21st Century Colonialism: Iceland Volcano Hits Europe and Student Travel

“There’s a volcano erupting in Iceland,” my friend Melissa reported back to me after a quick phone call to her parents across the pond. “Cool” was my first thought. How often are volcanoes erupting so far up North? Then, reality began to sink in.

“The ash from the volcano is covering the entire landscape of the United Kingdom. Our flight might be canceled,” Melissa continued, cautiously.

Maybe, the volcano was not so cool after all.

Melissa, Erica, and I had endeavored on a trip a week earlier covering Barcelona, Madrid, Seville, and Malaga. We were at the end of our trip, at the end of our clean clothes, and ready to get back to home to our study abroad location: London, England. Melissa and Erica had already been traveling around Prague, Vienna, and Budapest before embarking to Spain and they were in need of a break from European hostels and a good night sleep. Apart from all of our basic needs to return back to London, Melissa’s parents were scheduled to visit her in the U.K in a few days’ time.

In disbelief, Erica and I looked at Melissa. “CANCELED? How is that possible?” We headed to the airport to get more information. We each read the departure board twice, maybe three times. Every single flight leaving from Malaga to London was canceled. Our hearts sank along with the other travelers’ sullen eyes looking at the departures board. What next? We thought quietly to ourselves. A basic rule of traveling is flexibility, but volcanic ash clouding over Western Europe had not entered our radar. We went for the next viable option: book a flight to the closest location and take a train to England. Unfortunately every other traveler had the same strategy and already purchased tickets. By some miracle we were able to reserve three seats on a flight to Paris for the following morning.

At 4:45 a.m. we headed to the airport prepared to get to London in any way possible. “ALL PARIS FLIGHTS CANCELED!” we gaped in unison, staring in awe at the Departures board in the empty lobby of the Malaga airport. The debris from the volcano had already spread East to Amsterdam, Brussels, and France. Now what? We switched our flight and re-routed to Barcelona, trying to get as close to the UK as possible along with the hundreds of Parisians and English passengers on board as well.

We arrived in Barcelona at 9:30 a.m. tired and ready for the next step in our adventure: booking a night-train to Paris and then the Chunnel from Paris to London. The problem was that all trains were booked. We took a number at the train station in Barcelona, and waited, defeated in the lobby along with the masses of other travelers just trying to get home. We had exhausted all our options. Some people nearby were discussing renting a car and driving, others decided to book a bus to Paris and then take another bus back to the UK, and the rest decided to extend their stay in Barcelona and wait until their were more trains available or the weather conditions cleared and planes could take off. We chose the last option and booked the next available overnight train on Monday evening and the Chunnel back to the UK Tuesday evening. It was only Friday, so we had plenty of time to relax and explore around Barcelona.

Fortunately for us, our friends Jillian and Ashley were studying in Barcelona, and they, being wonderful and hospitable, took our mind off of the current situation and showed us around the city. Again. We went to the zoo, the aquarium, the movies, the park, the Bouqueria, a famous outdoor market off of Las Ramblas a busling street near Passieg de Grassia. We admired all of the distinct architecture and thriving nightlife the city has to offer and leisurely strolled the city, without the anticipation of tourists, but still with eagerness and open eyes.

The days flew by quickly, and Monday arrived before we knew it. We bought lots of snacks from the Bouqueria and headed back to the train station. We had never been on a night-train, so we didn’t know what to expect. We couldn’t get a compartment for ourselves, so we were prepared to sleep (with one eye open) with perfect strangers.

After boarding our small train compartment, we took a sigh of relief. Could we really be on our way back to the UK? It seemed like so long ago we felt trapped in the train station, trying to get home. Erica asked, “Are we sure this is going to the right place?” And given our adventure over the last few days, I replied, “Anything is possible.” The train attendant miraculously pulled down three beds for us about an hour later, so we could lay down and try to get some sleep. Surprisingly, we had the train compartment to ourselves; however, I don’t think I ever shut my eyes for more than twenty minutes. Every time the train stopped, we each jolted up, concerned some stranger was entering our train compartment, ready to steal our belongings. Somehow, we made it through the night, with all of our luggage and still in one piece.

As we exited the train, we each let out a sigh of relief. We were in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. We decided to celebrate and enjoy a Petit Dejeuner at Angelina’s, an exquisite Parisian café adjacent to the beautiful Touilleries. We made our train home to London at 5:30 p.m. well fed and satisfied with the enchanting atmosphere of Paris. Through glazed eyes, we looked out the window, and listened to the accents of the English passengers onboard, thrilled to finally be homebound.

“We are now arriving at St. Pancras. Please gather your belongings,” we heard an English accent announce over the intercom on our train. We couldn’t believe it was all really happening. We were finally in London. Stepping off the train, we leapt for joy. Erica almost kissed the ground out of excitement. We were smiling with eyes wide, not even caring about the weight of our luggage. We had finally made it back and instantly felt right at home in London, England.