So, I can understand London not being so good with snow (the proof being in the proverbial pudding that was our last trip to London) but you’d think they’d have rain figured out by now.
At Zurich airport we heard flight after flight from each of three London airports announce long delays due to the planes arriving late, and our plane apparently never even got to leave LHR, leaving Swiss to find another plane (and crew) to get us to our destination. With unhelpful announcements like “flight delayed, more info in 20 minutes”, followed 20 minutes later by “more info [in 70 minutes]“, many, like us, were visibly relieved when after another 15 or so we were told that new information was available and that we were scheduled for takeoff in 45, and that boarding would begin soon. Undoubtedly leaving from a (the?) Swiss hub, I don’t doubt that such luck was easier to come by than had we be leaving from, well, just about anywhere else.
Scheduled from a basement gate, the kind that requires a taking a bus to the waiting plane, the first step was to fill a bus…which then stayed there while we (more or less first in line for the second bus) waited inside. One of the more amusing things we overheard during this time was an exchange between two brothers just ahead of us:
older brother: “What are we waiting for? I can see the plane from here”
younger (yet clearly wiser) brother: “There are lots of planes here; that might not be ours”
older brother “But it’s a Swiss plane”
younger brother “There are a lot of Swiss planes here”
Less amusing (except in the eye-rolling kinda way) was the rumour that started spreading that the new delay was because they had found a plane, but no crew. It may or may not have been true, but the captain made a special announcement a few minutes into the flight to tell us that it wasn’t true and that the yo-yo in delays had to do with the changing status of the slot we were able to get to takeoff (probably equally dependent on when we would be able to land in -ahem- Sunny London).
The flight was uneventful (as I like my flights to be) and arrival was slow as we had to wait for a parking position. Customs was even slower, and Luc and I had to stand in different (long) lines, although my customs agent told me that I could probably go in the EU line with him in future as long as my landing card (which is not required for EU citizens) is ready, and I have a copy of my marriage certificate. I’m not fully convinced this is true, and suspect that it depends heavily on the humour of the agent at that moment, and since Luc didn’t seem convinced either when I told him, I suspect that we won’t push our luck anytime soon. Hey, maybe it’s time for me to try for citizenship (ha, that would fly like a lead balloon Since they out and out ignored my request for a 10-year residence permit and sent me a new 1-year one instead last year).
While I’m digressing, let me also digress about this whole landing card business: why is the [my] queen more worried about my comings and goings than those of all members of the EU combined?
Anyway, I got through customs before Luc, got his attention and headed through the maze that is Heathrow to find our bags. With the “which baggage claim” screens not working, I checked each belt, none of which displayed Zurich. One suspicious belt, though, displayed “baggage claim closed”, but was absolutely full of bags. I was just about to continue my search elsewhere when the first of our two bags appeared. The second showed up just as Luc did, and we were on our way to the subway. We didn’t have time to do anything about tickets as we were directed to hurry up for the last train, which was on the platform.
We wondered whether we would get our connecting train (guessing not, since it was after 12.30 and last trains leave 12ish, and still several stops to our change), as well as how we would get out at all, since we hadn’t paid to get in), but we would soon see. One more stop before our change (we hoped).
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We made the last train with 4 minutes to spare, and was “treated” to some typical London subway entertainment: a (friendly) 40-something drunk, then, later, 3 young 20-somethings (or less) including one passed-out drunk girl, who had to be carried from the train by the unfortunate male friend after attempts by both he and the unfortunate female friend to wake her failed. The last we saw, they were laying their friend on the platform of one station or another trying to figure out what to do next.
As for us, another several stops were left before our moment of reckoning: we didn’t have tickets, which are needed to get in _and_ out. As we got to the exit, an employee stepped out of the office, and I pulled our oyster cards (a rechargeable travel card that has come in extremely handy on more than one occasion during our Londonian adventures and misadventures) out of my pocket and explained that we hadn’t had time to “touch in” (validate the trip) as we ran for the last train at Heathrow. I’m not sure whether it was our presumably obvious honesty (our bags still had their LHR luggage tags), pity on his part (I’m sure we looked plenty tired), or sheer complacency (he was probably going to lock up the station as soon as we all left since ours was the last train coming through that particular), but he simply opened the gate, making the entire trip from Heathrow free. [Thank you nameless guy at Kilburn Park!]. At the other end of the subway customer service spectrum sitting in Paris, where a ticket agent once calmly watch us validate our tickets, run down to the platform, and look desperately (and breathlessly) up and down the tracks, before announcing to us (via the loudspeaker) that the last train was gone and to please leave the station, then refusing to reimburse us for the tickets he had known perfectly well was useless before he had watched us validate them.
So, for not going as planned, I’d have to say that it went pretty well.
