A British Airways Adventure

“Let’s fly to Amsterdam,” we decided. “It’s so quick.”

Spoiler: It wasn’t.

For maximal pleasure of reading, dear reader, I have divided my entry into Day 1 and Day 2. Usually I aim for more pictures and less text but this one, dear reader, IS PRIME MATERIAL AS TEXT. Mark my words.

For anyone unfamiliar with acronyms, “BA” refers to the airline called “British Airways”. We will learn more about them in a bit, I promise.

Day 1

Nicola and I were booked onto the 16:15 flight on the 20^th of July, Gatwick Airport to Amsterdam Schiphol.

As the check-in lady handed us our boarding passes at the check-in counter, she asked if we’d already received our “light refreshment vouchers for the delay”. Oh, there’s a delay? Good to know. How much of a delay?

Three hours delay apparently, new departure time something like 19:15.

“I’ll give all of your group’s vouchers to you,” said the check-in lady helpfully, handing Nicola a fistful of light refreshment vouchers. We were puzzled and looked at the names and definitely weren’t aware that we were travelling with Misters James Bole, Joseph Brian Stowe and Jim-Bob Warblington (okay I made up the names, but I’m pretty sure there was indeed a James and a Joseph), and we informed the check-in lady about this.

“Oh, you sure?” she looked very puzzled.

For a crazy moment we (or I at least) actually wondered whether we HAD booked flights with them, just somehow forgotten, but then we reassured the check-in lady that no, we’re travelling just the two of us.

“Weird,” said check-in lady.

To further the confusion, a short moment after this it turned out Jim and Joe and third dude had just arrived at the check-in counter next to ours. “Oh, YOU’RE Joseph B. Bole!” said our check-in lady. “Er, yes, I’m famous?” said the confused man next to us. We left the check-in people to muse over their mistake as we ambled off with our boarding passes and bucketloads of time to kill.

Since we had nearly five hours before departure and a generous £5 donation each from BA we decided to spread out our enjoyment of the culinary delights of Gatwick and decided to have our first coffee on this side of security, yolo. Before that we checked the announcement boards to double-check out flight was indeed delayed, since the lack of official information from BA was bizarre and our boarding passes helpfully informed us that although our gate closes at 19:05, our departure time was still 16:15. (I mean, I know time zones are a thing but I do gather Gatwick has just one time zone.)

Yes, flight delayed according to flight board.

So, nice jacket potato, coffee and millionaire’s shortbread, and then around 16:30 we ambled off to go through the boarding pass beeper gates to get thru to security.

I beeped my boarding pass, which resulted with the machine producing a rude beep and the slightly soul-sickening message of “TOO LATE FOR FLIGHT SEEK ASSISTANCE”.

So, we sought assistance from the nearby airport staff dude in neon. He glanced at our tickets, then waved over some more superior airport staff dude, who studied our boarding passes lazily. “The thing is,” he said, partly to us, partly to inferior dude, partly to himself, “the flight is indeed delayed, but since we’ve received no official information about the delay from BA, we can’t let you through I’m afraid.”

Oh. So. What do we do?

“Well you can wait, or you can go get a BA rep, one passenger’s already gone to do that but I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

Okay. How do you get a BA rep? (At this point I wasn’t quite sure whether rep was some item or just a person.)

Well, go down to check-in and get someone from there.

Okay.

Well, I always prefer action to waiting around, so we found the dodgy-looking backstairs that took us from Departures back to Check-in, where we tried to keep our eyes peeled for available reppy-looking BA staff members. As you may guess, there were none, except for the ones sat behind check-in desks with a long line of soon-to-be-disappointed-passengers waiting to be handed their boarding passes and light refreshment vouchers.

Finally we found ourselves hovering behind a desk which sort of seemed to be British Airways, though it also said Air India. When a stressed-seeming passenger jumped the queue and tried to ask about BA, the stressed-seeming staff behind the desk told them it’s Air India, go away (in perhaps a slightly nicer manner). When another stressed-seeming passenger asked why the check-in queue is advancing so slowly and his wife has a huge pain in her back, the stressed-seeming staff told him the queue is so slow because they’re understaffed, and the wife can go and sit down.

When the pained wife dude left, I pushed through and briefly shared our predicament, expecting to be shooed away as we weren’t Air India.

