A dash to the airport for Portugal ends in rain

Last Thursday, I was supposed to go to Lisbon. My two roommates and I had planned the getaway weeks ago, and I was beyond excited — I had been looking forward to it for weeks. The sun! The beach! The tapas! I even packed dresses and sandals.

And then it all went wrong.

When we went to book our airport shuttle, the ideal time was sold out, so we booked the next one. It was cutting it a little close, but we figured we’d be fine — we’d used the shuttle to get to the airport before and were always either on time or early, giving us plenty of time to zip through security.

But of course, that day was different. The shuttle arrived twenty minutes later, and only got later and later as it slowly inched its way to one of London’s many far-flung airports. By the time we arrived, we were an hour after schedule. Just before hopping out and sprinting into the terminal, I looked at my roommate Jordyn.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

Famous last words.

But, we had to try. We ran into the airport, and because we had checked in online, straight to to security, where we saw a very long line stretching out in front of us. We informed a member of airport security about our dilemma, thinking that, like in America, they’d let us cut to the front. But oh no, this is England, so we had to pay to get a pass for the shorter, but still very present, “fastpass line.” We attempted to talk our way to the front of said line, only to meet some very unfriendly people, who informed us it was too late for us so they would not in fact let us go ahead of them.

After (finally) getting through the queue, we began to sprint. At least as far as we could. You see, of course we had the literal last gate possible in the sprawling airport. I glanced at all the information screens as we frantically rushed through the terminal, as the status for our flight went from “final boarding call” to “boarding closed.” Just a little further, I promised myself, maybe everything will work out. I arrived at the gate, which seemed to be miles from where the shuttle had dropped us off. There was no one in line. It looked deserted. Out of breath, I approached one of the Ryanair workers.

“Is there anyway we can still get on the plane?”

She turned to her coworker. The plane hadn’t left yet. Yes, they decided, they’d let us on.

That was until she saw my passport. “Where’s your stamp?”

“What stamp?”

“Your visa stamp.”

Never having heard of this “visa stamp,” I stared at her blankly. Unbeknownst to me, Ryanair requires non-EU citizen passengers to get a stamp — at the very front of the airport. Having only previously flown Ryanair to Edinburgh, a domestic flight, and never having had to do it for another airport, I hadn’t known. There was nothing she could do, the worker declared. It would take too long to go back and get the stamp so we were out of luck.

We went to the Ryanair help desk to inquire about any other flights. They had one, the next morning, for 110 pounds, a hefty sum for a budget airline ticket to a nearby country. But, just as we almost decided to spring for it, spend the night in the airport and attempt to salvage our trip, the man realized that all the flights to Lisbon were actually sold out. Until Tuesday.

No one wanted to return to our flat, so we sat in the airport, looking up other airline’s flights, calling our hostel about cancelling our reservation for that night, trying to see if we could plan another trip later on. I’d be lying if I said some tears weren’t shed by all. Eventually, drained, we headed back to the city.

On our shuttle back, I put earphones in, determined to listen to music and rest a little rather than depress myself more by thinking about the trip, and pressed shuttle. Quite fittingly, the first song that came on “Float On” by Modest Mouse.

“I backed my car into a cop car the other day / Well he just drove off sometimes life’s OK / I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what did i Say / Well you just laughed it off it was all OK.”

Yes, my trip to Portugal was ruined and I spent yet another rainy, gray weekend in London. But that’s life. You live and you learn.