You know its not your day when a sequence of events happen, all together, in one single day, and you aren’t expecting it at all. When I say events, these are not the ones that make you jump with joy. These are unique events that either hurt, pain or frustrate you in a deep way.
Sunday morning – My usual journey from London to Fuschl via Gatwick and Salzburg.
6:00 am. After having woken up at 3, 4 and 5 am (I always have sleepness nights when I have a morning flight), I finally woke up at 6 am, decided to have a shower before making that trek across London to Gatwick airport. Stepped into the bathtub only to slip on the stupid anti-slip rubber mat and fall, hitting my head on the wash basin. I saw stars. Yes. I wasn’t going to let this day get to me. Put some cold water on my head and carried on.
7:00 am. Dragging my suitcase (which was packed for 2 weeks and more) along with my laptop bag, my berimbau case and a cloth bag holding the precious ‘cabaca’ (for those of you who don’t know what a cabaca is, please look at the photo below. The instrument in the picture is a berimbau and the gourd attached to it is the cabaca). Delivate as it was, I had wrapped it in my beautiful red scarf to protect it and held it carefully. I stepped out of my door, dragging all that luggage, crossed the street, tripped and hit the lamppost. I could have made contact with the lamppost in numerous ways. But, Murphy had something else in store for me. The cloth bag, red scarf, protected cabaca made direct contact with the lamppost and shattered. I cried. Yes, I did. I called Roy, who came to the corner of the street, took the cabaca back home. I’ll give it a decent burial when I get back to London.
7:15 am. Caledonian Road Tube Station. Piccadilly line to Uxbridge. Mind the gap et all. 4 carriages go by empty. Im right next to the 5th one with all the luggage. And, its packed. I run to the 4th just in time to push all the luggage in and my beautiful sweatshirt gets caught in the door and catches an ugly black stain. I’m hoping I can find stain removers in Austrian supermarkets.
7:30 am. Kings Cross Station. Walked out of Kings Cross Underground and to St. Pancras International only to find out that First Capital Connect trains to Brighton (via gatwick) do not operate on Sundays. Bloody hell. My only options were Victoria or London Bridge. I wasn’t taking a chance with London Bridge (just incase the slow train did not operate). I decided to make that trek to Victoria. Victoria line closed. Thought of changing at Green Park. Victoria line again. Further down to South Kensington. Circle line closed. Thank god for the District line and I made it to Victoria.
8:30 am. Gatwick express. Things are looking good. I should make it to the airport in time. I buy myself English breakfast tea. Voila, hot team on my lap. Need I say more?
9:15 am. Reach Gatwick, head to check in. Get pulled up from the normal baggage drop queue and taken to a Oversized baggage queue thanks to my beautiful Berimbau case. It has Ninja written on it. I get quizzed on whether it is a weapon. Blah blah chi chi theen thong thong. It is an instrument you wird security people. Checked in finally.
2 hour flight. I passed out. Slept. Woke up with the landing thud. Scorching heat in Austria.
2:30 pm. Reached Fuschl in thirty minutes only to discover a street market and festa going on. Looked like half of Austria descended on this little village, very abnormal. Festive and fun. But, I wanted my solus time. Of all days, the last thing I wanted to see in Fuschl was a crowd. Hmmmm.
6:00 pm. I decided to go and indulge in some therapy in the evening. 21st century therapy is capoeira. Reached the beautiful meadows behind my pensione and started doing my movements facing a tree. I kept working on a a bananeira (handstand, arching your back and leaning your legs against the tree / wall for those who obviously cannot do it without support) with the tree. After sometime, my hand just felt so weak and I collapsed into the tree, burising my back. It shows that if you do not control what you do, even a tree can be a lethal capoeira partner.
All in all, a day when I felt I needed some kind of insurance. Insurance against rubber mats, broken instruments, train closures, tube delays, grease stains, wierd secutiry officials, maddening crowds, scorching sun and last but not the least, tree trunks. Does travel insurance cover this?