The staff members looked at each other, had a look at their phones, tried to phone someone, and then they agreed that one of them would escort us to security.

Hooray, so we followed one of the staff members off in her impressively high-heeled shoes to security.

She brought us to the chilled-looking superior airport dude and told him, I guess officially, that the flight is delayed, and till what time they could let in passengers. Okay, he jotted down this down (literally).

As we were going through, a man appeared behind us “are you guys going to Amsterdam?”, showed his boarding pass and came in, too. We were not the only passengers locked out.

Well, now we were inside. Security was quickly done, and then there was more time to be passed and light refreshments to be enjoyed. We secured a lovely window seat at the lovely Wondertree (I do adore that restaurant, I feel every time I go the vibe is good and the waiters exceptionally lovable) and had some light refreshments.

We would regularly go and check the departure board, and we weren’t massively surprised when the Estimated Time of Departure changed from 19:15 to 21:15. We wondered how many more light refreshment vouchers we could get, and Nicola went to find out while I kept our Wonderful Wondertree seats.

Nicola queued for about half an hour in a long queue at the BA desk, until the one sole receptionist there apologised to everyone and said she has to go on her break. All we would’ve got, apparently, was a £10 voucher, and now we knew we’d be due a whole lot more for a five-hour delay, so Nicola left the queue. She did chat to some fellow passengers, including a couple on their honeymoon who’d booked something important in Amsterdam for the following morning. And also including a woman who had been booked onto the 10:35am flight which was cancelled. Oh dear, we have no reason to complain, at least our flight isn’t CANCELLED. O_____0

During our wonderful stint at the restaurant, we also amazed over the lack of communication between BA and us and BA and the airport. I assume there was someone whose job was, er, COMMUNICATION, who had called in sick and no replacement was found.

I did suddenly remember a mysterious email we’d got earlier from BA that afternoon.

The subject was, I quote: “Confirmation of changes to Booking Reference: (my booking reference)”

The message goes, I quote: “This is confirmation of changes made to your British Airways booking. SUMMARY OF CHANGES: Provision of Advance Passenger Information for (my name). The changes were requested by passenger (my name).”

I’d quickly skimmed through it, figured it may have something to do with their request that we check in cabin bags, and ignored it. But maybe these changes were something to do with the delay, just without going as far to actually telling the passenger WHAT the changes were? Hmmmm. *reflective emoji*

So, a few more light refreshments later we decided to head towards our gate, 35. A far away gate, with a decent number of vaguely intoxicated-seeming passengers hovering around it (unsurprising I’d say, given the time of day and the hours of delay). The announcements for gate 35 were barely audible, while the announcements for gate 34 were booming loud and clear, especially in the toilets near gate 35. It was an entertaining situation.

We were in the last boarding groups, and eventually it was our turn to join the boarding queue. It was advancing, hooray.

Until it stopped.

“We’ve been told to wait, we don’t know why why we’ve been told to wait, but we’ve been told to wait,” explained the staff members, smiling warily.

Lolz.

A minute or two later, a neon-vested man appeared from the depths of the post-departure-gate-tunnel.

“I’m sorry to say this guys, but this flight is cancelled,” he said.

Apparently the reason was that we’d have been arriving in Amsterdam so late that all the baggage handlers would’ve already have headed home for dindins.

“If we departed now all we’d do is fly there and then get turned right back to Gatwick,” he said.

Okay.

What now?

It was a bit of a blur. The staff were helpful but uninformative, if that makes sense, which of course it doesn’t. They seemed rather perplexed and I assume they didn’t know anything more than we did. It seemed like we should book our own hotels and then claim it on BA later. It was a bit scary doing this, since, although it seemed rather evident that they SHOULD, obviously no staff member could say “I SWEAR ON MY MOTHER’S LIFE THAT B.A. WILL COMPENSATE YOU FOR ANY PRICEY HOTEL YOU FEEL OBLIGED TO SPLURGE YOURSELF UPON”.

Well, in the end we decided to take the plunge and we booked a plush hotel near Gatwick, before it got fully booked.

All in all, this was quite exciting for the time being. Yes, we’d been hoping we’d have been in Amsterdam by now, but at least I was with the main reason of this trip, my friend Nicola. We had each other. And an airport hotel would be quite an exciting new experience!

