Into the Darkness

“All the pathos and irony of leaving one’s youth behind is thus implicit in every joyous moment of travel: one knows that the first joy can never be recovered, and the wise traveler learns not to repeat successes but tries new places all the time.” – Paul Fussell

March 28, 2013

Before going to bed last night, I checked my route of travel to get to the airport. Because I had to be there at 5am, I was going to have to use the night transport which isn’t as direct as during the day. Martina had shown me a website that let me plug in the time of day and my destination and it would spit out the best route.

Getting to the airport would require several transfers between buses and trams with only a minute between each and not much room for error. I decided to leave early enough so that if I missed one, I could catch the next one and still make it to the airport in time.

I set my alarm for 2:30am. With going to bed a little after 11:00, I knew it wouldn’t be a real restful sleep (especially since the partying was just starting in the dorm building) but I figured a few hours was better than nothing.

At one point in the night, I woke up to check the clock. It was 2:41. I must have snoozed it twice without waking .

I got dressed and double checked my trip across town. I had to catch bus X58 and take it to Olsanske hrbitovy. There I would catch the 58 tram to Svandovo Divadlo. There, I had to catch bus 510 to Terminal 2 at the airport. The trick was, each of these vehicles only came every 30 minutes. There was only one minute between the time they would arrive at my stop, and the time the next one came for the next destination (ie: I’d only be at Olsanske Hrbitovy for a minute, when tram 58 would come.) If anything got delayed or ahead of schedule, I’d be stuck at that station for 30 minutes.

I used my ipod to take pictures of my computer screen so I could remember the stops, and then stored my laptop in my little cupboard. I also put a few last things in my bag, and made sure I had my camera as well as my journal to keep notes for the blog. For a few seconds, I debated taking my sunglasses. In sort of a Murphy-esque philosophy, I figure if I didn’t take them, it would probably be sunny and I’d want them; yet if I did take them, the weather would probably suck and I wouldn’t need them.

After being cold for the past two months, I was willing to risk not having them if it meant I’d see sunlight in Spain.

Checking my watch, there were only five minutes till the bus was supposed to come. I walked out of my dorm and into the dark city night. I wasn’t entirely sure where the X58 picked up, so I went over to the tram stop—hoping the location would be the same. At the platform, there was an old lady waiting as well.  She was easily in her late seventies or early eighties. It struck me as a bit odd. What was this old woman doing out so late? Yet, in an odd way, her being there gave me a little comfort so I didn’t have to wait alone.

When the bus came, it actually pulled up across the street from the platform. The old woman and I both crossed and got on the bus. At the front, over the driver’s seat was an electronic ticker showing the sequence of stops. The phrase “příští zastávka” means “next stop” and I recognized it from the day tram. What I didn’t recognize was the word “smer” which was being displayed each time they showed the name of my stop. Could it mean that my stop was closed?

Apparently it didn’t mean anything important, because we got to my stop right on schedule. I got off, and so did the woman in the red coat. There were several people waiting at the tram stop. Some had groceries which again struck me as odd. Others looked homeless, and it is fairly common to see homeless people sleeping on the trams during the night.

I paced a bit anxiously, but sure enough, right on schedule, the 58 tram rounded the corner and picked us up.

I was surprised when I sat down to see that the old lady in the red coat had gotten on too. It made me feel good to have her along; sort of an oblivious travel companion. Along the way through town, the 58 passed by school and through Wenceslas square. It weaved through the narrow streets by the National Theater all the while picking up large groups of people who were leaving clubs or heading home from parties. I kept close watch on my ipod waiting for the station I needed to show up.

At one stop, the tram picked up a large group but didn’t immediately depart from the station. An announcement was made over the intercom in Czech, and the doors were reopened.

CRAP! I thought. I’m going to miss it!

As the 58 sat waiting, a small jostle broke out in the back on the car. That was when I noticed there were two police officers standing in the back. They quickly quieted the group down.

After a few minutes, the tram started moving again. I was worried. I even felt the anxious pain building in my stomach. We don’t have time for that right now, I told my body and it seemed to stay at bay. There were two more stops until my stop, and the odds of making it were not in my favor.

When we arrived, I got off to a totally empty and completely dark platform. I heard no noise. I saw no people. And more importantly, there was no bus. I’d missed it.

Suddenly, I noticed that at the other end of the platform, the woman in the red coat had gotten off too. She pulled a small wand (like the size of a night stick) out of her jacket, and whipped it into the air. It telescoped out and locked into place as her cane. She began walking towards an intersection at the opposite end of the platform from where I was.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know if the bus would come to this place when it came or not. While I felt a little creepy falling in behind her, I decided to follow the old lady to see where she went. There was comfort in not being alone in the cold, dark city at 3:30am.

