I've been on a few flights. Around Australia, across and within Europe, to the States, and let's not forget the 24hr odyssey between Australia and Europe via Asia a couple of times. Fifteen at last count. That's a few. But somehow I have never found myself in the unfortunate situation of missing a flight. Lost luggage? Definitely. Had delays and stopovers lasting hour after hour in all kinds of airports with expensive food, stale air, smelly co-travellers, uncomfortable seats and little or nothing to do? More times than I care to remember.
But never missed a flight. Came close in Vienna a couple of years ago; fell asleep at the gate, but fortunately Austrian Airlines don't leave checked-in passengers behind, and chose instead to mangle my name over the PA and give me five minutes to get my act together.
Made up for all of those years of good fortune a few weekends ago. One of my best friends lives in Newcastle, England, and I don't get to see her nearly often enough, so when I got a few unexpected days off work, I researched flights. There are no direct flights between Newcastle and Berlin. Last time, I flew to Edinburgh with RyanAir and got the train down. That was the first time I'd flown with RyanAir, and god I hope it's the last. The alternative? AirFrance + KLM, via Paris on the way there, Amsterdam on the way back. Done. I just wouldn't check any luggage (experience with AirFrance taught me that the hard way).
First flight, Berlin to Paris. Slight delay, but I figured if I can make it from David Jones to K-Mart in ten minutes in Boxing Day crowds at Chaddy, I could make a one hour connection at Charles de Gaulle.
Or not. The problem wasn't the spaghetti junction of gates and corridors and confusing signs. The problem was getting through customs in under half an hour. Showing the obnoxious guard at the entrance to customs my boarding pass for a flight departing in less than thirty minutes from a gate I still was yet to locate didn't help an iota. Actually, it had exactly the opposite effect. He reinforced my steadfast belief that France would be a fantastic country if it weren't for the French. He refused to let me through the express lane, designed exactly for passengers in my situation, instead demanding that I join the back of the queue; he seemed to be enjoying my rising stress levels as the departure time ticked closer. Sadistic bugger.
Got through eventually, ran another ten minutes to the gate, and made it five minutes before departure. I could see people still walking down the gangway to the plane. Exhale. Sweet. Made it.
Spoke too soon. An AirFrance employee, who seemed to find just as much pleasure in my misfortune as the customs guy had, told me "Ze flight 'as left." Excuse me? "Ze flight 'as left." No, I understood you the first time. But how have I missed the flight if the plane is still at the gate and passengers are still boarding? All this guy had to do was to scan my boarding pass and let me through. Problem solved.
No such luck. The next flight? In an hour, and already full. His solution? A five Euro food voucher that might get me a small dishwatery coffee if I was lucky, and a connection to Newcastle... via Amsterdam. In five hours. And all of this with the trace of a smile. Sadistic bugger. I'm sure the etymology of "Schadenfreude" can be traced back to French somehow.
Five hours later, I'm at the gate, ready to get on the flight to Amsterdam, right on time. Bored out of my mind, sick of hearing Français, and desperate for some actual coffee and decent food, but right on time. Well, I'm on time. The flight's not. A forty minute delay. My connection time in Amsterdam? Ninety minutes. Oh yay. Let's hope Schiphol Airport isn't as much of a mess as Charles de Gaulle, and that it's not remotely interesting, because I'm going to have to run through it.
Left Paris, flew to Amsterdam. Sure enough, the ninety minute connection became forty minutes, and I legged it through Schiphol. Fortunately the Dutch seem to have more in common with the Germans than the French when it comes to airport design; Schiphol airport is not only more organised, but better signposted. Security was shorter, travelators were used exclusively by courteous fellow travellers who either walk or move aside, Dutch security is less anal than French, and I was actually permitted to use the express lane at customs for the purpose for which it was implemented. I felt like I'd just run a marathon as I took off various metal items to go through security at the gate, but I made the flight. Two hours later, I was in Newcastle, and had an absolutely fantastic four days with Squishy and co. in the English sunshine.
What I didn't know at the time... that was just the preview. Believe it or not, my Charles de Gaulle experience was nothing compared to the return trip four days later. Stay tuned...
