I’ve said it before and I will say it again, as unfortunately there is no way for me to avoid it: I hate flying.
However, the uncomfortable 13 hours in a cramped plane seat would have been worth it to then get off in London as planned and hop on over home. I watched the little “we are here” plane on the screen as it got closer and closer to our destination, and was almost thinking that it was actually going to happen, when all of a sudden it did a neat little u-turn and proceeded to circle over the Netherlands for a while before disappearing altogether as the actual plane landed in Dear Knows Where.
There were various muffled announcements about our snowy plight, but I didn’t manage to hear much as my ears had popped quite painfully, and also the announcements were all made in Korean first, which meant that all the Koreans reacted and talked when it was over, making the English translation difficult to hear, especially with broken ears.
They kept us in that horrible, dark tin can for hour after hour after hour, until my legs were throbbing with the agony of sitting in such a cramped space for upwards of 20 hours. Then they decided Heathrow wasn’t going to reopen after all, and herded us off the plane, which is when I discovered I was in Brussels.
I have been napping on a sleeping bag on the floor of a an airport terminal, which looks like a refugee camp. I am thirsty and can find no water. I am hungry, and did not get my promised food vouchers. Nor do I have any money. Nor can I find a cash machine. The only information I can find is a departures screen with about a million flights to Heathrow, all saying CANCELLED in pretty red letters. There are no staff whatsoever.
Flying sucks, and flying in winter apparently sucks even more. White Christmas? Bah, humbug. Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain…