left the Sail Croatia boat in Dubrovnik at 7am (mandatory check out time), arriving at Dubrovnik airport with FAR too much time to wait around in one of the smallest European airports I ever had the displeasure of being stuck in for an extended period of time. By 1.15pm I boarded a flight to Dusseldorf (the closest I could get to Maastricht on a direct flight). Croatia Airlines, I realised, would also be my last experience of random European airlines. It had certainly been interesting testing the gamut – from the absolute worst (Ryan Air, which took the crown thanks to our day-long delay in getting to Madrid) to the best (for me German Wings took the cake, although my one flight on British Airlines was pretty good… but that’s not really fair given its not exactly a budget airline! I also hear from friends though that Berlin Air is quite the treat … and my trip on Greece’s Olympic Air – the Qantas of the Mediterranean - was almost worth the exorbitant last minute price I paid for it). One thing I won’t/don’t miss is the ever-changing airport requirements: different lengths of time to arrive before a flight, varying strictness re checked and cabin baggage allowances, changing customs rules (or lack thereof), and the general fear that at some point I, as a foreigner, would be rejected for wrong passport/lack of visa/inappropriate baggage/all of the above.

So I arrive in Dusseldorf, ready to hop on a reliably efficient German train to speed me home – only problem is I have to wait an hour for it… this delays my trip back so I don’t arrive back to Maastricht until about 7pm which leaves me in a mad panic to get back to the guesthouse, do a last minute clean (in which I unwittingly dump two or three rather cherished items in the bin along with all the other last minute crap), shove some food into my face, lock up and haul ass to the main guesthouse to… *sniff*… hand in my key. The handover process took all of about 10 seconds… quite the anti-climax … but that was the easy part. In true Maastricht style, by this time its raining fairly steadily and I have to haul all my worldly possessions (the black luggage turtle is BACK!) downhill in the rain and wait for another bus. I honestly was carrying everything I owned on my back, my stomach, each arm and over my head (thanks to the rain). Quite the sight I imagine I was (and by this point definitely smelly and looking mildly deranged). You see, I was JUST going to miss the second-to-last train to Amsterdam that night, meaning I had just one last chance to get to the airport city that night to in fact make use of my pre-booked hotel respite. And the last train of the night is never direct, meaning I was staring down the barrel of another train change in Utrecth, hauling all my luggage across platforms once more. The thought of this – and later experience – prompted the observation that it is in fact quite hard to go to the toilet when travelling by oneself. Either you try to take all your gear into the toilet with you (not an option for this Turtle traveller) or you risk leaving it on the seat under the watch of a “trustful” fellow passenger… also not preferable. So, for once in my life… I held it!

This next bit I wrote on my laptop as the train (finally) pulled out of Maastricht for the last time. I wanted to capture my feelings in the moment, so I paste them here below as written at around 11pm on my last full day in the Netherlands:

“I write this as the train pulls out of Maastricht – its surreal, I can’t force my brain or my body to acknowledge that this is the last time I will do this. I’ve done this trip so many times before that I can’t make myself believe that this one is different, that I won’t be pulling back in on the train at some point in the not too distant future. As usual I have too many bags and too much stuff, and I’m flustered and running late. I completely underestimated the time it would take to get back from Croatia. I’m sweaty and stinky and unsettled. The constant paranoia is there – passport, phone, camera, wallet, laptop… all there so far. The worst paranoia is about my flight home. I have this awful nagging feeling that I’ve got the time or date wrong. Because it’s the only flight I’m taking by myself it’s got me nervous – no one to check it with. But I have to keep telling myself that I checked with the travel company and I wouldn’t think it was that time and date unless it was. Still I will NOT miss passport paranoia and having to constantly check everything.

I just can’t believe that was my last bus trip to the station, that all my worldly belongings are right here around me on the train, that there’s nothing left in my flat again, that I’m leaving… it really hasn’t hit me. Because there’s so much to do and organise and think about its kind of preventing me from getting emotional – too much else to stress about. Also it’s dark by now so I can’t see out the window so I don’t really have that looking out at the scenery and saying goodbye kind of feeling.

Instead I feel nervous and paranoid and worried and jittery… this is a big deal, I need to get it right. I’m still not properly packed, lots of stuff has to go once I get to the Amsterdam airport hotel. Things need to be rearranged. I’m terrified my luggage will be too heavy. I don’t want to chuck out anything important but I also don’t want to be embarrassed at the airport sifting through my undies in the check-in line. In the end though it’s all just stuff. As long as I have my passport and laptop that’s really all I need. My phone is a piece of crap anyway and I’ll be getting a new one as soon as I get home. And the flash on my camera has shat itself so time for a new one of those too – good timing hey?

I haven’t cried and I don’t think I will – until I get home at least. I reckon it will take some weeks before I completely realise what has happened and what has changed. I am already having moments of missing the girls here, and I talked about the Netherlands constantly in Croatia – a sign of what it will probably be like back home (sorry all!).

