Edinburgh=Berlin (Easyjet): I’m no monarchist, however, I was more than happy to accept the gift of an extra bank holiday to celebrate the coronation of King Charles. Once again, the airport was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning on a bank holiday weekend, and this week there were no random stag parties on the Berlin flight. There was however a hipster twat in a Partick Thistle tracksuit top and brogues, who I immediately despised. There was also a particularly tall gentleman behind me who spent almost the entire flight trying to massage my lower back through the seat with his knees. Suffice to say I was happy to finally arrive at BER for the first time two hours later.
First impressions of the airport was that it was also fairly quiet for a Saturday. The border was well staffed and only took a few minutes to get through, one of the main criteria I have in judging any new airport. ONce through security things were a little more confusing, with an endless variety of signs directing you to the various public transport options. I didn’t feel these were particularly clear, and there were an awful lot of them. Having finally found my way to the right S-Bahn, I then found that it was only going a few stops because of construction work. This meant getting off and finding my way across town in a combination of buses and U-Bahn. As I boarded the first of the buses, I was delighted to spot the hipster Partick fan getting on the same bus, pleading with the driver to tell him how he could get to the Olympiastadion for the Hertha game. Knew he was a tosser.
Berlin-Edinburgh (Easyjet): Let’s get this out the way straight off the bat. I know airports are expensive, but sixteen Euros for some currywurst, fries and a coke is fucking ridiculous. Anyway, we’ll come back to that…
Having realised I could get the Regional Bahn back to BER, the return journey was considerably more straightforward. I hadn’t taken much time to explore the new airport on arrival, so I was a little early in order to have a look around. Again, it wasn’t particularly busy, and I wandered around to take a few photos before heading to security, which was fairly quick and easy. The shopping and retail options were pretty decent, and I decided on a little meal from the food court on the upper level, where I was robbed in broad daylight for some very ordinary currywurst at a not very busy restaurant that somehow still took ten minutes. On the plus side, there were plenty of beers available to buy in the various shops, and I managed to squeeze four Berliner Kindls in my little backpack. One of the best features of the airport was that each gate had a little charging station with enough USB 2.0, USB C and lightning cables for ten phones. However, nobody could use the one at our gate as some fucking clown unplugged it from the wall to charge his laptop.
The flight back was uneventful, but EDI had one more unpleasant surprise in store for us upon arrival. After last month’s fiasco when there was no ground staff to let us off the aircraft for twenty minutes, today the ground staff was present but didn’t open all the doors to allow us to proceed through to the border. With 140 passengers standing in a corridor before a locked door for fifteen minutes, someone somewhere realised our plight and finally opened the door. You have to hand it to EDI, every time they find new and innovative ways to fuck up the most basic airport operations….
Edinburgh-Geneva (Easyjet): After the KLM flight to Amsterdam, the Easyjet flight to Geneva must be my second most travelled route. EDI wasn’t as busy as I might have expected for a Saturday morning on a bank holiday weekend. Having gotten through security without any fuss, I found my usual quiet spot out on the East pier, where I noted with alarm that there was a large stag party about to board the morning flight to Berlin at Gate 18. Since I would be getting on the same flight next Saturday morning, I hoped this wasn’t something I’d be seeing next week. Whilst waiting to board, for some reason I randomly decided to buy my first ever copy of National Geographic from the newsagents.
Once onboard I was delighted to find that, despite being a fairly busy flight, I had achieved the holy grail of an empty row. There was a little bit of pre-flight chaos before we got under way though. Firstly, there was an argument involving someone in the exit row behind me, who objected to being told to put their bags and coats in the locker for takeoff. Then a young man decided to move seats before takeoff, earning a stern lecture on weight and balance from the crew. With all these issues, shoutout to veteran cabin manager Julie, a no-nonsense ginger weegie who was taking no shit from anyone and soon put everyone in their place (literally!). There was also a slight departute delay due to the ongoing French air traffic controllers strikes. As the captain pointed out, it would be hard for us to get to Switzerland without flying over France, but they would do their best to make up the time en route.
In recent months I’ve been tending towards booking aisle seats, as I’ve seen (and filmed) most of Europe from the air by now. Plus I don’t trust my ageing bladder to last two hours. But I’ll always make an exception for flying into Geneva, which is always great for the views. And having an empty row, (along with easy toilet access), I decided to treat myself to a beer. Easyjet were now stocking Jubel, a peach lager which I’d had the pleasure of sampling when the rep had come into my local recently. With an empty row, fruity lager and stunning mountain views, the flight was about as pleasant as it could be.
When we arrived at GNV last year I had seen the new terminal building that had been built since my last visit pre-Covid. I had a lot more time to admire it this time, as the queue for the border was pretty lengthy. In fact, it was so lengthy that I was starting to get seriously worried about making my connection across town to Annemasse and my train onwards into the Alps. Twenty-five minutes later though and I was through, and was heading into town with just enough time to briefly admire Lac Leman en route to France.
Geneva=Edinburgh (Easyjet): After a pleasant few hours in the Geneva sunshine, it was time to head back to GNV for my flight. Security was pretty quick, and might have been even faster if the woman in front of me hadn’t been trying to enter the security area by scanning the barcode on her luggage receipt stuck to the back of her passport. How do some people even get dressed in the morning, let alone travel to another country…
The last time I’d departed from here I’d had the dubious pleasure of Swissport’s underwhelming lounge. Today I would have to entertain myself, and was reminded how appallingly expensive this airport was. Fortunately I’d had the foresight to purchase a sandwich and snacks from Lidl in the city before heading out here, but I still had to fork out £4 for a bottle of water. After boarding, by some miracle I found that once again I had achieved the holy grail of an empty row. This meant another can of Jubel for the flight home, which was otherwise uneventful.
