15 August 2005
As part of a lengthy certification process as a coach, I was to attend a 3-day course in Providence, which is a one-hour flight north of New York. The course had the restriction that no one was to arrive more than one hour late – and that was non-negotiable!
I had two intermediate landings in Heathrow and Newark and had planned the journey so that I'd arrive the day before – in good time. I was soon to know better. Sparks start to fly at the mere thought of approaching the Promised Land.
There is a strange connection between me and Manhattan.
The plane from Copenhagen arrived as planned at Heathrow airport on Wednesday night. I had to change to British Airways, and was given ten pounds to spend on food as Gate Gourmet, the on-board caterer, was on strike. Ten pounds doesn't go very far at an airport, but fair enough. Shortly afterwards I was sitting in the plane, ready for takeoff, but then over the loud speaker we heard: "This is your captain speaking...". The tug that was meant to tow the plane away from the gate has not yet arrived.
This is your captain speaking…
The captain expects a 15-minute delay and apologises. But quarter of an hour later, he's back: "This is your captain speaking…". The tug truck vehicle in question has still not arrived but it will take another fifteen minutes at the most. The captain apologises once again.
Quarter of an hour later: "This is your captain speaking…" It appears that all the ground crew, including those of the tug in question, are on strike in sympathy with Gate Gourmet. However, we don't think it will last very long, as the legally required advance notice was not given. People get up, take off their jackets, and taxi comfortably into crisp and sweet packets while watching the in-flight film.
Associations with The Titanic
One quarter of an hour follows another and the hours crawl slowly past. A lady from Business Class comes down into cattle class and entertains her captive audience with a tune on her cello, which makes one Brit exclaim: "This is just like the Titanic!" After a couple of minutes of surrealistic classic concert, everything returns to normal. Children with sugar deprivation evolve into monsters, while flight attendants calm everyone down with mineral water and more films. Everyone is stressed out.
Crazy hotel hunt!
Eight hours later. It's been so long that the cabin personnel can't keep their rest period deadlines. Everyone is let out of the hot steel belly of the big bird to join the 3,000 other passengers in the departure lounge, who are all desperately looking for somewhere to stay overnight. It's midnight and the strike has caught British Airways unawares. No one knows anything about anything, so the crazy hotel hunt is on!
First out of the plane
Next morning thank God I'm on the first flight to Kennedy Airport. But I'm having trouble enjoying the trip because, when we land, I have precisely two hours to get my next plane from Newark. "Impossible!" laugh the cabin crew, but agree to let me out of the plane first. I whiz through passport control in a miraculous ten minutes flat and jump onboard an airport bus that goes directly to Newark.
Too close to the Manhattan skyline
Manhattan's impressive skyline slowly appears. I've seen it before when attending a conference in Chicago two years before. But wow! Now it's up close. So close that I ask the Chinese man sitting beside me: "Excuse me! Is this the bus for Manhattan?" "Yes, yes!" he shouts excitedly and snaps another couple of shots off just before we drive into a tunnel that connects the island with the mainland.
In the midst of all the noisy cars and roadworks, the bus driver apparently thought I said New York instead of Newark, and he thought I meant Manhattan.
My Chinese friend
What I'm thinking when I get off the bus and hear the Chinese guy say: "Have a nice stay!" is inappropriate to repeat here! The Friday traffic is at a standstill, and my last hope is slipping away when I finally make it to Newark, and see long queues at the check-in desks.
Ready to go home
I DIDN'T get my flight to Providence and decided to go home. I go over to the SAS ticket office and my flight is rebooked. After 39 hours of adrenalin rush, during which I have had almost four hours stretched out flat, I am only too ready to go home. Direct. No stop-overs. No nothing. Just home!
Dejà-vu?
The strange thing is that the man from SAS who is rebooking my ticket is the same man who rebooked a ticket for me under similar circumstances two years before. That was after the conference in Chicago, where I had planned a week's holiday in Manhattan. Unfortunately, the guy I was supposed to be staying with wasn't home when I called from the airport. My mobile phone had run out of battery and my Visa card had mysteriously reached its credit limit. Too much air conditioning had made me ill and I was down to my last few dollars.
The SAS man didn't remember me – but I remembered him.
It's a lie!
I can't help wondering what it is about me and Manhattan. Sparks start to fly when I approach the Promised Land, but next time nothing will stop me. Next time, I'm taking a non-stop flight, in sound health, pockets full of cash and plenty of contact numbers.
Next time I'll TAKE Manhattan!
Martin
- Thank God it's nearly Monday!
