So, I'm in Geneva again. And already absolutely miserable. However, unlike last semester, this time it is completely out of my control. It's not like things are actually fine, and I'm just being a brat. This time there are forces in the universe that are actually telling me that I never should've left the state of Maine. Or maybe just the North American continent, because things were going fine in Philly also. It's just as soon as I got to Europe that my life went to hell.
First, Heathrow. My distaste for London airports shouldn't shock anyone, and it actually goes back many years to when dad and I went to Paris the summer after my freshman year in high school. It is clearly not in the cards for me to successfully maneuver through the city of London via airplane. I had a three hour layover in Heathrow yesterday. Fine, no worries. I have a book and an iPod...I'm all set. So I got through their ridiculously complicated security system and went to the waiting area. Got the gate number for my flight, and went there. No problems, got on the flight, made small talk with the woman next to me for a few minutes, then fell asleep. I hadn't been successful at sleeping on the trans-Atlantic flight because I made the poor decision to utilize British Airway's awesome entertainment unit on the back of the seat in front of me. Transformers is an awesome movie, in case you haven't seen it yet. But it meant that I arrived in London seriously tired. So I figured I'd sleep on the flight to Geneva, and wake up refreshed and ready to attempt getting my luggage on and off the trains and trams and make it to my apartment in one piece.
I woke up an hour and a half later, which should've been about fifteen minutes before we were landing in Geneva. My internal clock does a pretty good job at timing things. So I shook off the grogginess and stretched a little bit. When I became aware of my surroundings, it occurred to me that the plane wasn't moving. Ok...Did I read my watch wrong? Checked it again. No...it's 3:45...I got on the plane a little after 2. Ok. I'm on the right plane because they checked my ticket about a dozen times before letting me on. So what's the deal? I asked the woman next to me why we weren't moving and she said that there was something wrong with a smoke detector. Brilliant. I just wasted all my sleeping for nothing. The plane was still parked at the gate. And remained parked at the gate until 4...which is when I was supposed to be getting into Geneva. Ok, so I'm going to be late. Fine. At least the trains will still be running unlike last time.
So we get into the air finally. I scored major points with the woman next to me when she slept through the meal, and I offered her my cookies when she woke up. So we started chatting. She asked me what I was doing in Geneva and if I was excited to be returning. Well, as a matter of fact, no...I'd rather be buried in snow in mid-coast Maine if you can believe it. And the next words out of her mouth were 'Yeah, I don't blame you.' She wasn't Swiss, she was a Brit, and evidently the Brits feel the same way about Geneva that I do. She told me that it was impossible to learn French here (check), it was impossible to make friends here (check) and it was no place for a 20 year old who wanted a party scene (check). This accomplished adult was saying everything that I've been saying for months, so I felt like I was justified in feeling the way I was feeling, and that it wasn't just me. Geneva actually does suck. And she agreed with me that I absolutely cannot stay here during the summer. I needed to at least get out of Geneva if I was going to stay in Europe. She told me I should go to Paris and be an au pair if I really wanted to learn French. Interesting.
So we finally got to Geneva at 6, two hours behind schedule. Stores in Geneva close at 7:30 every night, and are not open on Sundays. And since I was going to be gone for six weeks, I had thrown out nearly everything in the way of food, so it was fairly necessary that I go shopping if I intended on eating for the next couple of days. Fine, I figured I'd race off the plane, grab my suitcase, and book it to my apartment. I still had time, but not much.
So I got to baggage claim. I dont know about the rest of you, but I always get really paranoid at baggage claim. I'm always convinced that my bag won't arrive on time, even though my parents always assure me that with the computer systems they have now, they rarely lose bags. It still always seems like my bag is the last one to come off the plane, and I'm nearly always having a panic attack by the time I finally get it. I was expecting this, and I wasn't really worried when I didn't see it for a while. However, I did start to get nervous when bags from another flight made it onto the conveyer. Then another flight. And suddenly my flight was no longer being unloaded. Fuck. No no no. This isn't happening. I don't want to be here in the first place, but I cannot be here without that bag. It has my life in it. It must be a joke. It must be. It got stuck somewhere and they're unsticking it right now. No worries. I'll get it. So I wait. And it doesn't come.