Edinburgh-Paris CDG (Air France Hop); Today was a bit of a milestone as this trip would include flight number 200. It would also be the first time travelling with Skyteam since recently earning my silver status, and all the nice little perks such as priority boarding and checked bags that went with it. Throw in the free lounge access of my travelling companion Kirsty and this promised to be a very comfortable trip.
With extra bags to carry to the airport, we decided that a taxi was the way to go this morning. Recent experience had taught me that the queue for bag drop and check-in for the early KLM/Air France departures could be pretty hellish. So even though I enjoyed priority in the queue, there was no harm in being there the suggested three hours before departure. Turns out this was a bit premature, as the counters weren’t open yet, something I’d never seen at 3.30am for these flights. We didn’t have to wait long though, and sauntered casually down the priority lane once it opened to be the first passengers served. And did I detect the tiniest note of additional respect and deference from the lady tagging our priority bags? Possibly, or maybe I just imagined it.
Security was fine, but once through we discovered that the lounges didn’t open until 4.30am. More waiting around, meaning Kirsty had time to go buy a much-needed scarf for Helsinki. We were finally able to access the Plaza Premium lounge, even though the card machine at the entrance wasn’t working. The lounge was a big step-up from my only previous lounge experience, the rather naff Swissport lounge at GNV with it’s limp sandwiches and half-pints of Heineken. The lounge was quiet, filled with comfy seats and with a fine view over the apron (well, it would have later on when it was lighter). A decent hot breakfast selection was on offer, and despite my diabetes, I’m not a man who can walk past free bacon easily. I could probably have had a beer as well but it was a little early.
After a comfortable hour we made our way to the gate and took a seat to wait. Despite one or two delays the morning was going smoothly and comfortably, until I heard an announcement from the gate asking me to come to the desk. Instinctively I checked my pocket to see if I’d lost my passport, but it was still there. Was there a problem with my checked bags? Nothing so concerning as it turned out; they were simply paging me to let me know they were moving my seat and upgrading me to business class (much to Kirsty’s annoyance, although it meant she would at least get a free seat next to her for the first leg). No explanation was given, and I didn’t ask, but could it be yet another perk of my newly-acquired silver status?
So we boarded and I took the unfamiliar position of row 2A, a definite first. As all the ordinary passengers boarded after me I tried my best to maintain the same kind of diffident air of mild disdain I’d seen from business class passengers when I’d shuffled past them in my jeans and hoodie. We were underway on time and for the first time I had the novel enjoyment of the curtains being swept closed behind me rather than in front of me.
When I’d been told about my upgrade I was warned that there might not be a meal; as a former airline caterer, this made sense to me. They would only prepare meals for the booked number, and perhaps add a small buffer to cover late bookings. Although I understood this, it meant I wasn’t really getting much of an upgrade if there was no fancy meal, I was just in a different seat. But being a small aircraft, (an Embrear 170), there were only eight seats in business, would the caterers have just made eight meals anyway? I would have. When the steward reached our row he first asked my seatmate, (a woman of around my age with a facemask), if she would like breakfast. She replied that she was told there might not be any available, but was told there was plenty….so…did that mean she had been upgraded as well? Had I been trying to maintain my best behaviour and look like I belonged in business for the last twenty minutes when my seatmate was an ordinary pleb just like me? After the breakfast was served out I struck up a conversation with her and discovered that it was indeed the case. She was an American from Des Moines, travelling home after a short break in Scotland. She was also a heavy frequent flyer with Delta, which perhaps explained her upgrade. Breakfast was cold but tasty, pancakes with cheese, fruit salad and a croissant with jam. The rest of the flight was passed in pleasant conversation with my seatmate about travel and work, and I was happy to pass on a few valuable tips about drinking cheaply in Reykjavik for the benefit of her friends, who were travelling there soon.
Paris-CDG-Helsinki (Air France); When disembarking at CDG I wasn’t surprised that our little aircraft was parked in a remote stand and we were getting bussed to the terminal. Unfortunately this meant getting separated from Kirsty as we were put on different buses, but I simply waited for her at the terminal entrance and we were reunited soon after.
With a transfer of nearly four hours, Kirsty’s lounge access would be much-needed. However, there were limited options in this part of the airport, with the only one available to us being in a Yotel. A shuttle and a lengthy walk took us there, to find that the ‘lounge’ made the Swissport one at GNV look like the Ritz. It was basically a small room with some comfy seats and tables, a fridge with some cans of beer and soft drinks, and a coffee machine. If we wanted any of the snacks on offer, such as a twix or a pipe of pringles, we had to ask at reception. It was pretty lame but, two frew cans of lager is better than a kick in the nuts and we got our phones charged, so.
We had overheard a staff member telling someone that to get to 2E they should leave around ninety minutes. This was a bit surprising but we decided we better use it as a guide and set off. Retracing our steps we were a bit annoyed to find we couldn’t go back the way we came, and now had to go through security for some reason. I had only transited at CDG twice before but I definitely didn’t have to do this before, and it had been post Paris-attacks as well. We had no choice though, and nearly thirty minutes of our ninety was spent getting through security (which included disposing of the unopened bottle of water I had bought at EDI, much to my annoyance).
If we had thought security was lengthy and disorganised though, that was nothing compared to the rugby scrum at the Schengen border. Now we realised why that woman had advised ninety minutes; for the sake of two cans of lager we perhaps would have been as well just ignoring the lounge and heading straight through. Appeals to an airport official about our boarding time being in fifteen minutes were met with a dismissive Gallic shrug. Once we got further through the queue it was sped up slightly by being put in a line for UK, Australian, Canadian etc passports, but we were still very tight for time by the time we had been processed. There had been no need for concern though, as the flight was delayed; this would presumably be due to winter conditions at HEL, which usually meant delaying inbound flights slightly as they cleared and rotated the runways.
