Ciao Wiedersehen

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May 25th 2010

Published: June 8th 2017

Geo: 47.6353, -122.302

British Airways still recommends that you get the airport three hours prior to your flight. This meant that I needed to get to Heathrow by 12:10 p.m. However, my hotel basically kicked me out at 11:00 a.m., which meant that I couldn't avoid getting the 11:25 express train to Heathrow, which meant that I was done at the self-check-in kiosk by 11:50. Unfortunately, there were no desks open for checking my suitcase until 1:10, which meant sitting land-side for over an hour. This is incredibly boring because there's NOTHING to do except wait. And the big advertising screens kept showing the exact same ad over and over and over and over till I wanted to scream. At least I managed to get a seat -- there aren't that many available. I sat next to a couple of Scottish women who were in the same boat as far as not being able to check their bags and move air-side. They were on their way to Las Vegas but because of the strike had been rerouted to Heathrow from Gatwick. Originally, they were only going to have a two-hour layover but now they had a five-hour layover. They weren't terribly happy, but they weren't complaining because at least BA was flying.

When I finally made it air-side (having for once not set off the security scanner), I got a Frappuccino and a chocolate chip shortbread cookie and then amused myself watching other travelers. The guy sitting across from me had the BIGGEST belly I think I've ever seen. He looked like a pretty big guy anyway -- large wrists -- but he was fairly proportionate except for his stomach. He must have to have his shirts specially made.

Then there was a father and son who I had originally seen in the ticket hall and then saw again when I was drinking my Frapp. When I saw them earlier, I thought they looked very upper class and like they'd be flying in First. But the fact that they were sitting near a gate and not in an airline lounge made me wonder. Dad was wearing loafers and bright yellow socks, a blue Oxford shirt with white pinstripes, a light grey sportcoat, and a straw trilby. Oh, and blue Bermuda shorts with a pink-and-yellow lining. At least, I think it was a lining. Maybe they were reversible. Sonny, who looked like Patrick Dennis in "Auntie Mame," looked pretty similar, though his shoes were more "street," and his hat was more of a fedora. Neither of them seemed to be carrying much of anything, which made me wonder just how far they were flying.

And there's always the women who make you think, "Really? Out of all the things in your wardrobe, you chose that to fly in?" I'm all for comfort over fashion but, if you're roughly 70 years old, are black leggings, open-toed heels, and a tight t-shirt with something spelled out in sequins really the best option?

My gate finally popped up on the big board, so I ran into W.H. Smith and bought four books (buy two, get one half off; gotta like that!), including two new ones by Bill Bryson. The guy was out of carrier bags, which meant doing a little rejiggering with the contents of my bags. And then the big board was saying "Go to Gate A10," which freaked me out a little even though there was still an hour till flight time. So I went to Gate A10, which was tiny and cramped and about a third of the people there had to stand. I sat across from an elderly British lady who was chatting with a couple who had British accents but American passports. They looked to be in the mid-60s. I noticed the man's boarding pass, and his seat was right next to mine. I thought, "Oh, good. They look nice."

It was cattle-call boarding and there were buses to take us to the plane, which was parked roughly halfway back to London. Because it was way out on some remote stand, the plane was hot and airless while we were boarding. The British-American couple arrived maybe ten minutes after I did and made no attempt to get themselves organized and seated quickly. In fact, they must have put stuff in the overhead bin and removed it again at least three times, and the man would stand on my seat each time to do this. Now, it's not my furniture, so I don't really care where he stands, but it's not like he was doing it in his stocking feet. So when I was finally able to sit down, I brushed the seat and then sat. The man saw me do this (I promise I did not do it ostentatiously) and muttered, "Sorry." But there was a definite "What's your problem?" undertone.

