Advertisement
Published: January 15th 2008
Edit Blog Post
Goodbye to all that...
Final glimpses of Cape Town We checked in online the night before our British Airways flight from Cape Town to London. Unfortunately, so too did everybody else. This meant that the queue for the comically misnamed "Fast Bag Drop" was far longer, and slower, than any we had experienced with Air Namibia, Linhas Aereas de Mocambique, Air Zimbabwe or any of the other carriers which had previously transported us around the African continent.
The slowness may have been linked to what happened at the head of the line, when we handed over our three bags. "I'm sorry sir, you are only allowed one hold bag each. BA policy." "But when we checked in online yesterday, it asked us how many bags we had to check in, and we said three, and it didn't say that would be a problem," I pleaded. "And we're well under the weight limit anyway. Surely that's what matters?" "I'm sorry sir, British Airways policy, one bag each," was the response.
This clearly wasn't going to be a discussion in which reason would get us very far. "Well, we've got three bags, what do we do?" "Well sir, you can do one of two things. Either you can pay £75
...and that
Last look at Table Mountain to British Airways to check in an extra bag, or you can go back over to the entrance to the airport, and pay R 25 (less than two pounds) to have two of your bags cellophane wrapped together. You can then check them in as a single item."
There was a pause, while my brain tried to work out whether it had really just heard that. "So what you're saying is that to check in one extra bag will cost us a small fortune. But, if I walk over there, and pay a small amount to have two of our bags wrapped together in an impossible-to-carry, almost-certain-to-injure-a-baggage-handler, great unwieldy lump, then in BA la-la-land, that'll be just fine?" "Yes sir, that's right!" She smiled, as the dimwitted passenger finally grasped the Kafkaesque policy.
There are times when bureaucracy is so absurd you move beyond anger and just have to laugh, and this was one of those times. I trotted over to the baggage wrapping man, and asked him to cellophane wrap two very differently-shaped bags together into a single unmanageable ball. He looked at me quizzically, but only for a second. "Let me guess - are you flying with British Airways?" "Yes, how did you know?" "We get some very strange requests from that airline. You see people going through with these huge, really heavy, strangely shaped bags that they can barely carry, yet BA lets them check in without a problem. But other people come through with a few small, light bags, and they're told they can't check in. Still, I don't mind. It's good for business for me."
I took my cellophane lump back over to the desk, where Gemma was waiting for me at the head of the queue, and this time we were allowed through. As we walked away from the desk, and towards the departure lounge, somehow you just knew what was coming next:
"Ding dong! BA regrets to announce that the departure of flight 42 to London is delayed by around one hour. We apologise for any inconvenience caused." Again, I thought of all the African airlines that had flown us around without a minute's delay between them, and shook my head.
By the time we reached Heathrow the delay had grown to two hours, and the in-flight entertainment system for the eleven hour flight had malfunctioned. We had the obligatory period of circling in the skies of south-east England for half an hour while Heathrow tried to find a landing slot. Once on the ground, there was a further delay while they tried to find a stand that was the right size for our plane, because the first one hadn't been, and "we're sorry, but for health and safety reasons," (dread phrase! hadn't heard that for two months) "we can't proceed without the right stand". It was then time for the traditional 43 kilometre hike through Terminal 4 to passport control, where the queue was so long that you couldn't even see the desk from the back of it. I thought back to Botswana, where we had strolled off the plane the minute it touched down, walked straight to the immigration desk, and been greeted with happy smiles and "Welcome to Botswana!" from the staff. England affords a different kind of welcome.
Our bags showed up OK, but a sculpture we had bought had been smashed to smithereens. Outside, the skies were black, the rain tumbled down and we shivered in the cold as we got into our taxi for the journey home.
Oh, it was great to be back in the First World...
On a better note, I've been back through all the previous blogs and added photos to them - so you may want to take another look. And that, as they say, is that. Thank you for reading. This blogger will now self-destruct. Or something
Advertisement
Tot: 0.066s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 7; qc: 51; dbt: 0.0408s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb