29th June 2015
During the 48ish hours it took me to get home this weekend, I took notes. If something struck me as particularly interesting, I would reach into my pocket for the phone with the fluid speed and intent of a determined experienced cowboy. A brief, infuriating, amusing or soul destroying moment would be billeted before the weapon was slung back into its holster resting patiently, calmly awaiting the next shot. In some ways, I wish now that I hadn’t, they act as a rather painful reminder.
It started with a slight delay. At 1am, I decided to get an ice cream to soften the annoyance. The boarding desk was under siege, assailed with people already annoyed due to potential problems with connections. I raised my eyebrows, unnecessary, I thought; smug, you might call me, I didn’t mind, the ice cream was delicious.
Doubt started to creep in when they issued vouchers and the delay, although as yet still a vague and ignored whooping great elephant in the room was not yet explained or clarified. Deducing that this was going to extend a tad, I watched the ensuing stampede of people heading for Burger King waving their vouchers and moving en mass but quickly, rather like those old cartoons where the main body of people would stay still but the legs would be going like the clappers in time to the crazy arse cartoon music. Whilst I was tempted to visit the great BK for a spicy bean burger dessert, there was no way I was going to battle the elbows and inevitable angst that a free food queue in Pudong airport would undoubtedly inspire. I wouldn’t indulge – didn’t really need to, I reasoned, as the intention was to pop a sleeping pill as soon as we were on the plane so hunger wouldn’t factor.
We boarded. We sat on the plane for four hours although I didn’t really notice as I was asleep, the previously mentioned sleeping pill doing the trick (although I told my friend the day after that there was no need for the medicinal assistance as I’d just started reading his new book – oh the wit! It was before my will was broken, my hope dashed and my patience shot).
Suddenly we were disembarking. Shit! In my sleep interrupted hazy state I was sort of floated to a queue at passport control where the cloud diluted and realisation set in: I was going through passport control to enter the airport again! I somehow found my way to another queue, innocently following a small crowd that seemed to know where they were going; collected my bag and emerged, blinking, confused with a crowd surrounding a solitary harrassed Etihad representative who was telling everyone to get on to coaches but with no suggestion as to where or why we were doing so. It was about 5.30 am. I was on my way to a hotel in Shanghai, not able to go home to my flat as we didn’t know when the next flight was.
On the bright side we were allowed to indulge in the hotel breakfast. I joined two burly gentlemen – one German, one Russian, where we speculated through coffees, noodles and cheese, making full use of the spread. A quick nap, shower and 27 Etihad emails later, I was on another coach, (the first one of five – my new friends being the perfect people to ensure safe and prompt, unimpeded access to the front of the queue). I checked in, was guaranteed lounge access when in Abu Dhabi as my rearranged flight meant that I had 8 hours there. Fair, I thought – until I got there and it didn’t happen. Although, I get ahead of myself here, nothing about this vast journey home was that quick or simple.
Still in Pudong, I was through immigration, I was through security, I was back at the departure gate… When I found myself presented with another Burger King voucher four hours later, I declined and went to the airport bar. The disappointing descent of optimism was unlikely to fix itself with another queue, only red wine would pacify. From my elevated yet crushed position, I watched the scene before me, worryingly similar to the night before: the man slumped, arms crossed over his chest, black thick rimmed glasses efficiently tucked into his collar, exactly the same position as the night before; the same baby crying, the same mother ignoring the same child and the same man – desperately optimistic or stupid? – standing rigid at pole position for boarding.
Eventually, and again, a little hazily, we boarded. We sat on the Tarmac for five hours. Not fun. And very hot. What else can I say?
Still, to Abu Dhabi we were headed eventually and while watching a couple of movies – I’d forgotten how brilliant Strictly Ballroom is – we arrived. As we landed in Abu Dhabi, the feeling that I was somehow home was a surprise. Smells and colours that I immediately felt comfortable with wafted and enclosed me: a potent, heartwarming tonic. I sat, watching the planes as the Arabian sun rose over Tarmac and remembered the desert – my shoulders eased tentatively lower.
I thought my luck had changed when I got a brilliant seat for the Abu Dhabi to London leg. That was until 10 minutes in and the first baby started screeching. Three babies sometimes simultaneously, sometimes taking shifts, howled, bawled and keep me awake all the way home, literally ALL the way. I was ready to kill.
Got to the car hire desk: sorry, nothing we can do. You’ve lost 250 quid.
I had to get to the New Forest, I had a nephew’s fifth birthday party to attend! I needed another car and all they had was an Audi TT. Hmm, at least as I roared down the M3 the thrill kind of appeased me until I realised there was only 20km petrol left and what I was paying for one day was as much as a fiat 500 costs for two weeks.
Still, as I played pissed badminton with the folks at 9pm (so excited it was still light), after a fat roast and playdoh making session with my gorgeous boys; after chasing Taylor around and around the flower bed and taking Jake for a joyride in the TT, I think, tomorrow morning my mum will make me a fry-up like only she can; at least I’m home and at least I can have a bath. I have 5 weeks ahead of me where all of the above will turn into distant slightly irritating memories.
She went to Shanghai 