At some point (incidentally just as I’d decided that I may as well open my messy Cheese Ploughman’s sarnie since we’ll probably be here for a while, knowing fully well it would be quite a likely trigger for the universe to suddenly force us onto our feet – it’s the laws of karma or whatever innit, if you don’t want it to rain, take an umbrella) the man ushered us through some secret corridor back into Arrivals. No idea which luggage carousel ours’d be on, but we followed a Kiwi couple we’d been chatting to earlier who marched over – for no apparent reason – to the carousel in the far corner, and lo and behold, Nicola and I spotted our bags refreshingly quickly.

“Have you guys also been booked onto the 7am flight tomorrow?” the Kiwis asked us in passing.

Oh, cool, that’s nice quick work from BA! We checked our phones. Yes indeed. We had been rebooked onto the 7:35am flight for the following morning.

London City to Rotterdam.

Not London Gatwick and definitely not Amsterdam.

For the first time starting to sink into despair, I googled routes from Gatwick to London City Airport. A taxi would take one and a half hours, and probably would cost roughly one and a half years’ worth of wages. Public transport, on the other hand, would mean we’d have to leave our Gatwick hotel at the fresh hour of 2:30am.

Surely there’d be alternatives.

I started reading the small print in the email – how obliged are we to ACCEPT this rebooking, if it’s extremely inconvenient for us? I downloaded the BA app and it suggested other flights to me, like an attractive 16:10 on the 21^st of July from Gatwick to Amsterdam (aka same flight as now, just 24h later). I forced myself to overcome the discomfort of forcing myself upon a staff member who was claustrophobically surrounded by anxious passengers (“you mean we have to book our own hotels!?”) and ask whether I should book the new flight myself or check with someone in advance. “Phone customer service,” she told me.

Okay.

Again, not an exact promise of happiness.

I know what phone customer service is like.

But alas, only way out. I borrowed Nicola’s phone and was relieved to have to wait only a few minutes before a friendly Indian man answered the phone.

It was a LONG phone call. Not unpleasant, but LONG, as he went through great pains to confirm my reference number, my passport number, my whole name, my phone number, my address (which I may have first accidentally given him in Finnish), my flight number, the number of siblings I have, my second favourite chocolate, my eldest second cousin’s age and my first pet’s name (okay I may exaggerate), but lo and behold, I GOT MY FLIGHT CHANGED to the one I wanted it to.

HOORAY.

I told the friendly man (I mean, super-friendly, over the top friendly, what do you answer when he’s told you “Thank you for your patience.” for the twenty-second time?) I was travelling with a friend – we didn’t have a joint booking, but could he pretty please change her flight too?

Of course.

So, now it was Nicola’s time to list her pets’ names and godson’s favourite macaroni types to the friendly man. I tried to smile at her encouragingly – we were EXHAUSTED but this would be the last step, then it’s all over!

(Protip: Never believe my encouraging smiles.)

I sat in a dazed doze or a dozed daze, not quite sure, listening to the comforting repetitiveness of Nicola’s calm voice stating her details and saying “No problem” every ten seconds (as a response to friendly man’s frequent thank yous), finished my now-uncomfortably-soggy Cheese Ploughman’s, looking forward to a nice hotel bed, a nice rested morning tomorrow and a nice flight to Amsterdam in the afternoon.

Nicola’s phone call abruptly ended with her saying something like: “Oh, okay, that’s okay, bye.”

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Well, we went through all of it,” she said, looking a bit dazed, “but then he said there was an error and he couldn’t change the flight.”

Turned out that since she’d booked through a third party travel agent, the flight change has to be done via them.

So, she called the third party travel agent, who also replied nice and quick.

Third party travel agent told her they couldn’t do the change, that she’d have to go to a BA rep desk at the airport to get it changed.

Er, okay.

In slight despair now.

We mulled our options, idly watching the last anxiety-ridden fellow passengers trickle out of Arrivals. Now all that was left was a few staff members chatting casually – one had her handbag with her so I assume she may’ve been off duty already. Nicola had recognised her as the receptionist-who-went-on-a-break another lifetime ago, and so we decided we should make the most of still being at the airport, and ask her for tips.

“We have no BA rep desk at Gatwick, call BA customer service,” she said, her tone of voice convincingly confident, the content of her speech worryingly contradictory to previously gained information.  

“We did, they couldn’t do it,” we explained.

