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Somedays...

...the travel gods are on your side.

Yesterday didn't feel like one of those days at first. Our taxi to Heathrow was late as it had been having trouble with traffic. What none of us knew was that the Hammersmith Flyover had been closed and south west London was in total gridlock. What was meant to be a 45 minute journey to the airport ended up taking nearly two and a half hours.

Two and half extremely stressful hours as we crawled through the leafy streets of Barnes, Mortlake and Chiswick.

We left at nine, and our San Francisco flight was scheduled to leave at 11.30.

The airline knew we were stuck, as we'd phoned regularly, and the staff at the end of the line told us we'd be definitely able to get rebooked on to the 3 o'clock LA flight (there are some advantages to gold frequent flyer status!). When we finally made it to the airport we went straight to the ticket desk to get rebooked. After all, we'd definitely missed the flight - and we'd been told that 10.40 was the last time possible time to make the flight.

It seemed a little odd that the girl at the desk picked up the phone instead of typing away at the keyboard. However it quickly became clear...

Fog earlier in the day had meant that the plane that was due to fly the 11.30 flight had had to land at Gatwick, as it was coming in from Miami, and it had only just made it to the gate. There was still enough time for us (and our luggage) to make it. We had boarding passes, we had a gate, and we were off.

It was still a rush through the warren of Terminal 3.

Finally we were on the plane, and 10 or so hours later we were in a hot and sticky airport waiting for our luggage. Two cases had come through, but the third was missing.

Finally we found it, on the wrong belt.

Ooof.

Still, we're here, and ready for the next batch of conferences and meetings.

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
desperance
Apr. 21st, 2009 05:10 pm (UTC)
Yay. I like the travel gods. The one time my flight's been delayed, I was on my way to Montreal via Amsterdam, and the plane out of Newcastle was two hours late in leaving: farewell connection, and I spent the flight fretting wildly about what would happen at the other end, what I'd need to do to negotiate a different onward flight, etc.

Only, it turned out that the winds that had delayed us were blowing hard at Schiphol too. I landed, looked at the departure board just to make certain sure I'd missed my flight - and there it was, last call, t'other end of the terminal. Blessing the fact that Schiphol only has one terminal, which means that you can run it, I did run.

My luggage didn't make it, natch, not knowing to run; but I had the teddy bear in the carry-on, and twenty-four hours without the rest was no hardship. 'Specially as I got an upgrade into business class, I think on account of being the last one to board, hot and breathless and with anxiety visibly draining away from me, oozing out as charm; I was just so delighted to be boarding that plane...
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