I had butterflies almost constantly for the last few days in Maastricht while I was packing etc. They went away most of the time in Croatia as I had other things to focus on, but they’re back with a vengeance this morning. I’ve been starting to think for a few days about being home, specific things, who I’m going to see, what I’m going to eat – doing a MASSIVE load of washing! It is very surreal – a whole year gone (it’s my 365^th day today). I’m even spending my last night in Europe in the same hotel where I spent my first night in Europe. It’s going to be a very long day but when I go to sleep tonight in the Citizen M Schiphol hotel I will be just 12 hours away from heading home. If I think the butterflies are bad today I can only imagine the tummy turbulence in store tomorrow morning…”

After the worst train trip of my time abroad (think sitting slumped over my luggage at Utrecht for an hour waiting for the change over train, drunk people everywhere given the time of night, sleep deprivation and crashing adrenaline levels) I FINALLY arrived at the hotel about 1am! So much for my grand plan to rest up. I didn’t get to sleep for another couple of hours by the time I rearranged the luggage, showered, chucked out toiletries etc. And then of course came the paranoia that I wouldn’t wake up in time in the morning. I set two alarms but it still took an overdose of herbal sleeping tablets to send me off to the land of nod.

Day 366 (Sun) - BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. GAH! And just like that I was awake again. 8.30am… my last day in Europe. Flight home at midday. Shower again, final pack, check under the hotel bed (always!) and I’m out. Walking with a trolley full of (slightly less) luggage, everything in reverse to the first time I did this. Walking up to the check-in desk, having flash backs of farewelling Brett in this exact same spot months before. And now the moment of truth … just me and the luggage scale… e-YES! Just under, 19.8kg, possibly the extreme limit of what will actually fit in my back pack. Quite the wait at the check-in desk… eating in to my duty free shopping time! But there’ll be plenty of that in the 18-hour lay-over I have ahead in Kuala Lumpur airport. Finally, I’m standing in front of the hostie. Second moment of truth – am I here at the right time for the right flight? Yes… massive relief. Off goes my bag, into the luggage-belt abyss. Now just two hand luggage bags in my little trolley. No time to waste, hustling down to the gate (at Schiphol airport security checks are done at each gate). Rushing now, even though I’m on time, just need to be at the gate as soon as possible. Me and every other person due to get on board by the looks of it! For the first time, I’m made to go through one of those full body scanners,not nearly as embarrassing as I imagined it might be. Security check done, I join the queue of people holding boarding passes. Of course, my seat number is among the last cluster to be called. And when I finally collapse into my seat, I’m there no more than a couple of minutes, taking stock, when a couple rocks up … with a baby! Again! This happened on my leg TO Europe, but this time the flight is full and there’s nowhere to run. Thankfully, it was perhaps the best behaved baby I could have asked for, and the flight proceeded as normal – movies, plane food and not enough leg room.

About 13 hours later, ah KL we meet again. I didn’t sleep much on the plane so I’m exhausted, but I can’t check in to the airport hotel for about 5 hours. I have to change money for the first time in ages and have no idea about the exchange rate. At this point I don’t care though, so I change the wad of aussie 50s I’ve been carrying with me in case of emergency for a year and go straight to an American-style diner for pancackes! Here I can sit, use the internet, watch some TV and waste a few hours. Other time wasting initiatives included buying a new wallet, smelling perfumes, getting a massage and finally checking in to the hotel, where I could make use of the sauna. The idea was to sleep there but again I was too paranoid I wouldn’t wake up for my next flight so I just napped. At least I could shower though – I’m sure the teenage guy I shared plane seats with on the last flight appreciated that.

Eventually the time rolls round to check in for my last flight on this epic journey across continents. I have no idea what time it is at home (barely know what time it is in KL but I know I’m in the right spot for my flight). Having spent the whole year juggling time zones for travel and skype dates I now feel like I’m in the Bermuda triangle of clocks… not to worry, I’ll be setting my watch to Adelaide time soon enough. On the plane, I settle in to watch a movie but find myself nodding off. I take the opportunity to get a couple of hours sleep, but am woken for breakfast, and after that its all over … I’m so close to home I can’t possibly sleep now. The butterflies are back. We begin descending and all of a sudden I can see recognisable landmarks. After so many trips descending over unknown cities, I can now pick out the Torrens River, the CBD, Henley Beach Rd … and then … we’re over the airport … touchdown… eek! Its dark, and cold – winter mornings in Adelaide. Luckily I have my trusty London feather-stuffed coat with me! I’m not in such a rush to get off the plane, but once I’m in the airport it hits me that I’m home and I just want to get out of there. My luggage comes uncharacteristically quickly and then I’m guided to customs. This is where it got interesting :P I put on my card that I’d been in the Netherlands and declared my sneakers cause I’m pretty sure they had cow poop on them still. The customs guy who greets me takes one look at my card and goes “so you’ve been in the Netherlands for a year hey? … ma’am, we’re going to have to search your luggage!” I’m calm, cool, not thinking too much of it, have nothing to hide, the search goes fine. Then, he asks me “do you have any food to declare”, to which I absentmindedly, and rather suspiciously in insight, reply “oh, no, no, I left all my munchies on the plane”!

Safely through the first real customs check I’ve had since I left home (thank you Schengen agreement) and then I’m pushing my trolley, loaded up again, through the gates and there they are! First I see my little god-daughter and her face lights up as much as mine, then here Mum and my best friend, then Bretty, heads above everyone else(!) and Mum J J (Dad had to work so his absence was forgiven). Hugs all round, can’t believe that after so long I can actually touch these people again. Then before I know it I’m whisked out to the car park and being driven home – along roads I know so well but haven’t seen in so long. This truly is the definition of surreal… staring around, open-mouthed, wide-eyed, exhausted, exhilarated. Heading home.