“Well they should,” she tut-tutted. She suggested the alternative of booking aka buying a completely new flight and then trusting BA would compensate it later on. Didn’t seem massively attractive.

Eventually I gently suggested Nicola try the BA customer service once more – it seemed a bit hopeless, but I have worked in phone-based customer service before and it is pure luck whether you get someone who actually knows what they’re talking about, or someone on their first day or on their last nerve.

And lo and behold, after a nerve-wracking rollercoaster of a phonecall, Nicola ended the call and told me that it was done. Apparently the flight I was booked on, the 4pm one, was fully booked, but she’d booked herself onto the 18:30 from Gatwick to Amsterdam. Okay, FAR better than her getting up in a few hours to catch public transport to fly London City to Rotterdam. She’d arrive in Amsterdam two hours after me, I’d happily wait at the airport for her and then head to the hotel together.

We headed to the plush hotel via the exciting Gatwick Terminal Shuttle, were very impressed with the glass lifts and funky shower, and settled happily in our beds, looking forward to a nice hotel breakfast and a chill day ahead of us.

Spoiler: Well, the hotel breakfast was nice.

***LOO BREAK ETC***

Day 2

After the nice hotel breakfast we decided to chill in the hotel lobby before ambling to the airport to get checked in for our flights – mine at 16:10, Nicola’s at 18:30.

I regularly checked the flight statuses of BA flights, and although mine at some point was delayed by half an hour, it all looked fine. Careful hope.

At around midday, I got an email from BA.

Ah, my flight has been cancelled. I was now rebooked onto the 6:35am flight from Gatwick for the next morning.

I stared at it, not really surprised.

What now?

After some more not-so-chill chill-time and some chats with friends, I figured we may as well go to the airport and see if the staff had any tidbits of advice for me. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s 18:30 flight was fully booked, otherwise they would’ve put me on that, but maybe, just maybe, they would have some loopholes…?

So, we ended up at the BA check-in counters, once again.

Explained the situation to the check-in people.

Ideally, if there’d be a way I could get a place onto the 18:30 flight with my friend, especially now that I’ve had not one but two cancelled flights…?

The check-in women looked warily at each other, pondering different options together both in loud voices and in indecipherable whispers. They told us that Nicola’s flight is indeed fully booked but they’ll see what they can do. One of them invited us to take a seat (some kind of First Class Waiting Area) and they’d get back to us.

So, we sat around. Nicola thought about getting a coffee, I sort of tried to suggest we get a coffee after this check-in faff is over – whatever the outcome, whether or not I get on the 18:30 flight or not, the one thing we did have was time.

Spoiler: I was very wrong.

After maybe twenty minutes, the first check-in woman approached us, phone in hand.

“I’ve booked you onto a flight to Amsterdam from London City, 17:05 but it’s delayed so 17:20. There’s another lady who was on the same cancelled flight who’s willing to split a cab with you to get there. You in?”

I ummed and ahhed, knowing I was being annoying, but it wasn’t exactly ideal, as the whole point of this was for me and Nicola to spend the maximum amount of time together. Also, of course, my trust in British Airways flights actually happening was rather low, and with the experience I recently had, what were the likelihoods of both mine and Nicola’s flights making it to Amsterdam!?

(Some days after our escapades BA sent me an email asking how they did on my flight, which I answered eagerly while waiting at the local Amsterdam chippie. They asked something like “How can BA be more environmentally friendly?” and I answered something on the lines of “I think you’re try to be too environmentally friendly with all those cancelled flights.”)

The staff member seemed to really encourage me to take up her offer, so I finally said okay. She seemed relieved, thrust a boarding pass into my hand (again with a nice exciting time-warp in it: Gate closes 17:10, flight departs 17:05) and procured my new travel companion from behind some hidden obstacle.

My new travel companion, she too, ironically was travelling with someone booked onto the 18:30 flight. (They were flying from St Lucia and doing a flight transfer in London, and if I understood correctly, she trusted she’d make it onto the 16:15 flight while her companion decided to play it safe and book the 18:30.) I had asked the BA staff if they could just change so that either Nicola and I would both go to London City or both stay in Gatwick, since we were two sets of two people travelling together, but apparently that would’ve been too tricky for the system.

My new travel companion seemed quite anxious about time, and even though I was still pretty chill – I mean, it was only early afternoon, and our flight left late afternoon, I of course made sure to catch up.