I had been worried about transiting through CDG to Helsinki as previous experience had taught me that the longer flight was usually operated by Finnair (who don’t feed you), even though the ticket would say operated by Air France. This wasn’t the case today though, as we strode happily down the bridge to a relatively new A220-300, a flying first. The 2-3 configuration meant me and Kirsty could book a row of two to ourselves, (sadly there was no upgrade for me on this leg). The wifi didn’t work, but it never has on any recent flights, so that was no big deal. The USB power worked fine though. The meal was a simple but tasty ham and butter roll and a biscuit, and after service the crew walked the aisle offering the remaining sandwiches to anyone who wanted one, which I later learned they usually do on Air France flights. A pleasant three hours later we were descending through the snow into HEL, which was possibly the only time I would have preferred to have been on a Finnair aircraft (with a crew used to landing in such condtitions). The landing was fine though.
Helsinki-Paris CDG (Air France); it all started with a notification at 7am. Kirsty had received a message from Google Flights that our first leg this evening was delayed by two hours. I didn’t get any such notification through my KLM app, but a check of Flight Radar confirmed the delay. But the Helsinki-Vantaa website said that it was on time. Which one was right? With a transit of 1hr 40min at CDG, clearly we would not make that connection if there really was a two-hour delay, and likely be stuck overnight in Paris until the airline could get us home. For my part I wasn’t too concerned at the prospect; I had taken the day off tomorrow anyway, and maybe I would get to tick off another country (my fifth of 2023). Kirsty was not so relaxed at the prospect, as she had to be back at work the next day. A lengthy whatsapp call to Air France, which confirmed the flight was on time, did not reassure her, and she decided to bite the bullet and book a seat on the direct Finnair flight that afternoon, at a cost of over £200. This would mean her missing out on the planned daytrip to Porvoo, as she was now travelling to the airport several hours before me. With no such time pressures to concern me I elected to wait and see what happened, and we said our farewells and made our way home separately. It was only once I was at HEL some hours later I realised that this meant I would miss out on some free lounge access, which was a shame as this was flight #200.
I still had my priority priveleges and my checked bags though. My last two departures from HEL had been preceded by a hopeful wait for a text from KLM asking me to check my bags, meaning I could now bring back alchohol. It hadn’t happened on either occasion, which had been disappointing. What I hadn’t realised at the time though, was that just by being on those flights, I was earning an eventual upgrade to silver status, thus guaranteeing a checked bag on future flights. Including this one. And I had already paid for a checked bag anyway, with the express purpose of bringing back treats, meaning I now had two checked bags for this trip.
So with arms like jelly, I staggered into the priority bag drop to check my two bags crammed with beer, long drinks and various Finnish snacks. I possibly could have gotten more but I was concerned about exceeding the 23kg weight allowance. There was absolutely no need for concern though; with my bags weighing in at 8.2 and 8.8kg respectively, I’d had another 29kg of luggage available if I’d needed it.
Although I had no lounge access, I had made some prudent snack purchases downstairs at Alepa before going through security. So it was no chore killing time before boarding, and I even had enough onboard luggage space for another half-dozen cans from the duty-free. Plus at least I would get a free seat all the way home, as Kirsty hadn’t actaully cancelled her original booking. Despite that, I was still slightly nervous after settling in my seat and watching everyone else shuffle onboard, with one or two occasionally pausing uncertainly beside my empty seat before moving on.
The in-flight snack was the same as the way up, although this time I took the opportunity to grab seconds when they were offered. The rest of the flight was uneventful, except for a brief interaction with a shaggy young Frenchman across the aisle, who had already annoyed me by bringing a Burger King onboard and stinking out the cabin. Leaning over and waving his hand in my face and shattering my Litku Klemetti-induced reverie, he asked if he could place one of his bags on my spare seat. With a heavy sigh I indicated the most grudging of permission with an irritated wave of impatience, and returned to my music. When I opened my eyes a while later the bag had disappeared.
Paris CDG-Edinburgh (Air France); I’d been surprised by the indecent haste that everyone had sprung out of their seats and tried to disembark with when the flight was still taxiing from the runway to the terminal on arrival at CDG. Once I had deplaned and reached the border I could see why with another biblical queue ahead. With the transit time I felt I was probably going to be just about alright for time, but there would be precious little time for any retail therapy or food and drink. As annoying as the lack of organisation and personnel was at the border, the information screens indicating a waiting time of less than ten minutes waiting time were adding insult to injury. I finally made it through in time to find my flight just beginning to board. I am never transiting through this airport again with less than six hours; Schipol can be hellish too, but at least I could but Nijntje goodies en route.
I was hoping for another free seat beside me again, but the airline booking system must have realised Kirsty hadn’t travelled, and reassigned her seat. This meant being stuck in the hell of a middle seat, between a sizeable French teenager and an old man whose flight home from Faro had been cancelled and had been rerouted via Amsterdam and Paris. I was served my third ham sandwich of the day, and was thoroughly relieved to finally arrive home after a less than comfortable flight.
With two checked bags full of treats to claim, I was a little nervous as I waited at the belt, but both bags appeared after a short wait. Sadly not quite intact though, as one wheel on a case had broken off with the weight, leading to a particularly crappy journey home dragging a heavy, three-wheeled bag across the cobbles of Edinburgh.
190 Edinburgh-Reykjavik (Easyjet); Usually the traditional Airwaves flight has been accompanied by some sort of special occasion, like being the 100th flight, first trip with a new passport etc. There was no special occasion today though, I was just happy to finally be returning to Reykjavik for the first time after Covid, not to mention attending my first Iceland Airwaves for four years. And to mark the occasion I was treating myself to the rare luxury of a checked bag.
