A lesson learned

How did I end up here, writing this article, when I should be in Budapest enjoying a magic bath party and some ruin bars?
I arrived at Frankfurt Main airport for my 13:50 flight with plenty of time to spare, and before I knew it, it was 12:30 and I was making my way to the departures board to see where I needed to be. I must have scoured the boards for a good ten minutes before I realised there was not one single flight to Budapest on it. My heart sank, and I opened up my e-mails to look at my Wizzair ticket.
Flight no: WB289
Departure time: 13:50
Airport: Frankfurt Hahn (HHN)
Frankfurt Hahn? But I was at Frankfurt Main! Even when my host Mum said to me earlier that morning "I thought you were flying from Hahn today," I stupidly neglected to check my ticket.

I've never run so fast with an 8 kilo backpack and a stuffed pet Kookaburra. I bolted out to one of the endless taxi ranks and asked, huffing and puffing, how much it would cost me to get to Frankfurt Hahn.
"180-190 euros," answered the driver.
Okay, I thought to myself. I can deal with that. I'll just live off the 'free food' shelf at my hostel in Budapest.

"And how long will it take?"

After what felt like an eternity, he answered: "About an hour a half.”
There was no way in hell I could make my original flight. Devastated, but not defeated, I ran inside to one of the last minute ticket desks. I thought I’d be in with a good chance to get a cheap ticket to Budapest, and not for the first time that day I thought wrong. I nearly died when she said it would be 490 euros! She might as well have offered me a first class ticket back to Sydney for that price.

For those of you STILL wondering how I possibly got the airport wrong, my host Dad Frank told me that it happens all the time. I’m not sure if he was only saying it to make me feel better, but for my own peace of mind I choose to believe him.
I learned a few really important lessons today:
1. Mum's are always right. Even if it's not YOUR Mum, she's probably still right.
2. Everything happens for a reason.
3. Always read your flight ticket. Then, read it again. Once you've done that, read it ONE MORE TIME. You should then proceed to get your airport and departure time tattooed onto your hand.
So that's how I ended up here, writing this story. I'm back home in Germany now, in case you were wondering. It’s not quite what I had in mind for this weekend, but it will do. Budapest will just have to wait!