Up-Load dot com Inconstant content

15Aug/06Off

The Big Update
A lesson in travel hubris

The story so far:

Two months ago. I start planning a trip to Riga, Latvia, where I was born. Off-and-on, for the past number of years, I had been videoing the memories of my great-aunt-once-removed (or something of that familial linkage). She is going to be summering in Latvia-- and so I decide that for the documentary project, I need footage on location, from the places that she remembered. And since I am going to be in Europe anyway, I also want to stop off at some other places: Frankfurt, where I have an uncle and cousin with new baby boy; and London, where I'd never been, but had been wanting to visit forever.

I check the usual travel sites for good deals, trying every combination of multi-city and open-jawed (to use the industry parlance) routes, to come up with a way to go to all three places on the cheap. After weeks of near-daily Travelocity-Expedia-Kayak searches I come upon a solution: flying from the UK turns out to be the most convenient, so I book my plane through to London (United, $900), from there, taking a round-trip to Latvia (KLM, $200) and then yet another roundtrip to Frankfurt (British Airways & Lufthansa, $200). In all, the tickets came in at about what a direct flight to Riga alone would cost. Sure, I was going to be seeing a lot of airports and planes, but it would be worth it, to be able to get a week lay-over in London before my flight back home... or so I thought.

So, I go on a spending-spree for those particular travel necessities like new baggage (five bags/packs/satchels of various types purchased before settling on three) and shoes (three pairs bought, one taken) and of course, travel-sized toiletries (they're cute, because they're tiny.)

Two weeks ago. I'm off. After a brief panic at departure, when I discover that my new notebook-backpack overfilled with my mini-studio of equipment is so heavy that it can't actually be carried on my back as intended, I find a $20 bungie-cord-rolling-contraption serves to convert the pack into a sort of wheeled carry-on. And carry on I do, through one airport to the next, dragging my bag full of electronics around.

In hindsight, the flight to Riga is a breeze: although I go through four airports (Tulsa->Chicago O'Hare->Heathrow->Amsterdam) with an overnight in Holland, where I have to pick up and recheck my bag, I arrive sound and secure, with all my possesions intact. (This is what's known as "foreshadowing.")

Five days ago. While I begin to pack for my trip back through the UK, then onto Frankfurt, the news comes in: Britain foils a supposed plot to blow up airplanes flying from London to the US. Many flights are grounded. New carry-on regulations go into effect, which allow only a clear plastic bag with bare essentials to be taken on board. Fresh panic sets in: what am I supposed to do these damned electronics, if I can't take them on the plane? Yet another bag is purchased, to hold my not-for-check-in backpack. Last minute worry about should-I-or-shouldn't-I-fly. Final decision is that yes, I'll go to Frankfurt, on British Airways, even.

Four days ago. Heathrow is in chaos, as people haven't a clue where to go, or what to do. I am standing in the BA queue, waiting to check my bags, which arrived promptly from Riga. Time is running out, as my flight is due to board in minutes. I flag down a woman at the counter. I have my boarding pass already, can we get my bags checked or what? The system is apparently not taking more baggage, although she thinks she can get me in. But I'd need to hurry to make the plane, too. So I'm running through the terminal, zipping around people, plastic bag in hand, sneaking through the express security lanes, thinking that the monitor which now displays "Final Boarding" for my flight means they will be closing the gate soon. Redfaced and out of breath, I arrive to discover yet another security queue formed at the gate. Once through, I board and take my seat triumphantly. Aha! I made it!

And there we all sit for the next two hours, on the tarmac, while the pilot keeps coming back on the comm to announce that he is very sorry to inform us that we are yet again delayed, and thanks us for our patience.

Share this:
  • Digg
  • Twitter
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • FriendFeed

Filed under: Travel Comments Off
Comments (2) Trackbacks (0)
  1. Oy, Simon! Delayed and delayed and delayed…just like Ross and Rachel.

    ;)

  2. What a disaster! I hate sitting on tarmacs. I don’t mind circling in the air for 2 hours, but I hate to sit grounded. I guess, given the plot that was foiled, one might expect as much, however. Someone please kill those bastards that want to kill us. PLEASE.


Leave a comment


Trackbacks are disabled.