Like last month’s trip to Nimes, this was another afternoon departure, a pleasant change from all the pre-dawn trips to the airport earlier in the year. In fact, the departure time was scheduled for a few hours later than it always had been in the past, which meant the rare luxury of spending the afternoon beforehand just pottering around Stockbridge, buying books and generally relaxing. When I finally made my way out to EDI in the late afternoon the airport was relatively busy for a Sunday afternoon, but it took a mere five minutes to check my bag (one thing about Easyjet, it’s a lot simpler to use their bag drop than it is to queue and check bags with KLM/Air France). And the terminal wasn’t so busy that I couldn’t find a table at Wetherspoons for my pre-departure alcohol-free Kopparberg.
The flight was routine, but there was the usual announcement about having no nut products on board due to a passenger having an allergy; I’ve heard this so many times on Easyjet flights now that I’m convinced that it’s bogus. On arrival I received my first ever Icelandic passport stamp, (thank you Brexit), and made full use of the duty-free store at arrivals to buy a 10-pack of Gull’s Christmas beer before leaving KEF. Once outside I was immediately reminded of how miserable and unhappy a place Iceland can be when it’s wet. And it only took two minutes outside in the driving rain to discover that one of my shoes was apparently leaking, and it would seem that a long, squelchy week might lie ahead.
As it was a while since I’d been here on my own I had to make do with getting into Reykjavik with the airport express bus for a change. And since my apartment was at the far end of Laugavegur I had opted for the additional hotel drop-off service, which I was now mightily glad of when I saw the weather. The instructions for changing buses at BSI weren’t super clear from all involved, but I managed to find my connecting mini-bus at the other side of the terminal building, although there was no driver (or any other passengers). The driver eventually showed up and very helpfully offered to put my bags in the boot, which he then forgot to close when we departed. Luckily another driver managed to attract his attention to this before we went too far and all my beer had spilled out into the road…
191 Reykjavik-Edinburgh (Easyjet); By the end of the week, the leak in my shoe had developed into an almost complete split of the sole from the rest of my shoe. And although my return flight wasn’t until evening I had to check out of the apartment by 11am. This led to a long final afternoon wandering Reykjavik, tripping over my own feet every ten paces or so with a right boot that now looked like a loose flipper. All I could do was hope the damn thing didn’t split completely, and survived long enough to get me on my flight and back home. At least it wasn’t raining anymore. And at one point I found myself skirting the perimeter of the domestic airport, watching the little Bombardiers arriving from around the country (at least one of which decided to go around in near perfect visibility and no wind; weird?)
After hobbling around the city for the day I arrived back at the apartment complex to collect my bags and meet my hotel pick-up at four. I’d been slightly nervous about booking this; what if it didn’t turn up? He hadn’t even remembered to close the boot last week, what chance that he’d remember he was picking anyone up? But the bus appeared on time, and I was en route to KEF with a considerably heavier checked bag than I had arrived with. This was mainly as I still had six cans of my christmas beer left from a week ago, having since discovered all the delicious varieties of 0.0% Bavaria at the local supermarket and drinking that instead. I would have brought more treats back with me but I was nervous about exceeding the weight of my checked baggage allowance; it turned out I still had about 8kg to spare.
Arriving at KEF, I was surprised to find the bag drop wasn’t even open for another 45mins, so I treated myself to a reasonably priced (and fairly tasty) pizza slice from the grocery store while I waited. Having finally dropped my bag and cleared security in just a matter of minutes, I found myself in the enviable position of having time, money and luggage space to enjoy myself at the airport shopping. I took advantage of the duty-free store’s offer of any four cans of beer for 1000kr, as well as the six-for-the-price-of-five deal on miniatures. Having done all this, I then treated myself further to the ultimate extravagance at KEF, a beer at the airport bar. I would have had two but the Polish barmaid (about the 1000th I’d met this week in Reykjavik) politely informed me they were closing in five minutes.
The flight home was routine again, with the same bogus nut allergy announcement. But on arrival back at EDI, I was once again worried about making a mess of using the e-gates and having to go to a desk and get my passport checked by one of my Border Force colleagues. Luckily I got through with no issues, and I was delighted to find my massively underweight checked bag was already waiting for me on the carousel, in a rare show of efficiency by EDI.
182 Edinburgh-Amsterdam (KLM): Third time on KL1276 in as many months. Due to Finland’s covid entry rules, I wasn’t able to download my boarding pass from KLM and instead had to collect it at the airport after presenting my vaccination documents. After my previous experiences in recent months I decided I wasn’t fucking around this time, and got myself to EDI for just after 3am, almost three hours before departure. As a result the queue was pretty small for once. When I reached the desk after a short wait of ten minutes and received my boarding pass, I offered to show my covid documents; ‘oh no, we don’t bother looking at any of that’ said the agent with a dismissive shrug. Maybe someone should have told KLM that before I got up at two o’clock this morning, but I did at least get to check my large cabin bag for free.
At least for once I had the pleasure of getting through security so early that the duty free was closed and I didn’t have to be routed through it unwillingly. In fact, not much was open, which was annoying as for once I had both the time and money to waste pre-departure. After mooching around a little, Burger King opened up and I decided on some nostalgia by being their second customer and trying one of their breakfast meals, which was ok, apart from the low and zero-sugar syrups all being empty on the self-serve soft drink dispenser. Over a not-terrible breakfast roll, I was delighted to find my fellow traveller Hanie was simultaneously sitting in Sydney Kingsford Smith waiting to depart on a flight at the same time; it was bound to happen eventually, both of us flying at the same time. Airport selfies and seat numbers were exchanged, although with Australia being a year or two behind everyone else, she was shocked that nobody was wearing masks here. As she headed off to Bali, I headed off to Wetherspoons to complete the Scottish tradition of taking a picture of my pint at the airport and sharing it on social media.
