Is Patience Still Waiting? Part II

... After us passengers had been herded like sheep to be told our flight was canceled, we went through the arrival gates to collect our traumatised luggage. Having told our suitcases they'd get to travel, you will understand that we needed to take time to gently reveal the sad truth to them - what a way to burst a suitcase's bubble! Back at the front of the aiport (if we can even call a building of that size an airport), my phone buzzed and "home" was waiting for me to answer. After explaining what had happened, I was instructed to go complain and claim a refund of some sort. Knowing my love for confrontation, I was absolutely thrilled at the idea of quarrelling with people who didn't have anything to do with the flight's cancellation. I gathered all the strength and courage I had, subtly lay hand on my cautiously concealed double-edged sword (ready to strike in case of eventual discord), assuredly stood at the door of the Customer Services ... and vaguely protested - ah, how I wish the earth would just open up and swallow me whole in those situations. I didnt get a refund for anything, not even for the 20 pounds I had to pay for the excessive amount of scones and pop tarts I had bought to bring back to my family. All that quiet complaining to no avail, not to mention the wasted hours spent rigorously planning my spectacular sword fight.

A small queue had started to form behind me, people were obviously following my great example, only hoping to be more sucessful than me and knowing how to, most probably. As I turned away from the Customer Services, defeated, I heard someone ask me whether I was going to take a taxi back to Canterbury - in French. Startled, I hastily tried to decipher how this individual had figured out I spoke French. I realised the tag on my suitcase (which had, by then, recovered from the trauma) indicated that I lived in Switzerland - this was the crucial clue that had led to the disclosure of my identity. Beware of suitcase tags. I thought, "well well, in this foreign land I am stranded in, why not speak French, I'll be half way closer to home this way, perhaps" and seized the opportunity to converse with this young French teacher, who had also hoped on going back home for the Christmas holidays. In his typically French cynicism (forgive the slight stereotype), he commented on the flight's cancellation, which was rather amusing. My friend Caroline, who came to the rescue, drove both of us back to the quaint town of Canterbury and on the next morning, I saw my new friend as we drove back to our beloved Manston-ian haven, in the early hours of the morning.

We were welcomed back into the airport by a woman dressed in a bright yellow glow-in-the-dark-type outfit, who cheerfuly informed us that the flight to Geneva we were to take had already been delayed. We drowned our sorrows in watered-down coffee and tried to appease our restlessness with muffins. When the single check-in desk finally opened, we kissed our suitcases goodbye and promised not to deceive them again. After discussing many topics such as politics (an invigorating issue to be thinking about at the crack of dawn, may I point out) we finally left the lounge behind, walked out into the fresh air and were led to the stairs to board the aircraft, ticket in hand. The promise of home knocking louder; an approximate hour away.

The sun rising as we flew out was beautiful, and the view over the Alps was breath-taking. Worth all the delays and complications. To my surprise, he was as excited as I was about the fact that the sight of the mountains, majestically standing at arm's length, was so dazzling. He took out his digital camera and saw the world through his lense until we flew through the clouds and into the city. To pay tribute to his awe, I thought it fair to post one of his pictures.

Life is full of strange occurences, which happen for unknown reasons. But out of all this, I now know Manston airport inside out, I spent hours waiting for a plane humored, instead of bored, I've got pretty pictures of the Alps, I can talk to you about politics at the crack of dawn, I beat my record at being social in the morning, I bonded with my suitcase, I got practice at confrontation, I learned that suitcase tags can give you away ... and then some.