The morning started somewhat decent, besides the fact that my bunk mates showed up at 4 AM to make their beds and settle in. I slept poorly, anxious for the start of the day. I wake up early to make breakfast and pack. I leisurely make an espresso (an awesome hostel perk) and make a sandwich for the journey south. I settle down for my breakfast and check my email one last time, only to realize that my train leaves from a completely different station than anticipated. What I intend to be a 10 minute stroll to the train station actually entails a 15 minute bus ride to another station in the southern part of the city.

Immediately I’m booking it out of the hostel. I sprint towards the bus stop, crossing streets in a diagonal with my red hair lagging behind me, trying to catch up. I barely make the bus; the doors slam on my purple backpack, causing me to squeal like a meat packing pig. I force myself in and try to catch my breath as sweat begins to form on my upper lip.

The countdown begins. Will I make it? Can I make it? I’ve pushed the limits this close before with a bus leaving Amsterdam. I remember the same sensation of counting down the minutes, the anticipation and anxiety brewing, mounting into a colossal awareness of every tick on the clock. However in Amsterdam I was lucky and had already printed out my ticket. In Gent I was less fortunate. I make it to the train station with 10 minutes to spare, I almost begin to celebrate in relief until I see the cue to pick up the ticket. There is only one woman and she is working at a snails pace. There are several people in front of me. I swear to myself for the tenth time. As a seasoned traveler, my experience comes with buses and public transportation. For whatever reason trains have become my Achilles heel. I’ve avoided trains on this trip for monetary reasons primarily, but today I had no other options to get to Geneva.

I stand there, not sure what to do. Can I pick up my ticket at the next station? Do I just buy a single to Brussels? Do I do nothing and hope the line suddenly moves faster? What do I do what do I do what do I do?

I finally get in front of the line to see the time is 9:53, when my first train from Gent is supposed to leave to Brussels. I ask the worker if I can pick up my ticket at the next station. She says of course, surprised that I didn’t already know this information.

The Achilles heel indeed.

I book it to the platform just in time to see the train moving away. Now I’m in a rare state, an emotional, overwhelmed, anxious state. My sailor mouth is running 100 miles an hour as I cuss constantly under my breath. FUCK!

I head back downstairs and begin to discuss options with the same lady as before. Since I didn’t book a flexi ticket I’m screwed. I can’t make my connection in Brussels because I missed the train in Gent. I could try a taxi but it would cost me over 100 euros and there is no guarantee I’ll make the connection in Brussels.

While I have had several low moments on this trip, the lowest is when she tells me how much it will cost to buy a new ticket to Geneva. It’s more expensive than my original ticket. My original, NOT flexi ticket was 100 euros. My new ticket is 123 euros. So what was originally the cheapest option is now the most expensive. I’m already flustered, frustrated, and extremely disappointed in myself. A very expensive and rookie mistake. I start crying at the kiosk, so overwhelmed with how much money I’m spending.

And maybe a small part of me hopes that if I start crying she’ll take pity on me and help eliminate some of the cost.

She does take pity on me, but there’s nothing she can do. She gives me a kind smile and says go grab a coffee, just accept what has happened. Many make similar mistakes and it will all be OK.

And so begins one of the longest and most stressful days of my backpacking adventure. Pretty amazing if you think about it. I get on my train to Brussels where I immediately start writing, trying to vent, process, and let it go. I get so caught up in writing that I almost miss my stop, confused by how Brussels has two names for the same station: Brussels Midi and Brussels Zuid. Flustered all over again, I barely get off the train in time.

I have an hour to kill before my train to Lyon. The kiosk lady gave me the time it’s supposed to leave Brussels but that’s it. Again, trains are something I am not experienced with, so I have no idea where to go. Plus the station is massive. Not surprising, considering it has two names.

Always ask for help. People are good natured and will always attempt to help you the best they can. I finally find an information booth and she tells me that I need to get on the train to Nice, then get off at Lyon.

Of course it’s that simple!

I head outside to get some fresh air, but this doesn’t last long because there is an EXTREMELY creepy guy staring at me. In my current state I’m not prepared to deal with any interaction and I go back inside. I’m too anxious and worked up to sit, so I just do laps around the station, once again counting down the minutes. I head to the platform 15 minutes before the train is supposed to arrive, just in case.

Once on the train, I realize that my seat assignment has changed (once again, duh, Achilles heel!) and have to force, man handle, and maneuver my way through cart after cart of families with way too much luggage. I finally get to my actual seat and flash a smile to the twenty-something Italian girl sitting across from me. All I get is a reproach in response.

Marvelous!

I start writing again, finding a groove with my music and the green fields flying past. Suddenly the Italian girl knocks over her entire cup of hot chocolate all over me, missing herself entirely. My jacket now reeks of sour milk and chocolate. At this point I almost want to laugh. This day is just not going well.

At Lyon I see there is an earlier train to Geneva than originally anticipated. So many thoughts run through my head: why did the kiosk lady give me a later time? Can I take this one and save two hours? Do I have time to find an information booth and ask? I go with my gut and jump on the earlier train. It feels right at the time.

Once on the train I become increasingly paranoid as the worker starts checking tickets. What if mine is wrong, what if it’s only for that specific time? What if I have to pay even MORE money to be on this specific train? The anxiety is overwhelming as he takes my ticket with a smile. He punches the ticket with a cheery ‘Merci!’ and moves on to the belligerent French guy across the aisle.

A sigh of relief. My instincts were right.

I once again find the groove in listening to good music and writing down my thoughts. I’m interrupted by the wasted French guy across the aisle. He keeps asking me random nonsensical questions. I pretend I don’t understand him. He has a wicked cough that explodes throughout the entire coach. At this point, anything is possible, and all I can do is find humor in this hot chocolate stained day. The train finally arrives in Geneva and I ditch the washed French guy. I now have one train left to Morge, where I will be staying with a family friend for the next two nights.

So recap: what was supposed to be a 6 hour train ride costing 100 euros turned into a 10 hour train ride costing 223 euros. It physically hurts to write that sentence.

To further the recap, what I have learned from all this?
1. Trains are my Achilles heel and I need to give myself at least an hour to get to a station.
2. Emotional meltdowns can be a good thing. They help to process the overwhelming emotions in a quick period. I actually feel the best I’ve had in days afterwards.
3. Shit happens. In all shapes and forms.
4. When shit happens, laugh at it. We can choose a pity party or a party. It’s up to us start dancing. Hot cocoa stains included.