183 Amsterdam-Helsinki (KLM): I had heard Schiphol was having terrible staffing problems recently, and with a flight connection time of an hour, had prudently opted for an aisle seat in the hope of a quick deplaning and dash to the Schengen border. Being able to check my bag for free this morning had also helped lighten the proverbial load for a potential cross-Schiphol dash. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d run there quicker than Usain Bolt as the queue for the border was reaching, ironically enough, about a hundred metres. An American girl joining the line behind me expressed her amazement at the length of the wait, and I informed her that even in my many visits to Schipol, I had never seen it this bad. I knew that if I missed my connection then KLM would get me to Finland somehow today, although it might not be in time for tonight’s IIHF championships game between Slovakia-Italy in Helsinki. Whilst I was mulling this over, a staff member was walking the queue and directing anyone with flights at 9:40am or earlier to proceed to the front of the queue. I checked my paper boarding pass again for the flight time; 9:45am. Surely I could get away with five mins? So as much as I was enjoying chatting with my new friend (who promised to keep my space if I got rejected), I decided to make for the front of the queue and try to get through. After all, I had paid twelve Euros for the hockey ticket. And ten minutes later I successfully crossed the Dutch border for the third time in three months, where I was met with a message from Hanie who, as it turned out, had free wifi on her Qantas flight.
On boarding my own flight a short time later I found that I also had free wifi, although it was very limited; thirty minutes free for messages and emails, with an additional fee for anything more lengthy and useful. I judiciously saved my half-hour until later in the flight when we passed over Copenhagen, taking the opportunity to message Daphne who was holidaying 30,000ft below at the time. The Beemster cheese and mustard sandwiches were available as always onboard, along with a small chocolate brownie to go with the small chocolate brownie which I already had in my bag as a spare snack. Typical. Being a fine sunny day on approach, I had a great view of the Åland Islands, which I had never really taken notice of before and resolved to come back and explore at some point.
184 Helsinki-Amsterdam (KLM): It had happened on most of my KLM flights recently: the text a few hours before departure informing me the flight was full and I was free to check my cabin bag, meaning I could now hasten to the supermarket and buy some beer to bring home. This time I was counting on it, having arrived back in Helsinki with several cans of beer from my overzealous grocery shopping in Jyväskylä. It would also be nice to bring back some blueberry juice if possible. But the text never came and two hours before departure I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t bringing back any booze, and I would have to give up the cans before security. I wasn’t wasting them though, so I found myself a bench outside the terminal and patiently tanned them one after the other.
Feeling particularly mellow now, I made my way through security, where I was mightily impressed by the new security scanners which did not require the removal of any liquids or electronics from your bags; did that mean that I didn’t (hic!) need to drink all those beers after all? Ah well. Beyond security was a little confusing as the airport seemed to have been redeveloped extensively since my last visit almost three years ago. Having spent so much time here over the years, it was extremely disconcerting to be getting lost in HEL. I had wondered about this on my arrival a week earlier, when the baggage arrival area had looked different from how I remembered it, the area outside arrivals was completely unfamiliar and the entrance to the cavernous railway station beneath the airport wasn’t where I had thought it was. I could now see that considerable work had been completed and was still ongoing. I’d always thought the airport had been perfectly adequate before, but I suppose it’s not up to me (although I still feel I had visited often enough to warrant being consulted beforehand).
The flight to AMS was routine until around fifteen minutes before arrival. The two rows in front of me were occupied by a large Arab family of women and young children. As we were weaving across the Netherlands, the mother sitting in front of me suddenly let out a plaintive wail, and her companions started showing some considerable agitation. Summoned by the commotion, one of the cabin crew was quickly in attendance and immediately assessed the situation. The woman’s young child, who had been sitting on her lap, appeared to have stopped breathing, perhaps due to choking. Without preamble, the stewardess reached over with one hand and plucked the child from it’s mother and had it on her shoulder, furiously thumping it’s back as she raced towards the rear of the aircraft. A moment later an announcement came over the PA, calmly asking if there was a doctor on board. Nobody immediately made themselves known to the cabin crew, despite a further appeal repeated a minute later. A hush fell over the cabin as everyone became aware that there was a serious situation developing. Another minute or so passed before the cabin crew nonchalanty announced that there was a medical emergency onboard, and we would be landing as quickly as possible, and when we did land could we all stay calm and stay seated as there would be medical personnel waiting for us at the gate and we needed to get the afflicted passenger off first. This was accepted without demur by the passengers.
Now I’m no aviator, but I have descended into many, many airports before, and this descent felt distinctly…accelerated? I suppose it is possible for aircraft to get down to the ground quicker than usual if the need arose. What was definitely noticeable was that as soon as we touched the tarmac, we barely slowed our speed before careening off the runway to the closest gate, whilst every other aircraft on the apron seemed to have been stopped to allow our smooth passage; a Finnair A330 in its distinctive Marimekko livery stopped dead in its tracks on the adjacent taxiway as we raced past it’s nose. It also appeared we had been routed to the closest runway to the terminal, as it was barely thirty seconds from the wheels touching tarmac before we were at our gate. If you’ve ever taxiid at Schipol, then you’ll know that anything less than ten minutes is impressive. This would have been very useful if I’d had a short transit time, but sadly that wasn’t the case tonight. As for the stricken child, I’m afraid I don’t know how that panned out, but I did hear one of the cabin crew tell a passenger that they had at least regained consciousness.
185 Amsterdam-Edinburgh (KLM): After the dramatic arrival of my first flight, the onward connection was (hopefully) never going to be as eventful, and it wasn’t. The only incident of note from another routine connection onto the late flight to EDI was that the Let’s Play store on the non-Schengen side was closed, depriving me of the opportunity to strip it of Nijntje goodies. I also noticed that the delicatessen shop was now stocking cans of Hertog Jan, which I’m sure they didn’t do before. Or maybe I’d never noticed the stuff until I visited Brielle last month…
178 Edinburgh-Amsterdam (KLM); another month, another KL1276. I should have been on this flight on New Year’s Eve, but sadly the trip had to postponed at the last minute due to stricter controls by the Dutch government in response to the omicron variant of covid. Disappointing as it was, it was relatively quick and simple to rebook for later dates, as airlines are offering much more flexibility on rebooking than they normally would. The only issue I had with the process was that no matter how many times I tried to select a later flight on this date, the booking engine kept putting me on the 6am flight. I eventually gave in, paid the fare difference of nine pounds and accepted the dawn departure.
