My first few weeks in New York passed by slowly, but the days in August came and went within the blink of an eye. Though I planned to stay in the city until classes began, my last day came sooner than expected. I spent this past week doing things for one last time—shopping in SoHo, eating frozen yogurt from 16 Handles, sitting on a bench people-watching, and walking for miles on a sunny day.
I wish I could say that the nights were spent dancing at hotel bars, but in actuality, I was home studying for a computer exam and wearing Christmas pajama pants. A few weeks ago, I discovered that I needed to take a computer exam as a prerequisite for one of my courses and the latest test date possible was yesterday.
Feeling nostalgic of my past moving experiences, I dragged my massive suitcase from the Financial District to midtown, practically knocking out a few people as my luggage accidentally tumbled down the subway steps. There were issues with the seating assignments on the bus, so I was naturally the last person to board. Of course the only seat available was located in the very last row; given my history, there was potential for disaster. Ingesting a handful of Dramamine seemed to do the trick, thankfully.
I usually take the Megabus—not for its stellar reputation, but rather its prime drop-off location in the county. My dad happened to be traveling home on Thursday as well, so my family wasn’t able to pick me up. I mean I guess he takes precedence since he was flying from Iran and had been traveling for over twenty-four hours.
After using public transportation all summer long, I figured that I would take the Bolt bus from New York to Baltimore and get off at the stop downtown. Once again, I pulled my overstuffed suitcase through city streets as I tried to find the light rail. To put it simply, public transportation in Baltimore is a joke.
I asked three people as to where the light rail was located, but no one had a clue. The fourth person I asked thought that I was looking for the Lyric Opera House. Umm yeah, I’m going to the Lyric, looking like I’ve been hit by a truck, wearing a t-shirt and flip flops, and wheeling luggage.
Half a mile later, I finally found it just as the light rail to Hunt Valley was arriving. Knowing that tickets aren’t regularly checked, I was tempted to get on without one. I was desperate to get home, but all of the those eighth grade confirmation classes have made me overly morally conscious. It was really fun waiting for another twenty minutes.
I was sad to leave the city, but sleeping in a real bed again is quite a luxury.
One thing I am going to miss? The possibility of running into Chase Crawford at my apartment’s gym. He lives in my building, and despite my greatest stalking efforts, I never saw him!
Traveling—love it or hate it? Any awful stories?