Quick goodbye hug to Nicola, vaguely wondering if I’d ever see her again, and off I jogged, trying to keep up with my new travel companion.

We arrived at the taxi rank, made the newbie mistake of going to try and chat to the taxi drivers themselves, who, mouths full of lunchtime sandwiches, told us to go inside to the taxi desk.

So, go we did.

There was a couple waiting somewhere near the taxi desk.

“Are you in queue?” I asked.

“Yes, but they’re not listening to us,” said the lady in a melancholy voice, nodding towards the men behind the desk.

Okay, promising.

Well, anyhoos, turned out they did start listening quite quickly, and then it was our turn. Taxi from Gatwick to London City would cost £144. Want one?

Yeah okay.

Within a minute or two there was suddenly a man shouting “Emma!!”, which was for me, and the two of us were taken to a taxi outside by a white-haired cheery taxi driver. He chucked our bags in the back, we sat down and off we went.

In the taxi we exchanged travel stories and discussed Amsterdam plans (she had an event she was going to this evening, hence her special hurry).

“What’s your name by the way?” I asked my travel companion, sat on the backseat.

“Noelle.”

“I’m Emma.”

“And I’m Phil!” piped up the taxi driver.

It seemed like a fun, nice atmosphere.

“So, how long is it to London City?” I asked.

(Though in retrospect I realise my dimness, as I had checked it just the previous evening. Or maybe I was just trying to make conversation. Or maybe it was my subconscious trying to persuade myself I’d misread the travel time last night.)

“One and a half hours,” he said.

I was vaguely aware it was around 3pm now. But only when I did chance a look at his satnav, I realised how pressed for time we actually were. Current ETA: 16:25. I was still a bit unsure whether our flight was due to leave 17:05 or 17:20, but in any case, we were cutting it quite fine. I decided I’d skip trying to check in my bag, and just take it into the cabin.

“We’ll be fine,” I said.

“I see you’re a glass half-full type of girl,” said Phil.

It was an interesting ride. In a hurry, but Phil, of course, drove professionally and calmly, and we discussed various aspects of our lives. The previous week Phil had been asked to drive all the way to New Quay, and we were entertained by the confusion of different New Quays and the angles the sun sets, as it turned out Phil was talking about New Quay in Cornwall and I was talking about New Quay in Wales. Also some of Phil’s colleagues have driven to Paris, Belgium, even Spain. I made a point of not reflecting on the price tags of trips like that.

I was entertained – and tbh, a tad worried – when we found ourselves upon various backroads in various non-central places like Sidcup. Phil explained his satnav is very clever, and it’s taking us this way coz there’s congestion on the motorways.

“It’s never taken me exactly THIS route though,” he pointed out, but then added cheerfully: “But well, my satnav has never failed me.”

He’d mentioned earlier that we’d be taking the Black-something tunnel to get to London City, but as we ventured further and further into the obscure backroads he said, sounding amazed: “Oh, it’s taking us the Woolwich ferry route!”

The Woolwich ferry is a ferry that connects two sides of the Thames. I was super excited, wondering whether I can get out on the ferry and take pics etc, omg what an adventure!

I took an excited picture of the London transport sign saying RIVER and then point-blank tried to summon up all my subconscious to ignore the blazing notice board blinking at us in large letters “ONE BOAT ONLY ONE HOUR DELAY”.

“I don’t know what that means,” said Phil, and I pretended not to notice.

He did a little circle around the area.

“I don’t know what that means,” he said again, then found a dude.

“One hour delay, next ferry’s at 5, wait or not?” said dude.

Obviously 5 is when we should be sat on the plane about to depart, so Phil opted for not, and the dude bade us a good day as we whooshed away.

Turns out satnavs don’t get updated on Woolwich ferry delays.

Of course I’d contemplated the idea of missing the flight already earlier, but I figured there’d be no way I’d actually miss it unless something in security went catastrophically wrong. Sure, I’d miss my final pee and my final English Meal Deal, but alas sometimes sacrifices must be made.

But now it hit me that we were probably actually going to miss our flight.

New ETA, according to Satnav, 17:01.

And let me remind you, our flight was still officially departing at 17:05.

“I’m quite worried now,” said Phil.