At least this time I was able to get my boarding pass beforehand, but I would still be queueing to check a bag anyway, mostly loaded with Irn-Bru for my wonderful host Daphne. Having hopefully learnt from the waiting times last month, I arrived half an hour earlier to find the queue was even longer. What time do you have to get to EDI to drop a bag for a morning flight, midnight? After around thirty-five minutes, some of the queue was confusingly rearranged to give priority to the Amsterdam passengers, which resulted in me standing almost exactly where I had joined the queue, albeit with slightly less people on front of me now. Some of the more frustrated passengers demanded explanations for the delay from the staff, which were not forthcoming. How could the airport possibly be expected to know how many aircraft would be departing, and at what times and with how many passengers onboard? What a ridiculous notion!
I finally dropped my bag two minutes before the advised boarding time, after waiting just over an hour to check my baggage. Fortunately security was a bit quicker again, and by the time I actually boarded the aircraft and took my seat, it was only a few minutes before the actual departure time of 6am. The crew on the flight deck announced they were confident they could make up some of the time en route, and advised that all connections would be possible, (if you were Usain Bolt perhaps). Fortunately for me, this was one of the mornings where I wouldn’t be charging through Schipol to make a connection. I would however, be expecting Daphne to come round from her Maersk office to meet me and to look after my bags for the day whilst I headed off for a visit to Utrecht, so I made her aware of the delay.
The flight was short and pleasant, as it always is, although I refused the offer of some banana bread, as I didn’t really enjoy it last month. It’ll never be as good as Air Canada’s, which I feel will always be the gold standard for banana bread on morning flights. I did take a can of Heineken though, as it had been a stressful morning thus far. The queue at the border was anything but short and pleasant, with half a dozen empty e-passport gates sitting unused besides us, whilst we queued in glorious sunlit uplands for nearly twenty minutes to have our non-EU passports checked. At least my passport can boast a rapidly growing collection of stamps, although the nice lady at the border was a little confused as to why I was visiting Brielle for five days, before finally giving me another Schengen entry stamp.
179 Amsterdam-Edinburgh (KLM); a chaotic journey back started pleasantly enough, with a quick visit to the Nijntje store at the thoroughly impressive Westfield Mall at Den Haag, before driving on up to Schipol. I had considered offering to make my way own way back by train, as it was maybe a bit unfair for Daphne to drive all the way up here and back on her day off. However, an electrical problem that halted the entire Dutch railway network for the day made sure that noble suggestion never got off the ground. After leaving Den Haag, the motorway was quite busy for a Sunday afternoon, which we belatedly connected to the absence of any trains in the entire country. However, I was dropped off two and a half hours before departure, and was looking forward to some quality food, drink and shopping before my flight.
The hold bag, (which was now mostly loaded with Dutch beers and Nijntje goodies), took a mere two minutes to check, making me think today would be quick and routine. The queue at security made me think otherwise, taking thirty minutes to navigate. The queue beyond that at the Schengen border had me seriously thinking I was not making my flight. And as frustrating as it is to stand in such a lengthy line for almost forty minutes, it’s ten times worse to have an ignorant cockney couple standing behind me, whining about everything. ‘Why’d we have to take ar liquids out? We ‘ad to that do coming ‘ere?’ ‘Because their fucking scanners are better!’, screamed my mind in response. ‘Why we getting ar passports checked, they already checked ‘em whens we arrived?’ My mind couldn’t even be bothered answering that one, not even silently.
Mercifully, the border staff eventually realised that an awful lot of people were going to miss flights, and that this would make airlines very cross with the airport, who would then be even crosser with the border force, so they opened up a few more control points to speed things up. Sadly by now I barely had time for a piss before heading to the gate, let alone treating myself to something to eat. This meant once again arriving home with a considerable amount of leftover money and luggage capacity, which I feel should be a criminal offence. But at least the flight home saw the welcome return of the Beemsters cheese and mustard sandwiches. And my passport finally worked at the e-gates on arrival, after failing to read on the last three occasions and making me think I would have to pay for a replacement.
156 Edinburgh-Amsterdam (KLM); After not flying with them for so many years, my 5.50am KL1276 flights to Amsterdam were becoming like a regular commute now. So much so that I knew I would be getting a Beemster cheese and mustard sandwich for my breakfast, and I wasn’t disappointed. Tasty as they are, perhaps KLM could occasionally freshen up the menu a little. Although with the airline now in it’s centenary year, my morning Heineken came in a specially designed ‘100 years’ can, which will no doubt be a collector’s item one day, so I resolved to appropriate one on my return journey if possible. On arrival at Schipol, I had a lot more time to wait for my connecting bus to Zuid Holland than my last visit, enough for me to sit happily outside in the autumn sunshine for half an hour with my first of many sausicjenbroodjie
157 Amsterdam-Basel (Easyjet); flight 156 should have been Amsterdam to Zurich with Swiss Airlines, followed by an Edelweiss flight from Zurich to Cancun to attend the wedding of one of my best friends. However, two months before travelling, Swiss/Edelweiss saw fit to change my inbound flight from Mexico to the same date as my outbound one, meaning that I would be in the country for a total of ninety minutes, instead of the originally planned four days. When I contacted the airline, they were actually very apologetic about the cancellation of my original return flight, agreed that the new schedule was unreasonable, and tried their best to rebook me on a suitable return flight with another airline. Unfortunately, none of the alternatives were any use to me; there was no way I would have gotten from a wedding on Saturday night in Playa Del Carmen to an early morning flight from Cancun on Sunday morning, and some of the other flights would have returned me to Amsterdam so late that I would miss my return flight to Edinburgh and have to book an extra night’s accommodation in the Netherlands, not to mention the nuisance of having to apply and pay for a visa waiver to return home via the US. So having exhausted the options I ended up having to give up on attending the wedding, losing the non-refundable £410 fare I had paid for the flight. After all, the airline had been perfectly reasonable in trying to offer me an alternative flight; it wasn’t their fault that I had a wedding fifty miles away the night before my return flight, or that I had a connecting flight booked with a completely separate airline.
