Some great literature wiz once said that its “third time lucky”, but experience tells me that I have to disagree. Rather it’s third time unlucky, very unlucky.
On October 26th I set off on a spontaneous trip to Amsterdam with a friend from university. In retrospect, we had no idea what was happening on this trip or what we was doing. Simply we chose to say f**k it and booked on the trip.
Just a few days before setting off, we discovered we had to be in Newcastle for 11am (we were currently in Nottingham). After a very expensive last minute train ticket was bought (and forgetting to buy a return one) we finally arrived at our first stop.
At this point everything seemed to be going well. We met new people, had ice breaker exercises, and ate lots of subway. I had no worries about the trip, and had visited the country twice before so had no reason to be worried.
We then embarked the ferry; thankfully it was a steady sail. As a group of 50 young people, of course the only thing we knew to do, was to get wavey (pardon the pun). Dancing around on the ferry with new friends, feeling merry and being entertainment for the other passengers was all fun and dandy, and helped me fall straight to sleep that night.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly at this point, as we arrived at our home for the next two nights, Hans Brinker. The hostel was clean and all we needed, equipped with a downstairs UV bar, which was great for a quick pole dance.
However, after seeing Amsterdam in the day, it was now time to see the sights by night. This is also when everything started to go wrong for me.
That night I was pick pocketed £90 whilst out. Being a young, vulnerable girl this really scared me. That someone had gone through my belongings and I had no clue about it. It scared me more that I come from a home where nothing bad ever happens. A news flash. Bad things happen to everyone. I was away from home for the third time in my life and things had gone terribly.
Waking up the next morning was even more daunting, realising that yes, I was with a group of 50 people. But none were my friends. They had no loyalty to me to help me and I had no shoulder to cry on whilst feeling down and scared. I felt in this moment that I really had to grow up. Which was equally as scary.
From this point, I was ready to go home, but decided to go and still have fun that night. Money is money. Much worst things happen in the world.
Yet, through my optimism, things still took a turn. That night I saw a girl have a panic attack and rushed to hospital in a foreign country, leaving me in a room alone. Alone in a country I was already scared in. A country I wanted to get as far away from as possible.
Fast forward through a ferry ride back to Newcastle, a spoons breakfast, a 3 hour train journey and I was finally back in Nottingham. And never returning to the Netherlands.
There is one thing I learnt from this trip. It’s that bad things do happen to people, they’re not just stories. I always thought because it hadn’t happened to me, that it never would.
But now I am fully aware that not everyone has the same mind set as me. Just because I would have done anything to help someone in the position I was, doesn’t mean people will do the same for me.
I can’t reverse what happened, or turn back the time. I can only learn.