A Typical Trip to London (and back)

“Zürich is so convenient,” I thought as I was about to leave for the airport. “A quick drive from the house, no need to get there early: everything simply works.” As usual, we were leaving with plenty of time to make the flight.

“Before we go,” Nazy said ominously. “Can you help me remove the leaf from the dinner table?”

It seemed like a simple (and quick) request. In fact, removal was easy. Pushing the table back together was tricky (a dowel had broken off) as I discovered laying on the floor and shoving. A delay ensued, but we left for the airport with plenty of, eh, enough time.

The drive was smooth and fast. Moreover, at the Swiss European Airlines kiosk, my mastery of the technology was evident. I didn’t even have to look at the selection screen: I ‘knew’ what was coming. As the (almost) final step, I selected my seat: 3A.

“Business class must be empty,” I thought. [For this flight, business class consisted of rows 1 and 2.] But – before my boarding pass was printed, the kiosk computer froze. Undaunted, I moved to the adjacent machine – which directed me to contact an agent. There was a queue – a long queue, of people wanting yo see an agent. (I wasn’t ‘wanting’ to see an agent, I was ‘needing’ to see an agent. Now timing was tight, but I was sure that I had enough, eh, well just enough time. I finally got my boarding pass.

I ran to passport control, handing my passport and residency permit to the officer. He scanned my documents and the lights went out in the passport control section of the airport. The power returned rather quickly, but the immigration authorities use Windows™ technology: reboot wasn’t swift. “Just enough time” had turned into “possibly enough time”.

There was a huge line at the security checkpoint and, as expected, I was behind a clueless nitwit wearing metallic armor while carrying three bottles of bleach. I was the last person to board the airplane (“Thank God! In time.”) and, astonishingly, they actually held the plane on the tarmac while my luggage was loaded.

The flight was smooth and trouble free. However, at London City Airport, the DLR (Docklands Light Rail) that provides cheap and cheerful transport between City Airport and the office was out of service. Nevertheless, I made it to the office in time for my meeting. The rest of the week was okay – almost:

I could mention the return: DLR still out of service, massive traffic jams caused by closure of the Blackfriars Tunnel, a stalled lorry, and, according to my taxi driver, “useless wankers attempting to use decrepit infrastructure put in place by thieving politicians.” I could mention that I missed my flight (and the subsequent one as well) because of delays getting to the airport. I could tell you that the taxi, which normally costs between £25 and £30, had £91 on the meter when I (finally) arrived. I could mention that I went from “plenty of time” to “late” very quickly. However, you’re familiar with my travel ventures, so additional explication is unnecessary. You don’t want to hear me complain. Therefore, I will not mention the calamitous debacle associated with my return trip.