Gutted as I was at having to miss out on my beach wedding beside the caribbean, I did still have part of a trip booked, with return flights to the Netherlands, accommodation in Den Haag and Rotterdam, and a large five day gap in the middle to fill. I could have stayed in the country, but I had already spent a week there this year, and it would be a waste of precious holiday time to spend another week in the same country. So I explored some budget flight options from Amsterdam to plug the gap, and eventually decided to catch an Easyjet flight down to Basel, and take a bus across the border to Strasbourg, a city that I wanted to tick off my wish list.
So I took the Flixbus in the morning to from Den Haag up to Schipol, all the while checking the status of my original flight to Zurich, praying for a delay or cancellation that would give me a chance of compensation. There was no such luck however, or on the subsequent Zurich to Cancun flight, which departed half an hour late. Praying for a cancellation or a delay is tempting fate however, as a delay was exactly what I got with my new flight to Basel. Normally this might not be such a big issue, but I was due to catch a Flixbus from the airport to Strasbourg an hour after my arrival. If I didn’t make this connection, I would either have to wait five hours for the next Flixbus, or head into Basel itself and try and catch a train, which would hardly be cheap at this late stage. Not only that, but I had to be at my Strasbourg accomodation by 10pm, otherwise I would have to go to a different location to collect my keys. So as we finally boarded our flight and rolled down the runway, with my bus due to leave Basel airport in fifteen minutes time, I was understandably angry and upset. This whole trip had been ill-starred from the start, with all the hassle over the Mexico flights, and now this unwanted drama over reaching my alternative destination. To make things even more delightful, I had a young couple with a screaming infant for seatmates. However, after takeoff, they disappeared from their seats, never to be seen again; clearly the visible fury in my face at how today was going was enough to convince them to sit elsewhere on the aircraft. I completely ignored the cabin crew when they tried to sell me something mid-flight, and again when they said goodbye as we deplaned at Basel. But as I stormed up the jet bridge, a minor miracle occured; now that my phone was online again, I received a push notification from Flixbus to inform me my service to Strasbourg was running an hour late. That meant I still had fifteen minutes to catch it. I even had time for a piss.
Relieved, (in more ways than one), I sat outside patiently in the afternoon sunshine, thanking my good fortune. However, the drama wasn’t over yet. The bus was a further twenty minutes later in arriving, and when it did, we had to wait a further half hour for the correct driver to turn up. Finally departing almost two hours later than scheduled, the driver then took at least three wrong turns off the motorway before rejoining it, further delaying our journey. At least it was a beautiful late summer’s evening outside, but, sitting in the front seat, I was told off for taking pictures and video by the driver, who evidently thought I was doing something to get him into trouble. As he only spoke German, I didn’t bother arguing with him, but made sure I mentioned it when Flixbus emailed me for a review of my journey two days later. We finally arrived in Strasbourg just after ten, adding an extra half hour of walking to my miserable day in order to collect the keys to my apartment. In just under twelve hours, I had covered the whopping 285 miles from my hotel in Den Haag to my new home in Strasbourg. It wasn’t without irony that I noted this was slightly longer than the eleven hour flight from Zurich to Cancun would have been.
158 Basel-Amsterdam (Easyjet); the return journey could hardly have been as dramatic as the outbound one. The Flixbus back to the airport was only fifteen minutes late, giving me time to have a proper look at Basel airport. It was fairly small, pleasant and orderly, though it was disappointing to see the viewing gallery closed after having lugged my case up several flights of stairs. After security, the area for the budget flights was fairly crowded, and the limited food and drink options were pretty expensive. I was so preoccupied with finding somewhere to sit and get peace that I failed to notice that my gate changed, meaning a brisk, slightly panicked walk to the other end of the airport.
Arriving back in Amsterdam, I’d had quite enough of Flixbus for one trip and decided to take the train down to Rotterdam for the last night of my trip. It would have been simpler to stay in Amsterdam, but the cheapest single room in town was more than the cost of a room in Rotterdam and the train ticket to get there. Plus Rotterdam’s great. Having purchased a ticket at one of the machines, I asked a man wandering Schipol Plaza in an NS uniform which train I should take and from what platform, and he waved me towards the escalators with an impatient ‘Six. Half past’. This meant waiting over forty minutes, and I couldn’t believe there wasn’t an earlier departure to the Netherland’s second city. So I headed downstairs to the station, found a train that said Rotterdam in it and climbed aboard. I had to stand all the way, but nobody checked my ticket or shouted at me that I was on the wrong train.
159 Amsterdam-Edinburgh (KLM); after all the dramas of this trip, the last part was fairly smooth, and I was getting pretty familiar with Schipol. I had enough time to explore the pre-departure toy shop at Schipol Plaza, which was equally stuffed with Nijntje and aviation goodies, and also had parts of a dismembered Fokker 100 incorporated into it’s shopfront, (an undercarriage, an engine and part of the cabin and flight deck to be precise). There was one alarming moment after security however, when I was sitting eating an overpriced sandwich and suddenly realised I had absolutely no idea what airport I was in or where I was going. The brief blank passed quickly though. Is there a thing as too much travel?
154 Edinburgh-Geneva (Easyjet); It’s been quite a few years since I took the Easyjet flight to Geneva; once upon a time, this trip was almost like a regular commute. The flight was routine, although interestingly, the cabin crew announced that they wouldn’t be able to sell any nut products on board due to a passenger suffering from a severe nut allergy, first time I’ve seen that. Anyway, somehow in the intervening years I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the approach to GNV across the alps, and the wonderful views that came with it. Fortunately the little machine in arrivals that dispenses free public transport tickets was still there, and the brief train ride into the city was as quick and efficient as always.
