There seems to be something mentally blocking me from sleeping the night before a flight. I tried, but it wasn’t working. Instead I was awake through until it was time for a shower before the hotel restaurant opened for breakfast.
If you turn up when they open they’re a bit short on food. Half the cold options were missing but came out over the next 20 minutes. The scrambled egg did not. I had no food for breakfast, just two full cups of their coffee. Waiting, poised to stop the cup leaking, I noticed their coffee machine has a built in clock. It can’t be German, it’s running 8 minutes slow.
The train I got on was too. Only a minute or two but by local standards this may qualify for a public inquiry.
I was well behaved, thrust my ticket into a stamping machine, and nothing happened. No stamp, leaving me unsure if I’d got onto the right type of train. It was an actual train, not the s-bahn. It shouldn’t matter, all today’s options go to the airport.
Other passengers on the s-bahn looked like commuters. Some on the train too, but many more with heavy cases.
Of course, a conductor came to check tickets.
She saw that mine wasn’t stamped, reached in her pocket and pulled out an archaic metal ticket punch. Guess I wasn’t on the wrong type of train.
Teutonic efficiency really fell apart when I reached the airport. A sign sent me to Departure security gate D for the flight to EMA. A 20 minute wait to get through security. Three minutes later everyone by me in the queue was told to follow a nervous looking official. We followed him out of the airport, past security checks C and B and he directed us into A.
40 minutes later I finally emerged. Can someone please teach women how to go through airport security in less than 12 minutes from ‘bag in tray’ to ‘bag out of tray’? The only person less competent was working for the security team, taking each of 20 different tubes and bottles individually from one plastic bag to another before allowing them through the scanner.
Hey stupid woman: There’s a reason every other airport on the planet does those checks after the scan. It’s so you can do it out of the scanning line without delaying 120 people stood bored witless in a queue.
Of course, once through security the airport has no idea which gate the aircraft will board from. Why on earth would they have such obscure data 44 minutes before the boarding gate is advertised as closing.
I hate airports.
Things got even sillier in the departure area. The gate (naturally at the other end of the airport) had its own passport control, with the windows at which you present your passport looking out onto the corridor. Half the corridor filled with the queue, the other half full of people seeking their own gate, trying to manoeuvre bags on wheels past the waiting people.
No chairs in sight and nowhere to put them. I found a corner where the corridor narrowed for a fire door, put my bag down, sat on it. The next gate opened too, and the queue intermingled with the one I was ostensibly in.
The gate was promised to close half an hour before the flight. That’s when the aircraft arrived, taxiing up to the terminal, spewing out grumpy passengers.
Eventually we could actually board. I sat watching people queue yet again at the steps up to the aircraft, preferring to wait for a clear walk up. The ground crew disagreed, clearly wanting to close the departure lounge, move to their next flight. Instead I paced below the aircraft, avoiding at least the discomfort of stopping on the steps.
Making my way to the pre-allocated seat I found it occupied. Ryanair had thoughtfully seated a 4 year old by the window next to me, an empty aisle seat on my left, the child’s father 8-10 rows back.
He asked if I minded him stealing my seat. This meant I had to put up with the extra shoulder space the aisle offers, and would be unable to play with the child.
She looked at me, smiled, then turned back to the window. I grinned at her father, agreed to his plan, watched him stand up and walk off. She was unconcerned, so I sat by the aisle and eventually he returned.
The flight started with her burbling in what may have been English, while on my other side a much younger child bounced on its father’s lap, alternating quiet grumbles with happier sounding squeaks. He quietened it with a bottle, the child sucking contentedly on a disconcertingly cloudy yellow liquid.
That didn’t get finished before the mithering started once more, while the airport handlers were still loading luggage, so I decided to imitate the girl to my right and curl up for a sleep. She could actually do that in her seat. Lucky sod.
I drifted in and out of consciousness as the aircraft rolled to the runway. It took half an hour, narrated throughout by the unhappy baby. The pilot telling the cabin crew to prepare for the off woke me fully, and curiously silenced the baby. Maybe it just wanted to get airborne.
Sleep during the flight came and went, much like the attendants with trolleys of sandwiches, then drinks, then duty free and finally the rubbish bags. That was the second visit with a rubbish bag to my row, the small girl by the window having generously shared her sandwich with her father. I think he would have preferred if she hadn’t eaten it first. He made no fuss though, I gave him a sympathy shrug and, insides cleared, his daughter resumed her happy chatter.
East Midlands airport parked us nowhere near the terminal, and a full aircraft of people squeezed miserably into two squat buses. A short queue for passport control and I was free, strolling to find my car, heading home.
It’s nice to be welcomed home.
Most of today’s 4km was walked through airports, as I left too early to see any of the city. Berlin was interesting, a capital city with open space, a relaxed cafe culture and every form of night life. It’s still a large city though, and four nights was maybe two too many. It’s likely I’ll never return, but at least I no longer have unfinished business there.