What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: part two
After a restless night at yotel, my dad and I were up again at 7am for breakfast and the morning flight. We had opted for the early KLM flight to Moscow to reduce the chances of missing our connection. Despite the long queue in front of us the night before there were enough rooms, for us at least. The rooms were rather bijoux (small) but it had all the essentials. Add to that, the incredible showering facilities almost made up for the lack of sleep. Certainly tea, croissant and fresh orange juice helped.
Having successfully arrived in Moscow, it felt like we were finally headed for a smooth journey to Chengdu.
It was really quite novel being in Moscow, like stepping back in time. Looking outside on to the air field, it was definitely still bleak mid-winter. The snow was piled so high that half of the windows were covered up. The bleakness was obvious when the strong winds picked up a small tornado of snow and flings it around the dirty tarmac ground before depositing it again on top of another pile of snow. Sparse buildings stuck out of their white blanket, lit only by waning yellow lights. It was everything out of a war-time Russian film that you could imagine.
The novelty soon wore off upon the realisation that the airport was really quite small and two (very salty) paninis and a bottle of water costs an extortionate £15. Even the small moment of pleasure upon discovering vodkas called ‘The Red Army’ didn’t last. Worse still, smoking was allowed inside so my lungs soon felt smothered. At least there was only a six hour wait…
A few hours later, after finishing my second copy of Tatler, the flight had still not begun boarding. When we enquired at the transfer desk, our boarding passes were taken away and replaced with new ones. Printed on these passes were new flight times that were two hours later than what we had been expecting.
Our flight had been inexplicably delayed, the situation was amounting to despair. We had been waiting for hours in a place we couldn’t wait to get out of and now we have to wait some more without explanation as to the reason or even guarantee that there would be a flight! The weather was pretty awful outside but in Russia it was hardly incapacitating. Being stranded in Moscow is hardly ideal, there’s not even a hotel in the airport.
Of course with a two-hour delay, we were also going to miss our connection in Bangkok. As it was an international connection, we didn’t know whether there would be another flight that day, or even the next few days. Our growing irritation of yet another missed connection finally solicited a response that the delay was due to technical reasons so arrangements would be made on our behalf in Bangkok. All we could do was wait to board.
The flight with Aeroflot to Bangkok could only be ironically described as interesting. I had never in my 15 years of being an air passenger been on a plane which was quite so basic. Aside from the immediate sense of paranoia that the plane might disintegrate from decades of wear and tear, there was zero in-flight entertainment to help us pass the nine or so hours to Bangkok. The fact that the cabin crew forgot to give us our main meal and there was “no more water” for the final three hours of the journey certainly did not improve the situation.
The ordeal wasn’t quite over yet though.
What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: part one
If there ever were evidence testifying to the powers of the jinx, this would be it.
My recent journey to China with my dad could only be described as epic, and at times, physically and emotionally trying. The plan was, as usual, to catch the afternoon KLM flight from London Heathrow to Chengdu Shuangliu with a brief transfer at Amsterdam Schipol. The usual trawling of duty free shops would be involved as well as some seriously good in-flight films. The cuisine would be negligible as would sleep. But the phrase ‘Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht’ could not ring truer on this occasion.
Just as everyone had buckled down ready for taxiing, an announcement was made followed immediately by uproar in the cabin.
Evidently Amsterdam was troubled by strong winds and as a result there would be an hour’s delay to our flight. Unfortunately the time allocated to make our connection was just over an hour. Sitting there I wondered, could my tweet just days earlier be any more… Untimely? It had said: “Hiding out in bed so I don’t have to pack (packing is surely the worst part of any trip ever? Aside from delays…)”. I’m not sure of the best word to describe this ludicrous feeling, though at that point one can only be optimistic. Surely, if we were experiencing delays, our connection should be experiencing similar delays?
Alas, not so. Having finally arrived in Amsterdam, we realised that our connection probably took off as we landed. Anyhow, it was no longer on the transfer board. After much fumbling we finally managed to track down the KLM transfer desk, only to be met with a two hour queue and news that there were no more flights out of Amsterdam for that day. Our only solace to the mounting frustration was the free water provided.
We did eventually make it to the front of the queue to arrange transfers… But, it can only be expected that the last seat heading to China the next day had just been allocated. To the person next to us.
So after yet more finger drumming, a not-so-sympathetic floor staff told us the earliest we can get to China was 1am, the day after next. Even more spectacularly, we had to fly to Moscow Sheremetyevo the next morning, transfer to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi six hours later and make a final transfer to Chengdu Shuangliu after that. We were certainly going to get our money’s worth of flights. What’s more, I had just been told that, along with clocking substantial air miles and collecting time zones, I was going to the one country on Earth I said I never wanted to visit: Thailand. The backpackers’ paradise held little interest for me and I had strongly believed that it resembled Daniel Cleaver‘s sleaze fest (of course I now know this is not the case).
This had turned into a saga.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this ridiculous crawl towards our final destination but it was that or facing another day and half cooped up at the airport.
Meanwhile, there was still the night to consider. It was impossible not to be grateful to receive the €10 meal vouchers – we had no cash. However, faced with the prospect of spending the night on some airport loungers, the additional KLM blanket and pillows offered provided little comfort to us. From experience, nights at the airport tended to be surprisingly chilly and agonisingly noisy. But what else was there? The two hotels within the airport, yotel and the Mercure were both full due to the weather. The only spark of hope was the possibility of a room at yotel after 1am, if we get there early.
By this point, things were looking rather bleak with no signs of improvement. It was fast approaching 11pm as we investigated the hotel situation and all the restaurants and cafés were locking up. If it hadn’t been for the sandwiches we had consumed earlier in anticipation of a late dinner sustaining us, my dad and I would be on the verge of collapse resembling two hungry coyotes.
After trekking the entire length of the airport twice, we finally managed to find a 24 hour bar which still had food left. Devouring our food as quickly as we could, we headed back to yotel hoping to secure a room. My heart sank a little when I saw the long queue already outside…
Seriously, after all that, are we still unable to get a room?
The saga continues…