155 Geneva-Edinburgh (Easyjet); after a lovely few days exploring the Savoy region, it was back to Geneva for the trip home. With eight hours to kill until my evening flight, I had time to tick off most of my favourite Geneva activities; trip to Veyrier, Cathedral St Pierre, ferry across the lake, burger at Holy Cow and a pint of Feldschlössschen at the Britannia Pub. All too soon it was time to head back to the airport and it’s disappointingly small eating and drinking options. Once I was on my way home, the cabin crew again announced that they couldn’t sell nuts because of an allergen sufferer on board, what were the chances? Although a few weeks later, Easyjet announced they would no longer sell any nut based products on board, which makes me think that this was a trial run, and the story about an allergen sufferer on board was nonsense…
139 Edinburgh-Athens (Easyjet); Athens had been on the proverbial bucket list for a few years, and I love nothing more than exploring a brand new city or country on my birthday. But something that wasn’t new, however, was flying with Easyjet; this would be my third trip with them in four months. That would be enough to put anyone off their favourite airline, and Easyjet are far from my favourite airline. Still, there was going to be a couple of things to give this particular flight something of a novelty factor. Firstly, at just over four hours, this would be my longest flight for several years. After years of enduring all those lengthy trips to Australia and the Far East, I wasn’t sure my back was ready for this. Secondly, with a departure time just after 2pm, it was certainly the latest I had left on a flight for a while. With my airport worker’s body clock, that was pretty late in the day, and I would arrive relatively late at night. In fact, I was leaving so late that I volunteered to help out at work for a few hours before leaving; there were a heap of additional charter flights due to Scotland’s Six Nations game with France, and a few hours overtime would help the bank balance. My generous offer to help out was declined however, and I endured a fairly long and boring morning lounging around the house, before finally making my way out to the airport around lunchtime.
Just because it was a longer flight than usual didn’t mean I was going to splash out on any overpriced onboard food and drink, so I made sure of procuring a lunch deal from Superdrug after passing security. The flight itself was fairly routine, and the extra hour or so didn’t really drag too much. There seemed to be a sizeable family of Greeks seated around me; several of the men spent a good portion of the flight standing in the aisle, talking enthusiastically and passionately with lots of hand waving and head shaking, the way Mediterranean types seem to do. The flight deck were particularly informative throughout, detailing the route we were taking across the continent and outlining all the countries and major cities we passed. On arrival, the airport still seemed fairly clean, modern and organised (although I knew it had been built for the Olympics fourteen years previously). And although the Athens public transport system had seemed awfully complicated when I had researched it beforehand, I managed to successfully navigate my way to my Kypseli apartment without any fuss or delay. In fact, when I notified my Airbnb host I had arrived on time, they kindly offered to come and collect me at the metro station. I politely declined though; it would be better to find my way myself and get to know the neighbourhood, although I was highly amused at what Athenians regarded as ‘rain’…
140 Athens-Edinburgh (Easyjet); After a marathon, (no joke intended), journey from Argos back to Athens, and subsequently out to the airport, Saturday afternoon found me sitting in the airport railway station, listening to the Killie game online and finishing a last can of beer I’d forgotten about in my backpack. After enjoying a fine win over Motherwell, I took a few minutes to explore the airport’s excellent archeological museum before heading to the minimal queue at the friendly and hassle-free security. Why couldn’t all airports be like this? That said, I expected a little more from the selection of shops beyond security. I was also dismayed by the lack of vending machines, as I had a considerable amount of Euro coins I would have liked to have gotten rid of. Maybe Athens International wasn’t so great.
As is customary with Easyjet, boarding was preceded by a plea for volunteers to place their bags in the hold free of charge, or risk having them put in there regardless. Luckily I managed to keep hold of mine. Once on board, the cabin crew’s instructions to keep smaller items like duty-free bags and coats out of the overhead lockers were completely disregarded by the vast majority of the passengers, as is also customary. I don’t know what’s worse; people completely ignoring this advice, or the cabin crew not even bothering to follow-up on it. When I reached my usual seat in row nine and attempted to place my bag in the locker above, the woman in 9C implored me not to put it in front of her coat, (which shouldn’t have been there anyway), as she had a bad back. I pointed out, (not unreasonably I thought), that perhaps she should keep it with her, for ease of access, and in line with the instructions we were being given about what should be going where. She couldn’t do that unfortunately, as she already had two bags at her feet (so much for one piece of luggage per passenger!). 9B was little better; one of his duty free bags went in the locker opposite, another in the locker above with his jacket, and the third at his feet, along with his man bag. Luckily, he still had enough room for his laptop bag. Annoyed as I was at all this, I would’ve been ten times angrier if my bag had indeed been put in the hold in order to facilitate everybody else’s coats and duty free.
Now you might be thinking, ‘okay, so if you feel that strongly about it, why not make some kind of complaint?’. Well, I have. After both this and last month’s flights, I have received an email questionnaire from Easyjet, asking about my experience with them. On both occasions I have highlighted in detail, with very specific examples, the blatant disregard for the cabin baggage policy displayed by both passengers and crew. I have also outlined my dissatisfaction with the new app, which is hideously slow since it’s recent revamp. And on both occasions, at the conclusion of the survey, it has crashed and my supposedly valuable feedback has vanished into the ether. Anyway, a special mention again to the flight deck crew, who were once again friendly and informative throughout, and also waited at the door to greet everyone on their way off. At least Easyjet are doing something right. Unlike Edinburgh Airport, who couldn’t even get the stairs to the door of the aircraft until twenty minutes after our arrival. I’m glad I had the foresight to take the next day off, just in case…
Gill 9A 