We paid for the taxi in the car itself, me hand-writing the receipts for both me and Noelle, and cack-handedly holding the card-machine for Noelle while Phil occupied the steering wheel. With the payment done, that was one time-consuming bit out of the way, and Phil told us the airport is really small, but life still wasn’t looking promising.

Eventually we arrived at London City Airport at exactly 17:00. We burst out of the taxi, grabbed our bags, and ran.

I knew Noelle had no hope, since she had to check in her large suitcase.

But maybe I stood a chance.

I ran ran ran through to security. Blissfully the staff around were telling everyone loudly to keep their liquids, computers etc in their bags, they don’t need to be taken out. I got to security, summoned a staff member to whom I pleaded: “My flight leaves in like five minutes, can I jump the queue?”

He looked at his watch and let me through.

I was nothing but One Giant Jitter. It was interesting to live through, and interesting to reflect upon in retrospect. I was literally hopping up and down and talking to myself in desperation, not caring a tiniest hoot to what other people must think of me. It’s like being drunk or very tired – suddenly you just don’t have the brain capacity to be self-aware.

I put my luggage in two security, what are they called? Containers? Drawers? The online dictionary suggests casseroles, I don’t think so.

I went through security.

I didn’t beep.

Hooray.

I rushed to await my bags in my jittery state, waiting for my security casseroles to come thru. I spotted an announcement board nearby, and I saw the top flight being AMSTERDAM, British Airways, departing 17:something, GATE CLOSING LAST CALL. I was pretty sure it was gate 10, but asked a staff member to confirm just in case. Yes, we saw it pop up again, Amsterdam gate 10.

The staff member, to whom also I explained my predicament, told me that if one of my security casseroles goes onto the to-be-checked side, to let him know.

My first security casserole came thru down the right lane, hooray.

My second security casserole was transferred onto the to-be-checked-lane, oh poop.

Ferociously I gestured to the security dude, who whispered something to another security dude, who then went to fetch my bag. For one preposterous moment I thought they’d just give me my bag without checking, but I guess I was relieved when he said he’d have to open my bag, if that’s okay.

Sure, sure, sure.

The liquids were fine, he assured me, it’s just there were scissors.

Yes I knew there were scissors. The scissors had been noted on my previous flight, but the security people measured them and assured me they were small enough to be taken on board.

One pair of scissors found.

Second pair, found.

“I’m just going to have to swab your bag for you, Ma’am,” he said (I don’t know if he actually called me Ma’am, but for sake of story, let’s say he did), proceeding to perform said swab, infuriatingly slowly but reassuringly professionally.

He asked me what gate I was, I told him 10. He gave me nice and clear instructions how to get there. “Turn left here, and right at Boots, and it’s all the way at the end.”

As he finished swabbing, he looked at me.

“Can you run, ma’am?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good.”

And off I went.

Let me tell you, Boots came quickly but the final stretch was LETHAL. I guess I ran from gates 1 to 10, with a cumbersome backbag and a broken-wheeled wheely bag. Trust me, I have not run to that intensity for… er, EVER? (And I do do a decent amount of sports in my free time!!)

By gate 5 I was pretty much done for. 6… 7… Okay we’re past half-way… 8… 9…

Finally, dying and spluttering I arrived at gate 10, ominously manned by one single staff member.

“Amsterdam?” she said, clearly understanding the gravity of efficient time usage.

“Yes.”

“They’ve closed the doors already,” she said as I handed her my boarding pass, “but I’ll see if I can still get you in.”

A brief, potentially hopeful microsecond.

Then:

“Oh, it seems you’re not on this flight.”

I did not understand.

“You’re gate 4,” she said.

Still not understanding, I thanked her and died a little bit more speed-galumphing all the way back to gate 4 (oh I do enjoy a bit of inventive thesaurus usage).

Again, manned by a single staff member, arms akimbo (not quite sure if she was actually, but I like to say it), saying to me, a bit snappily “You’ve missed it, the doors are closed, I was calling out your name.” I begged her to find a loophole (I think I even assured her “I’m fast!”) but she obstinately shook her head, telling me to go and talk to her colleagues at gate 2b. By now I was finally in the tears that had been a long time in the making, and, completely resigned to my fate, made my way to gate 2b.