Almost immediately, the wife started moaning about how hot it was. I took my flight safety info card out of the seat pocket and used it as a fan. The man copied me, but the wife insisted on continuing to complain. The man finally looked at me and asked if I was having fun yet, and I replied that I was just happy that BA was flying and that I would be getting home. He hastily agreed. And apart from a couple of excuse mes during the flight, that was the last we spoke.

Funny thing about him. He was not a big guy at all: shorter than I am and slim. But when he sat down, he somehow expanded in his seat. I don't mind giving over the armrest to the person in the middle seat, but I do mind when that person's arm touches mine during the entire flight. I think he was leaning on the armrest between us instead of leaning the other way toward his wife. So, while I was annoyed, I can forgive him because I wouldn't want to get too close to his wife either. She was most unpleasant and determined to be a martyr. Not too far into the flight, she discovered that her seat wouldn't recline. And then she discovered that her tray table wouldn't lie perfectly flat. Both she and he were wearing noise-canceling headphones, so they kept having to shout in order to be heard. Which is why I heard her shout (re her seat and tray), "Piece of f----ing s--t!" I wondered briefly if it would be possible to change seats.

A little while later, we all discovered that our individual reading lights didn't work. Since this seemed to be something that affected the whole cabin, I figured there must be a central switch that needed to be turned on somewhere. I asked the flight attendant about it when she came around with drinks, and she said she'd look into it. Meanwhile, wifey is having kittens over by the window. I suggested she open the window shade, but the light that came in made me wonder if we were flying next to the sun. She closed the shade.

Behind our row were an older man on the aisle, an Indian woman complete with sari and bindi and no English in the middle, and her little girl who looked about five but who cried exactly like an infant at the window. Their row was total chaos. At one point the man got up to use the restroom or something, and the Indian woman pulled all of her things out of the overhead bin and took over the entire row. The flight attendant, who was very firm and no-nonsense, couldn't reason with her, and so she ended up finding the poor man another seat. And every time the Indian woman decided to move around, and every time the little girl cried or started fidgeting, the couple next to me would turn around sharply and shoot death-glares. I just watched sitcoms on TV and tried to ignore it all.

When our lights started working, the man leaned over toward his wife, and I think his elbow must have hit her control panel because her light suddenly flashed. "What the f--- did you just do?" she shouted at him. When he went to the restroom and then returned, he tried to get her to switch seats with him because his reclined but he wasn't planning to sleep. She was having none of that, being clearly much happier when she could complain. When I came back from the restroom about halfway through the flight, I found that she had put her legs across his legs, so her feet were in my area. Because I didn't need access to my seat pocket, and because she was so obviously unhappy and uncomfortable, I decided to put up with it. But a little while later, my leg fell asleep so I moved it and bumped the bottom of her foot. She slowly slinked her legs back and sat up in her seat, and I could see her out of the corner of my eye glaring at me. But I ignored her and recited silent Hail Marys. I do wonder if she'll fire off a nasty e-mail to BA.

Apart from all that and some bumpiness over Hudson Bay, the flight was essentially uneventful: my favorite kind of flight. We landed only a couple of minutes later than scheduled, and I got through passport control right away. Customs took forever because my bag was one of the last ones off, but at least the Customs agent barely looked at my declaration and sent me right on through. John was at Baggage Claim to pick me up, and I was so happy to see him.

The drive home was a little strange because when you've been gone for so long, you feel like there should have been drastic changes back home. But there never are, so suddenly it seems like you were never really gone at all. Chloe was outside to greet me, and -- best of all -- Gracie was inside. I had myself all prepared for her not to be around, so it was a lovely surprise. She, of course, didn't seem to care at all that I was home.

Despite the uncooperative weather, and despite the cold I had earlier in the month, I had a terrific time on the tour, and I had fun on my own as well. I learned that the bamboo nightie I bought for the trip was a terrific purchase, and that people who have been married for 51 years can be awfully cute. I also learned that there is no such thing as too much gelato, but that there is such a thing as too much wine. And most importantly: There's no place like home.

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