The long day

[Actually, this is yesterday's post but since I did not yet have a chance to post it, you all get it today! :-) Today's post hopefully tomorrow. Call it the time difference...]

Here I am, sitting in my Accra hotel room. And what a journey it has been. Did you ever have one of those days where you just felt the universe had it in for you? Where you feel like a rag doll tossed about my some invisible hand? Like that little ball in a pinball machine, taking hit after hit after hit? I have, and today was one such day.

My beef with Heathrow airport and British Airlines is not new. There is a reason I avoid these conjoint twins as much as I can. Yet again, they have done nothing to convince me otherwise. As I am still without internet access in my new home I had to check in the old-fashioned way, that is: at the airport. I arrived two hours before my flight and was dealt the first hammer blow of the day when the BA lady with a completely deadpan face informed me the flight was overbooked and she did not have a seat for me. No explanation, no apologies and…no seat! I was referred to the service desk (if ever there was irony in a name) where I found myself surrounded by dozens of others with the same problem. This business of overbooking is a nasty practice and one that I deeply feel should be made illegal. It just will not do that you pay for a flight only to find yourself barred from getting on it. At least misery makes company so I managed to make my first Ghanian friend before even getting to Ghana but still. It was an agonising wait, praying a seat would free up. I have to admit I played it dirty. I pulled the I’m-on-important-business -and-have-to-get-there-now rabbit out of my hat and so managed to get on the priority list. I scraped by by the fingernails when just enough volunteers came off the flight for me to be able to take that last seat. The mad dash through security that followed did not leave me any time to buy lunch, get cash or let alone buy a travel adaptor.

Although I was thankful to have a seat I didn’t exactly win the best seat in the house. I was assigned a place in the row reserved for passengers with small children. That means 9 people in a row of 6 chairs, 3 of whom are under the age of 3. Starting to get the picture? I spent 7 hours seated next to a woman with a 2-month-old baby that was being breast fed for at least three of those hours. The highlight came when his mother happily informed me her son had just peed on her trousers. If karma exists I clearly must have done something really bad at some point in my life because the day spiralled down further from there. Picture white linen trousers and an ill-advised bottle of red wine…. Got it? Now add in sunglasses snapped in half and a camera and voice recorder that have miraculously disappeared from my luggage. Feeling exhausted already? I sure am. Sigh. It has been a long, long day.

But now here I am at last: in Accra. I haven’t seen much more than the airport and the hotel so you will all have to wait before I can tell you anything other than that it is pretty hot. Greetings from Accra!

Heathrow hell

Aah, no better way to start the holidays then with a nice weekend break! I have just come back from a few wonderfully relaxing days in Switzerland (the one in Europe, not the Central Asian cousin just yet). It was beautiful. Fresh snow upon my arrival meant that we even got to spend a day enjoying the slopes, whereas yesterday I spent the whole day strolling around Zürich basking in the sun. That's the life! It was a great way of recharging the batteries before facing those long weeks of study ahead of me.

They say you have to take the bad with the good. The bad in this case then would definitely be Heathrow Terminal 2. I don't normally fly out of Heathrow, mainly because it doesn't get those bright orange planes. London Gatwick is my airport of choice. It is closest by and has plenty of affordable flights. Unfortunately the orange people have had some difficulty breaking into the Swiss market so a Swiss airlines flight out of Heathrow it had to be. I was stunned! Heathrow T2 was built in the '50s and by the looks of it, it hasn't so much as seen a paint brush since. There is also something really disturbing about the check-in hall. The ceiling is so low you get the impression they actually forgot to include this floor in the original design. Then when somebody finally noticed the omission they split one of the levels in half. Truely claustrophobic. Everything about that place feels so hopelessly outdated, improvised and just generally inefficient.

Going through security is your basic comtemporary airport nightmare. At Heathrow, security checks are done before entering the departure lounge so everybody has to join the same endlessly meandering queue. Clearing security itself has these days become a rather embarrassing experience, especially if you travel with carry-on luggage only. The transparent zip-lock bag for your liquids allows your fellow travellers to scrutinise exactly what brand of toothpaste you use and how many tubes of facial cream and war paint it takes to keep you looking presentable. As if you weren't feeling exposed enough not only do you have to remove the usual coats and jackets but they also make you take off your shoes. If only I had remembered to buy some new socks.... Then while your luggage is scanned for explosives and pointy objects, some big burly security woman gets to feel you up. By the time you reach the departure lounge you feel strangely violated.

Thankfully after all that humiliation I could put myself in the hands of the Swiss who reassure you in no less than 4 languages that all will be well and you should just sit back and eat your chocolate. The plane arrived right on time with proverbial Swiss precision. The airport looked smooth and spotless. Within minutes I was outside. Time to let the "Zwitserlevengevoel" begin!