[Not to worry folks, we made it back safe and sound on Monday, April 26th, only 9 days after our original flight! Regarding my roots: Despite the fact that I was unable to get an appointment with my regular stylist and had to settle for "Felix" --recently promoted from sweep-up boy and hand masseur to hair stylist -- my roots were finally dyed a lovely shade of caramel.]
If another person tells me how fortunate I am to be stranded by this darned volcano, I am going to scream. Friends and family have written e-mails telling us to “enjoy” our “extended vacation” or to “take advantage” of being stuck here. I certainly don’t mean to be ungrateful or anything, but this is getting ridiculous.
It is day 14 of my family’s seven-day spring break vacation to England, and that sucking noise is the sound of our bank account being drained. Our Ryanair flight back to Stuttgart has been rescheduled twice, so we are keeping our fingers (also toes and other appendages) crossed in hopes that our flight on Monday will go off as planned.
At first, we tried to follow everyone’s advice and enjoy ourselves, but once the reality of our situation really began to hit home (or hit our hotel room) we just wanted to get back to our normal lives. I felt a bit guilty for thinking this way, but I found that other stranded military families were having the same negative feelings about their situations.
One Navy spouse trapped in Rome with her family told me of how “lucky” she was to wash her underwear out in the hotel bathroom sink with “Marriott exclusive aromatherapy lemongrass scented body wash.” She finally broke down and paid an Indian man 15 Euros to do a load at a “scary” laundry mat near Termini Train Station, and then had a “luxurious” night’s sleep on the train surrounded by a group of chain-smoking Nigerians.
A Marine spouse related to me her “good fortune” to be stuck at the Victory Services Club Hotel in London at $200 a night not including meals for their family of five. They spent four extra nights in a perpetually overheated room with a broken thermostat, taking turns opening and closing the window to the blaring sirens and traffic in the street below.
Another Marine family marooned in Mallorca had the “good kismet” of being offered the option of getting back to Germany via ferry to Barcelona and then a 20-hour Spanish bus ride without bathroom facilities to Frankfurt.
Left high and dry in Ireland, one Navy spouse decided to shell out the cash to take ferries and trains to get as far as Euro Disney in Paris. She figured, if you’re going to go broke anyway, why not do it at Disney? Friends suspect that she might just throw in the towel and move into the Dream Castle.
As for me, we don’t have it so bad. I must admit, I get frustrated when I think of how much make up work my three kids will have at school next week. I will need to reschedule appointments for the doctor, orthodontist, piano teacher, guitar teacher, and my hair dresser. We will owe the kennel a small fortune. And I missed my girls’ trip to Amsterdam to see the tulips.
The rest of my family may not agree, but the worst part of being trapped here has been the two inches of dark roots that have sprouted from my scalp. I broke down early in the week and bought some tweezers for my unruly eyebrows, but there is not much I can do about my hair color.
Having lived in England on a previous tour, I have bad memories of “highlights” involving a huge perforated cap eased on to my head with talcum powder, swatches of hair being painfully pulled through the holes with a crochet needle, and the pungent odor of harsh bleaching solution.
My family and my roots will have to wait for our eventual return to Stuttgart. “Lucky” as we are to have been stranded here, the girl with the ruby slippers had it right when she said, “there’s no place like home.”