Walking along the curb, a few yards behind her, I glanced down one of the side streets. Something caught my eye. There was a bus, with some people getting on it. I squinted, wishing I’d worn my glasses, and saw the faint outline of an airplane on one of the signs in the window. Squinting a little harder, I saw the number 510 in the upper window of the bus.

It was my bus!

I ran past the woman in red, jogged down the street. The bus driver closed the doors and released the hydraulics. I waved my arm, and he must have seen me coming, because I saw the doors reopen. Getting on, I thanked him, and took a seat in the back.

I like to think that at that point, the old lady might have waved at the departing bus or perhaps vanished into thin air as some sort of guardian angel. Either way, I had an odd feeling like she had led me to the bus, and I’ve thought about her often since leaving that platform.

As I sat on the bus, which was fairly crowded, I realized I didn’t have any Euros. I figured I could take some out of an ATM when I got to the airport, but that would probably involve big bills. I needed some small coins for the city bus. I figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. For now, my adrenaline was still focused on getting to the airport.

The bus ride was long and dark. As we rode along, we climbed up steep urban hills, making hairpin turns that felt as if we spun a full 360*. When we went down the hills, the descent was steep. Bracing myself against my chair, it seriously felt as though letting go would cause me to fly forward and land on the windshield.

After the up and down climb, we seemed to be in a more suburban part of Prague, with some houses and elementary schools scattered about. The ride was long and people were always getting on and off. After riding for about 30 minutes, I saw something that made me excited.

The people getting on had suitcases! I was going the right way.

At each stop, the automated voice would announce the stop name. As we came to an open field with just one lit building, it announced, “terminál tři.” I recognized “terminal” but not the other word. Luckily, the electronic ticker overhead displayed the numeral. We were at terminal three.

Several people got off while we continued on. The next several stops were not affiliated with the airport—which made me briefly nervous. As we got closer to the airport though, it started to look familiar. I recognized the parking garage and billowing smoke stakes from the night I arrived in Prague. When the bus announced “terminal jedna” I knew that meant terminal one. The next stop was terminal two, and I got off with the remaining crowd on the bus.

My philosophy when I travel to unknown places has become “follow people who look like they know what they are doing.” So that is what I did. There were teens around my age that carried duffle bags and wore sweatpants. There were businessmen in suits carrying briefcases and Bluetooth devices. Then there was one woman wearing tight clothes, a mini skirt, and way too much make-up. In my head, I labeled her “hooker woman.” Ironically, she was the only one who followed the signs to departures, so I would up following her.

Inside the airport, there were kiosks for check in. Even though I had printed my boarding pass at school, I ripped it trying to get it out of my backpack. I went to the kiosk to print a new one. As I did, I ran into a couple of guys from school who were headed to Oslo for the weekend.

Looking at my new boarding pass, I had an aisle seat (again) and my flight was set to board at gate D2 at 6:40am. It was now 4:20. I’d given myself plenty of wiggle room in case I’d missed any of the buses…now I had two hours and twenty minutes to kill.

Following the signs to security, I realized that even though the airport wasn’t busy, there was enough commuter traffic to make some white noise. The security here actually checked my passport and boarding pass, unlike Heathrow. Once in line, I put by bag on the counter, and unloaded my jacket and pockets into one of the bins.

“Laptop or liquids?” the man asked me.

“Liquids,” I said, pulling out my Ziploc bag which had my eye drops, hand sanitizer, and inhaler in it.

“Belt?” he asked.

“No belt,” I said. The belt I had on was a woven material and the buckle was plastic. I shouldn’t set off the machine.

The woman on the other side waved me through. As I walked through the scanner, the alarm beeped.

“Jewelry or belt?” she asked.

I couldn’t think of anything, but I felt my pockets to make sure. As my hand touched my right hip, I realized what I missed. I keep a small pouch strapped to my waist and under my pants to hold my passport and wallet when I travel. I don’t use it around Prague, but I’ve taken it to Dresden, Kutna Hora, and Berlin. Even though my passport had gone through in a bin (as I was instructed) my keys were in my pouch under my clothes.

“I do have a belt,” I said. Walking back through the scanner, I undid the clasp that strapped the passport keeper to my waist and snaked it out from under my pants. It was probably a bit of a spectacle to watch, and I’m sure it would have raised some eyebrows from TSA.

Lifting my shirt to remove the passport keeper had revealed my woven belt.

“Belt too,” the man instructed.

“It’s plastic,” I said, showing him the buckle. He felt the clip and said it was fine.

After passing through the scanner without problem, I reloaded my stuff into my bag. I decided to just stuff my passport keeper into my backpack for now, and went to find my gate.

D2 was empty when I arrived, except for one man who was sleeping curled up in a corner. As I took a seat by the window, a smile spread across my face. “I did it!!!” I said to myself. “I did it!!!”