My pathetic tear-sprouting face quickly found sympathy from a friendly staff member at gate 2b, to whom I explained my predicament to. She did some typing and whizzing on her machine, and then handed me a boarding pass. “All the flights to Amsterdam are fully booked,” she said, “but I booked you onto a flight to Rotterdam for this evening.”

Alas, London City to Rotterdam, we’ve come full circle.

This flight was due to depart at 19:45, so I had a few hours to update Nicola, feel even more sorry for myself while watching not one but two Amsterdam-bound planes take off, enjoy a Meal Deal and realise once again that, even sponsored by BA, a Salted Caramel Pistachio Frappe with Whipped Cream on Top is still not my thing, despite its alluring appeal in pictures.

I also found out the explanation to the utterly perplexing confusion between the gates. I was SURE it said Gate 10.

And it did.

The thing is, my flight was the 17:something (I never did learn what time it officially left) to Amsterdam. BA.

Turns out there was also an earlier BA flight to Amsterdam. It was due to leave at 3pm, but it had been delayed by two hours. TO DEPART AT SEVENTEEN BLOODY SOMETHING.

So by pure, ridiculous coincidence, there were two BA flights leaving for Amsterdam at the same time, and obviously when I’d checked the flights board in my crazed state it didn’t even CROSS my mind that the top flight, GATE CLOSING LAST CALL TO AMSTERDAM, would not have been mine.

For a while I was dischuffed with myself for depicting such narrow-mindedness, but now I embrace and stand by my limited-capacity thought processes. Sure, maybe next time I find myself in a similar situation I will think to check the entire notice board in case of preposterous coincidences like this, but alas, I won’t be flying BA anymore so I won’t be in similar situations anymore. *angel emoji*

A few hours later I was sat on my London City to Rotterdam flight, enjoying a white chocolate Reese’s peanut butter cup and a window view from my window seat from the quaintly small and very empty plane flying over London. All in all, London City was a cool airport, a cool experience, reminded me of Madeira with its daintiness and proximity to water. Very atmospheric.

And that’s that. From Rotterdam airport my ongoing journey was smooth, aided by amiable Dutch or Dutch-minded people pointing me in the right direction or giving me advice. Bus to Meijersplein metro, metro to Rotterdam Centraal, train to Amsterdam Centraal, metro to Amstel station.

With my sporadic wifi I was able to be in touch with Nicola – her flight was delayed but not cancelled, plus she had some delays with baggage claim afterwards, but all was good in the end.

I appeared at our Amsterdam hotel at about midnight, and was telling the receptionist how I was travelling with my friend but she’s not here yet, we’re the ones who were meant to have arrived yesterday (or two days ago, depending on which side of midnight we actually were on). I had just showed her Nicola’s phone number as proof that I actually knew her, when I saw someone at the hotel front door and who was it to enter but my beloved NIIIIIICOLAAAAA. The reunion was happy and coincidentally made it as “top moment of the holiday” for both of us, filling in my holiday questionnaire independently of each other.

So, 28 hours later, 2 cancelled flights (3 if you count Nicola’s), 1 missed flight, 6 rebooked flights, but we were in Amsterdam, where we were meant to be.

Hooray!

I’ve just sent BA my compensation claims. Providing I get compensated for everything I requested, the saddest consequence of this escapade was this: I’m pretty sure I left my beloved pencil case in Phil’s taxi. I remember I’d taken it out in the taxi to take out a little hand cream I had in it – just so I had all my liquids definitely in one place. And I’ve made a point of ALWAYS looking back to wherever I was sitting, in case I left anything but, well, this time we were kind of in a hurry.

Sigh.

That pencil case had a lot of important stuff in it and a lot of sentimental value, it had accompanied me in life since 2012.

I’ve submitted a lost property claim, but we’ll see.

Also, I’m trusting that the compensation journey won’t be too too smooth, either.

But for now, all that needs to be done is done, and I can tick off new items off my bucket list.

EXPERIENCE A CANCELLED FLIGHT, TICK, being the main one.

And the main lessons learnt, here me out all ye travellers out there:

1. When travelling with someone, do a joint booking.
2. Do not use third party travel agents.
3. And most importantly: DO NOT FLY B.A.

According to my flight attendant friend, “they do have a reputation”.

I refuse to judge without experiencing something for myself, and alas I shall judge now.

Hope you enjoyed joining me on my adventure.

Emzy

Xxx