Strike caterers!
So - when I said 14 hours, I meant 14+24=38 hours... As one of 70,000 people displaced and stranded by the British Airways catering strike, I don't have much of a unique complaint, and besides, all's well that ends well, though that's not original either. It was very strange returning to Providence, 8 hours after I'd thought I'd left for a good long time; the solemn finality of good-byes suddenly becomes ludicrous.
Airports and airplanes are their own little world - and once I enter this world, I expect to emerge in a different place. While anyone who's traveled a fair amount has probably wished for teleportation at some point, I think it'd be too jarring. Air travel, much more than train or car, is a neutral space. There are token references to the language and culture outside (Almdudler on Austrian Airlines, etc.), but it's much like the Internet: International English is the primary language, geography is reduced to abstract nodes of no importance through which you are routed until you reach your destination, the only place that counts. (I like analogies too much - this one is a bit weak. I think it works though in the end analogies are just funky, not useful.)
Point being - once I reach the British Airways counter in Logan Airport, I don't want to see fresh air until I've at least left New England. I was supposed to fly Thursday evening, but ended up back in Providence due to the above-mentioned strike at Heathrow. After spending an hour on hold I managed to get a reservation through NYC and then directly to Vienna with Austrian Airlines on Friday, but Friday morning I realized that I couldn't get to Logan on time. I went to Logan airport anyway, where, armed with two failed reservations, I managed to convince a British Airways matron to put me on real (read future) flights. This process involved going around Logan on their circulating bus at least three times, during which I ran into my sister. She managed to get on a 5pm shuttle to LaGuardia, I followed at 6pm, we bussed over to JFK where lo and behold our luck suddenly changed and we got onto the 10:15 flight to Vienna on standby. We even got the emergency aisle with plenty of legroom which we didn't use since we/I just curled up and went to sleep, to at last emerge in Vienna. The End.
The logistics of traveling is never the interesting part of the story. We met/saw some interesting characters, including one Middle-aged White Male Businessman who argued with the check-in counter attendant while on the phone until she called the security guard and both managers - I didn't catch what the argument was but he was utterly obnoxious, and in the process delayed my checking in just long enough that my baggage wasn't on the flight to LGA with me. I'm still waiting for it, which is bad news for my surroundings - this tshirt was already smelly when I got on the airplane.
On the bus from LGA to JFK Astrid and I were talking in Swiss German. The only other passenger turned around and asked us if we were speaking German - he used to work for Lufthansa. He hated the job (the first he could get out of college, always the kind of thing I like to hear) but loved the language and wouldn't let us go until he'd regurgitated all the bits he could still remember. Viel Glueck, Patrick, auf deiner Suche nach einer deutschen Frau...
It's always strange how not strange it is to be back here. The culture shock part happens on a deeper level, like when I follow a random train of thought and it lands me back in Providence, and I realize how far away that now suddenly is.
This journey made possible by: Matt my personal taxi driver, thanks; Chris, for nothing, really; George, the Austrian Air check-in wunderking; British Airways lady, for making my fantasy itinerary a reality; crazy Chinese bus chauffeur who made me believe I was in NYC; the Bank of America help-line guy for making me laugh when my credit card got rejected (not my fault). It's amazing, considering how moronic and terrible these service jobs are, to be to be treated considerately and generously, to have people go out of their way to help you.
Airports and airplanes are their own little world - and once I enter this world, I expect to emerge in a different place. While anyone who's traveled a fair amount has probably wished for teleportation at some point, I think it'd be too jarring. Air travel, much more than train or car, is a neutral space. There are token references to the language and culture outside (Almdudler on Austrian Airlines, etc.), but it's much like the Internet: International English is the primary language, geography is reduced to abstract nodes of no importance through which you are routed until you reach your destination, the only place that counts. (I like analogies too much - this one is a bit weak. I think it works though in the end analogies are just funky, not useful.)
Point being - once I reach the British Airways counter in Logan Airport, I don't want to see fresh air until I've at least left New England. I was supposed to fly Thursday evening, but ended up back in Providence due to the above-mentioned strike at Heathrow. After spending an hour on hold I managed to get a reservation through NYC and then directly to Vienna with Austrian Airlines on Friday, but Friday morning I realized that I couldn't get to Logan on time. I went to Logan airport anyway, where, armed with two failed reservations, I managed to convince a British Airways matron to put me on real (read future) flights. This process involved going around Logan on their circulating bus at least three times, during which I ran into my sister. She managed to get on a 5pm shuttle to LaGuardia, I followed at 6pm, we bussed over to JFK where lo and behold our luck suddenly changed and we got onto the 10:15 flight to Vienna on standby. We even got the emergency aisle with plenty of legroom which we didn't use since we/I just curled up and went to sleep, to at last emerge in Vienna. The End.
The logistics of traveling is never the interesting part of the story. We met/saw some interesting characters, including one Middle-aged White Male Businessman who argued with the check-in counter attendant while on the phone until she called the security guard and both managers - I didn't catch what the argument was but he was utterly obnoxious, and in the process delayed my checking in just long enough that my baggage wasn't on the flight to LGA with me. I'm still waiting for it, which is bad news for my surroundings - this tshirt was already smelly when I got on the airplane.
On the bus from LGA to JFK Astrid and I were talking in Swiss German. The only other passenger turned around and asked us if we were speaking German - he used to work for Lufthansa. He hated the job (the first he could get out of college, always the kind of thing I like to hear) but loved the language and wouldn't let us go until he'd regurgitated all the bits he could still remember. Viel Glueck, Patrick, auf deiner Suche nach einer deutschen Frau...
It's always strange how not strange it is to be back here. The culture shock part happens on a deeper level, like when I follow a random train of thought and it lands me back in Providence, and I realize how far away that now suddenly is.
This journey made possible by: Matt my personal taxi driver, thanks; Chris, for nothing, really; George, the Austrian Air check-in wunderking; British Airways lady, for making my fantasy itinerary a reality; crazy Chinese bus chauffeur who made me believe I was in NYC; the Bank of America help-line guy for making me laugh when my credit card got rejected (not my fault). It's amazing, considering how moronic and terrible these service jobs are, to be to be treated considerately and generously, to have people go out of their way to help you.
posted by stella at 2:10 PM
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