Off to Greece (the one without John Travolta)
21:33 16/10/2007 - Arrival at the gate. Heathrow can seem like a gloomy place - not quite as odd and daunting as Gatwick but nearly. I'm at gate 14, terminal 2. Or is it a gate? No wireless, a mere phonebooth (not even BT), a flat screen screeching out BBC World news to an indifferent Greek crowd which - surprisingly enough - speaks a language that sounds all Greek to me. Well what did you expect?
It's an evening flight. Departure a few minutes past 10PM. That's already tomorrow in Greece. Arrival some four hours later. A normal, national airline. When's the last time I didn't fly Easyjet or Ryanair? That's going to be a welcome change. Hopefully the flight includes food because I'm downright famished.
On my way to Heathrow from the easternmost bits of England, I stopped off at Paddington Station (home of the cuddly bear and one of London's most prestigious hotels) for a pint with a long-time-no-see recently-londoner friend Vincent. He's tunneled his way from Paris and is planning on spending a year in South Ken, little France if you ask me. Oh oui!
21:37 16/10/2007 - The gate's 'waiting room' is filling up like a chicken coop at dusk. Everyone is clucking away. A staff member has just lowered a microphone and it's only minutes before we board.
21:42 16/10/2007 - I'm in. Big bird. I haven't been in such a big plane in about 8 years. The safety card tells me it's an Airbus A300-600 model. For non-techies, it's a 2-4-2 seater plane with a middle row numbered 24. No window for me. If only... Then again, at night over France, Switzerland, and Austria, there isn't much to be seen, let alone the Channel for that matter.
While other passengers board, I try to tune in to the local language: yes it's a tough one to crack. I always feel estranged when in an environment where I don't speak the language. And in Western Europe it's rare - well of course unless you step in Edgware Rd, Brick Ln, or Brixton (that's English but a coarse-grained one that is).
21:46 16/10/2007 - Greek Stereotypes. Hmmm. Did I expect olives trees to grow all over the plane? Feta cheese to be delicately served bathing in a rich pungeant olive oil in the armrest's former ashtray? Stewards running like the Marathon man? Well certainly not the passengers boarding who seem to be arguing over the seats as if this were a ruthless Ryanair flight. No sir, here we've got assigned numbers.
21:48 16/10/2007 - How many more are going to fit in? Captain, I'm worried the plane won't take off with that many passengers. Where are the Brits? I feel alone.
21:52 16/10/2007 - The neighbor comes in. As a matter of fact, it feels like all of England's Greek population decided to concregate here tonight - except for Theo who would come in handy just now. Theodosis, where are you? Actually no they're not UK residents: they all proudly boarded the plane with one green Harrods bag in one hand and a white Harrods bag with toy beafeaters in the other. Have they pillaged every last tourist outlet? I can't wait to see the Sun's morning headlines: Rampage at London - shortage of mini Big Bens. PM reports shortage crisis in My Mom Went to London and All She Brought Me Back Was This Lousy T-Shirt shirts. Time Out would call for a time out and Portobello Rd would start scouring the country for new antiques.
Anyway, enough with my antics here.
It's only a few minutes to take off and I'm kindly reminded of the security policy to clam that PC up and stow it safely.
Cheerio.
It's an evening flight. Departure a few minutes past 10PM. That's already tomorrow in Greece. Arrival some four hours later. A normal, national airline. When's the last time I didn't fly Easyjet or Ryanair? That's going to be a welcome change. Hopefully the flight includes food because I'm downright famished.
On my way to Heathrow from the easternmost bits of England, I stopped off at Paddington Station (home of the cuddly bear and one of London's most prestigious hotels) for a pint with a long-time-no-see recently-londoner friend Vincent. He's tunneled his way from Paris and is planning on spending a year in South Ken, little France if you ask me. Oh oui!
21:37 16/10/2007 - The gate's 'waiting room' is filling up like a chicken coop at dusk. Everyone is clucking away. A staff member has just lowered a microphone and it's only minutes before we board.
21:42 16/10/2007 - I'm in. Big bird. I haven't been in such a big plane in about 8 years. The safety card tells me it's an Airbus A300-600 model. For non-techies, it's a 2-4-2 seater plane with a middle row numbered 24. No window for me. If only... Then again, at night over France, Switzerland, and Austria, there isn't much to be seen, let alone the Channel for that matter.
While other passengers board, I try to tune in to the local language: yes it's a tough one to crack. I always feel estranged when in an environment where I don't speak the language. And in Western Europe it's rare - well of course unless you step in Edgware Rd, Brick Ln, or Brixton (that's English but a coarse-grained one that is).
21:46 16/10/2007 - Greek Stereotypes. Hmmm. Did I expect olives trees to grow all over the plane? Feta cheese to be delicately served bathing in a rich pungeant olive oil in the armrest's former ashtray? Stewards running like the Marathon man? Well certainly not the passengers boarding who seem to be arguing over the seats as if this were a ruthless Ryanair flight. No sir, here we've got assigned numbers.
21:48 16/10/2007 - How many more are going to fit in? Captain, I'm worried the plane won't take off with that many passengers. Where are the Brits? I feel alone.
21:52 16/10/2007 - The neighbor comes in. As a matter of fact, it feels like all of England's Greek population decided to concregate here tonight - except for Theo who would come in handy just now. Theodosis, where are you? Actually no they're not UK residents: they all proudly boarded the plane with one green Harrods bag in one hand and a white Harrods bag with toy beafeaters in the other. Have they pillaged every last tourist outlet? I can't wait to see the Sun's morning headlines: Rampage at London - shortage of mini Big Bens. PM reports shortage crisis in My Mom Went to London and All She Brought Me Back Was This Lousy T-Shirt shirts. Time Out would call for a time out and Portobello Rd would start scouring the country for new antiques.
Anyway, enough with my antics here.
It's only a few minutes to take off and I'm kindly reminded of the security policy to clam that PC up and stow it safely.
Cheerio.
