I write this miles away from home, from inside a room that smells not-so-subtly of smells of vomit which is supposed to be my home for the next week…
Okay, I’m going to block my nose and start at the beginning.
(Background info: I’m in Sydney for an amazing two week internship with the Mamamia Network.)
It all began when I got to the airport to discover my luggage was almost two kilograms over the allotted weight. No sweat. I can fork out an extra $20 or whatever. Except it’s $20 – x 6. Okay, yep can’t afford that (I knew packing my Magic Bullet blender was going to come back and bite me on the ass. So I like my breakfast smoothies, sue me.) Cut to me on the airport ground, crazily shoving things (think undies flying everywhere) into my carry on bag before I miss my flight.
After a truly terrible airport soy cappuccino I was boarding the plane. A plane! The last time I’d been on a plane I was 6, so heart palpitations and child-like excitement was being displayed. I’d chosen my flight seat ahead of time (the
control organisational freak that I am) so I could nab the window seat.
I get on the plane and take my seat in 1D (chuckling to myself that this ticket is the closest I’ll ever get to going to see One Direction). In true social media/selfie obsessed style, I start taking happy snaps out of the tiny plane window. Luckily I get a few Facebook worthy shots in before a flight attendant leans in and questions me as to what my seat number is. I happily tell her ‘1D’.
I’m in the wrong seat.
One isle seat later and we are ready for take off. (Ps: the guy’s who seat I was in did not look out his window ONCE on the entire trip. What a waste).
I arrived at the airport at 1.40pm. Helllllllo Sydney. Pleased to meet you.
I navigated my way to the train station and was pleasantly surprised at how easy the train system was to understand in comparison to Brisbane. Hallelujah. I after several stops and changes (which see me having to lug my 20kg suitcase, plus carry on, kilometres and up and down stairs because some stations don’t have lifts). At approximately 4pm I arrive tired and hungry in the ‘burbs of Telopea. Which if you’re a Sydney dweller you will not be surprised to hear is a hella-long way from the city centre. I knew this thanks to Google maps, but was not quite so understanding on just how far.
Turns out it does’t really matter anyway because despite triple checking and getting in contact the week prior, certain circumstances mean I’m not going to be able to stay where I had planned. Okay, minor inconvenience. Don’t panic yet. It’s all part of the adventure…
I frantically get on lastminute.com.au and (literally in minutes) have solved the problem. I will stay one night and then tomorrow book into a backpackers in Potts Point. Problem solvered. Fast forward through a night of no sleep, early rising, train catching, kilometres walked, ect ect I arrive at said backpackers to check into my “private room”. I’d specified I’d be checking in at 11am. I get there and they inform me check in is at 2pm. Be buggered if I’m lugging my suitcase another 20kms around. I’ll wait. So I wait. One fellow “guest” tries to make chit chat. I am almost unresponsive to the point of rudeness (I feel bad but it’s been a looong few days). He doesn’t pick up my vibe which is about as subtle as a sledge hammer to the head. At one point I even close my eyes as if sleeping. This does not deter him. On top of that I feel like I’m a walking target just waiting to be mugged. With my new suitcase, handbag and laptop bag all jammed against my pretty Myer bought dress which seems of designer status in these quarters (no judgement passed).
I feel like bursting into tears. This is not suppressed once I finally get to my room. I’ve stayed at a backpackers once before, I don’t know if it was the title of “private room” or the fact I’ve just come from a luxurious few days at Stradbroke island, am miles away from home, haven’t even started my internship – but I indulge in a good cry.
After a tear filled call back home, a discussion of options, a very deserved carb-filled lunch and vodka based beverage (x3) I now feel better.
Currently I am sipping on the Apple Elderflower and Soda Smirnoff I smuggled into the hostel in my shinny new Bris-girl-goes-to-big-city handbag (I would have never thought as I perused through/modelled countless handbags that this would be how I would be using it…).
I am going to reveal my reasons for sharing this… I guess just because when life goes left – you need to be able to just go right. Before I left for Sydney I had planned and planned and planned my trip. What I would see, where I would go, how I would get there. I have a manilla folder of print outs and lists in my handbag to prove it.
But sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. I’m not very good at it, I admit. It was actually one of my new years goals (be careful what you wish for).
So despite worrying I won’t be able to find somewhere else to stay, get a refund for the week I’ve already paid for here and will have to spend thousands of $$ for different accommodation, or the fact my back is killing me from being a packhorse, or that I will fail miserably at my internship – I’m going to remember things could always be worse. And there are always options.
I’m going to finish this drink and scour Air BnB sites. Wish me luck.
I’d love to hear a time when you’ve just “rolled with the punches” or if you have a horror hostel story.