This week, I have been working in Bergen, near Norway. Normally, I
view my trips to major European cities simply as a means to end and
after a while they all tend to blur into one unified major European
city. Same hotel room, same office, different people, same problems,
same computers, same restaurants with the same cashless transaction
mechanism.
Bergen, however, is different. The city is just beautiful. I love it.
Mountains, water, snow, history. Just stunning. If I didn't have ties,
I think I would seriously considering moving here full-time.
Although I flew out to Bergen on Sunday night on a direct flight from
Gatwick, limited availability meant I had to return via Schipol. My
latest commuting story begins at Bergen airport...
'Hi - do you think I should check this bag or carry it on the plane ?'
'Its entirely up to you, Sir. I can check your bag all the way through
to London.'
'OK. Great. So you're promising me that when I reach Heathrow, my bag
will also get there.'
'Well, we can only hope so, Sir.'
'OK. Thanks. I'll check it into the hold.'
'As you wish, Sir. Now, is there any way someone could have interfered
with this bag or placed items in it without your knowledge ?'
'Well, we can only hope not.'
As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately felt a pang of
regret, a twinge of remorse at cracking such a weak joke. This sense
of regret turned into blind panic, and total fear 10 minutes later
when I found myself in a windowless room, buried deep in the bowels of
Bergen airport.
'Henrick, some new latex gloves, please. Now, Sir, please to be
bending over.'
Anyway, after enduring the rather extended, lengthy and, err, in-depth
security checking procedure, I arrived in Amsterdam and managed to
navigate from C15 to D24 without further incident. It was quite easy.
You just move your Knight twice and castle on the Kings' side.
Irritatingly, there was yet another lightweight security check at the
entrance to gate D24. This took forever as the entire population of
China was on this short hop to London and were carrying suitcases,
coats, souvenirs, carrier bags, duty free goods and small, colourful
birds onto the plane rather than use the hold for some reason.
After waiting 25 minutes in the lengthy queue, I didn't really want to
be told rather disdainfully by the security guard: 'Sir, are you aware
you need to at the gate 30 minutes prior to departure ?'
'Yes - I am well aware of that. I was actually here at the gate 45
minutes prior to departure but are you aware I have been standing in
line for 25 minutes because you are so flipping slow ?'
Finally, I clear security and stand in yet another queue to board the
plane. My boarding card says I am right at the front handily
positioned in seat 2C in the luxury of business class.
Normally, I travel economy which is fair enough as the customer is
paying and the flights are only short hops within Europe. The business
travel flight booking system is similar to the Lottery Balls Selector.
You never quite know how it is programmed or what results it will
produce. Nor can you ever question its decision which is final.
However, for some reason, on this return trip to Bergen, the random
business travel flight booking system has elected to book me into
business class on both legs.
In fact, on the outward journey from Gatwick, this was a little
embarrassing. I was the only passenger on a half-empty plane so I was
privileged enough to have the sole, exclusive, undivided attention of
one, pretty air hostess all to myself.
Every 30 seconds, she would appear with a beaming smile: 'Champagne,
Sir ?, 'Hot towel, Sir ?', 'Another drink, Sir ?', 'Pretzels, Sir ?',
'Hot meal, Sir ?', 'Newspaper, Sir ?, 'Could I offer you a beer
perhaps, Sir ?' God, it was never ending. It was eerily reminiscent of
the 'Not The Nine O'Clock News'
sketch where Pamela
Stephenson invites an American Express customer 'Would you like to put
your head between them and go 'Bubble, bubble bubble ?'. Almost but
not quite.
I finally enter the plane and look at seat 2C which, oddly enough is
on the first row. However, this means there is no hook on which to
hang my coat and there is some metal fixture preventing me placing my
laptop under my seat. I start to panic and look towards the overhead
lockers. Inevitably, as this flight is completely full, so are the
overhead lockers.
There is a hanging cupboard to my right where coats and overflow
luggage has been stowed with some spare capacity so I quickly remove
my coat. In my rush, I forget that I am wired into my iTouch and the
my earphones are pulled out of my ears leaving wires dangling
everywhere. A helpful Dutch Gentleman interjects:
'Excuse me - but your ears are on the floor.'
Quick as a flash, I reply: 'Hey come on, My ears are pretty big but
they don't reach down that far.' He laughs. Nervously. The air
stewardess is now desperately trying to close the flight and do the
very important passenger count (2-4-8-11-15-17, doh, 2-4-8). She looks
my way and enquires: 'Excuse me, Sir but is that your laptop ?'. As I
am still embroiled in the continuing, unarmed struggle to disentangle
my ears from the iTouch and my coat, I look over and nod.
'Well I am sorry, Sir, but you have placed your laptop on top of the
the defibrillator so I will just have to find another place for it.'
Her tone implied I had committed a capital offence and I honestly
feared she was going to place my Lenovo T61 on the left wing of the
aircraft.
Finally, we sit down to be told in two languages (but not Chinese)
that the rush to board was all for nothing as now there is a small
problem with the navigation system which the engineer is coming fix
and then 'we will be on our way, flying to London'.
Time passes - we listen to music, we read papers, we look out of the
window looking for a laptop bag. An engineer in blue overalls arrives
and leaves, laughing and joking. I think I heard him say to the first
officer: 'Yes - if it happens again during the flight just reboot it.'
The smooth talking pilot announces: 'Ladies and gentlemen, the
navigation system is now fully operational so we will just have a 10
minute taxi to the runway and we will on on our way.'
I must have dozed off, tired after 4 days of intense work and a night
in a Bergen sports bar, drinking expensive Norwegian lager, watching
United somehow contrive to lose to a Championship side.
When I awoke, I stretched out, looked at my watch and glanced out of
the window to find we have arrived in London. I must have slept so
soundly I had even missed the descent and more importantly, my
complimentary bread roll, metal cutlery and glass of wine.
I unbuckled my seat belt when my well spoken neighbour informed me:
'We are still at Schipol. We haven't taken off yet. There is a problem
de-icing the plane.'
I buckled up again, grunted my appreciation and put wires into my
oversized ears. Eventually, another engineer popped down to the
aircraft equivalent of Halfords, a fresh aerosol can of de-icer
arrived and we taxied to join the rear of a lengthy queue of large
aircraft waiting to depart to various destinations.
Finally, we took off and I was able to enjoy my bread roll and glass
of wine. I arrived in London just an hour late. So did my bag and I
got home at 10:30pm - a full seven and a half hours after I had left
Bergen.