I went to the people in the baggage claim office and nervously asked them if they knew where the fuck my bag was. The guy read a little piece of paper that said my name on it, and he told me that my bag might not have been loaded in London. No shit. But it might be on the next flight from Heathrow. Ok, only that was the flight that came on the carousel after mine. And it still wasn't there. Really? Oh...well, I'd still wait ten or fifteen minutes for it. If it still doesn't come, then it'll be on the flight from Heathrow at 7:25. Wait, isn't 7:25 five minutes before Geneva closes? Yes...
So I waited. I was in the baggage claim area at the Geneva airport for a good 2.5 hours. My bag was not on the plane at 7:25. And I had now officially missed my chance to buy food, meaning I was going on an involuntary hunger strike for the next 36 hours. You can imagine my level of pleasure.
I went back to the office and talked to a different woman and told her that my bag was flat out not there. She took my bag claim ticket thingy and typed some stuff into the computer, and told me that they had no record of my bag. This is when I broke out in a cold sweat. Two hours ago you told me that it was at least in Heathrow, and had just missed the plane to Geneva. At least you knew where it was. She showed me the computer screen. 'No Information Available'. I wanted to vomit. My entire life was in that bag. Yes, I had clothing in Geneva, but there was a reason that I had left it here and not brought it with me to the states. It was either clothing I didn't wear, didn't like, or meant for summer wearing only. Everything I wore on a regular basis was in that bag. Not to mention my entire DVD collection because I had been instructed to bring it back so that we could watch the movies that we always lamented not having. All of my toiletries (shampoo, face wash, toothbrush and toothpaste) were in that bag, because of the ridiculous notion that I could blow up the plane with my tube of Crest. The only liquid in the way of personal hygiene I had in my carry-on was my little tub of Carmex. And remember, nothing is open in Geneva until Monday morning. AKA, I can't shower, brush my teeth, or eat food for 36 hours.
This has to be a fucking joke.
So I filed my report with her, on the verge of tears, and I'm pretty sure she was judging me behind her obnoxious, slightly hostile Swiss personality. She told me that bags usually turn up within 24 hours, so I would most likely hear about it either that night or the next day. It's now the next day at 6:23 pm, and I have heard nothing about my bag. I went online and typed in my info, and it still says 'No Information Available'. I have my first day at my internship tomorrow. 95% of my internship clothing is in that bag. As well as all of my personal primping equipment, so that I don't look like a hobo when I show up. I'm going to make the worst possible impression on the people at the ILO. I'm so frustrated I could cry.
The parents aren't helping either. Last night, after I had gone out drinking to numb out a little bit, dad tried to console me and tell me that it would turn up, and I just needed to be patient. Easier said than done. I know you're trying to help, but it doesn't change the fact that everything I really wanted with me here in this hell hole of a city is lost somewhere between here and London. With my luck, it's floating in the English Channel. Dad was a little better than mom though whose first question was 'Well do you have insurance on it so that you can replace it?'
What??? No. Not an option. There will be no replacing. It's impossible to replace the contents of that bag while in Geneva. Forgetting for a second that things cost way more here, it's super difficult to buy DVDs that will play on American equipment while you're in Europe. I'm not sure why there's a difference, but there is. Now, my DVD collection is worth about $800, give or take. In Switzerland, that would translate to over $1000, because the prices in this country are so fucking warped. Most of my clothing costs double here what it costs in the states, at least. So no, mom, replacing is not an option, and you aren't helping by putting the idea in my head that I might have to. It actually makes me want to vomit.
So now I'm sitting in the Smith Center, with the intention of staying here for as long as I possibly can tonight, in the hopes that I'll get a call from the airport saying that my bag is on its way, since this is the address I gave them...and I have no food in my apartment to go back to. Just the empty feeling of my room, and my lack of clothing and inability to brush my teeth for the third night in a row. My world for a dentist...
