Realizing there was no hope of getting walk-on tickets, we made the call and had Gillian and Malcolm (our Knights in Shining Armor) board the dog gone ferry. Now with nearly two hours of free time on our hands (free time you say? CRAZY!) we decided it would be a good idea to do a dry run of their route to make sure we could give very accurate instructions so as to make the 4:45am ferry instead of waiting until 6:15am. FYI: 3am dry-runs on a highway by 5 sleep-deprived people might not be the best idea.

The ferry exit leads directly to a highway that has only one exit 5 miles down the road. That exit has both a left and right turn option which leads to a roundabout that swoops under the highway and back onto the ferry return lane, shooting vehicles back into the boarding zone to go back to England. Confusing? Try putting all of that into a text message, which took us 15 minutes to agree on wording. It was the first and only moment where we got testy with each other. The Ferocious Five were nearing a state of meltdown.

Because it was a highway, we had to lug our bags out into the middle divider, flap our arms to flag down the cars, dump in our bags, and zoom into the customs line. This was, of course, after we parked the car at the end of the lot, ran the key to the drop box in the ferry terminal half a mile away, then raced back to our makeshift pick-up zone. Magically, the entire operation went off without a hitch. As our rides crested over the horizon and our salvation become visible, the excitement exploded. “I have never actually jumped for joy like I did just now,” David said.

Cars and bags safely stowed below, we toasted to our success with ferry-quality champagne, watching the sun rise over the White Cliffs of Dover as we approached good old England. We had done it. We had pulled off the greatest escape in travel history. Bring it volcano. Bring it.

As our train pulled into London and we each headed in our own direction, the end of the Ferocious Five neared. Why, again, did we want the adventure to end? For the life of me, I can’t remember. Getting to the gay and lesbian travel mecca of London wasn’t easy, but at least I have an excellent pair of plumen-goggle-strassen to check out cloud of volcanic ash!

Long live the Ferocious Five!

“Sir,
I can confirm you on a seat travelling to London April 29th, assuming

the volcano stops erupting,” Anne from Emirates airlines told me over

the phone. That was twelve days from now. A group of five of us had been

camping out in my room at the Millennium hotel in Sharjah, UAE for

several hours now brainstorming other ways to travel to the gay and

lesbian travel destination of London. The notion of flying directly to

Europe’s busiest airport in the face of such obstacles as an Icelandic

volcano spewing ashing across most of the Continent seemed grim. “I

know! We could take the Orient Express! Or maybe go to Africa then ride

camels across the Sahara, cross the Strait of Gibraltar then travel

north through Spain and France to the shores of Calais, where we can

hitch our way across the Channel with some truck drivers.” My new

friends all began to laugh hysterically; “Yeah, like we’d ever have to

do all of that.”

It’s
now seven hours later and we’ve turned my Dubai friend’s office into a

situation room. Emirates is on speaker phone, the “hold” music offering

an incessantly irritating background to the chaos that has ensued. One

of my compatriots else is coordinating with a few others still at the

hotel. Pat, our host, is handing out apple cobbler and ice cream to keep

us going. I’m on the computer confirming flights to Tunisia then onward

to Barcelona, creating a 21st

Century version of camels across Africa and ferries to cross the Strait

of Gibraltar. The fastest way to travel to London is via Africa.

“Yes,
you’ll be refunded Dubai to London,” we’re told. Knowing that, we book

Dubai to Tunisia over the phone, simultaneously click “buy now” on the

connecting Tunisia to Barcelona flights and we’re at least on the

Continent. Praise to technology. After two days of watching the hot

Arabian sun rise and set over the artificial expanses of Sharjah with

zero information as to what was happening on the outside, we’re all

desperate just to feel like we’re moving. I’m tired of eating hummus for

breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There is a public stoning of a woman

tomorrow that has been suggested as a tourist activity. It is time to

go.

Travel
to Europe booked, we get in taxis and head back to the hotel. The next

challenge is getting from Barcelona to Madrid and from Madrid to London.

The new challenge is booking a train from Barcelona to Madrid then a

bus from Madrid to London. The Spanish websites don’t want to let us

book a train to Madrid and they are totally against us travelling by bus

from Madrid to London. Damn you, technology. A quick glance at the

clock alerts us that it’s 3am. We have to be up and out the door by 6am

to make our flight to Tunisia. What should take five minutes has now

dragged on for three hours. It has been us against the mighty Emirati

firewall, but nothing will keep us from London.

I
bring in reinforcements, Skyping a friend in London who then g-chats

with a friend in Barcelona who then wakes up her Spanish boyfriend who

then calls the bus company in an attempt to make a booking. He relays

info to his girlfriend, she sends it to London, and London gets it to us

over Skype. It is inefficient and annoying, but for once I have to

thank globalization and social networking. Unfortunately, even the

combined forces we’ve mustered can’t confirm any travel in Spain. We

will have to figure out once we’re on the ground in Europe.

Now
it’s 5am. Time to take a shower and pack for the airport. No matter

what, we’re on a plane to Africa by lunchtime. One step closer to gay and lesbian travel destination London.