Winter Vacation: Things Get Interesting
Tuesday morning dawned cold but clear. Richard and I were scheduled to leave at 2:30 PM the following day, and I spent the morning doing a little laundry and getting us all packed and organized for our trip. Cathy had two harp students in the morning, so she was in her studio above the garage teaching until noon. Richard had a hankering for one final pub lunch at the local pub, The Butcher’s Arms, so he proposed that when Cathy was all done, we’d walk over. Rob was always up for a visit to The Butcher’s Arms, so we happily settled down with our books to wait for Cathy.
As we waited, clouds moved in. Oh well. There had been a prediction of some light snow showers that were supposed to move out by tomorrow morning. So we weren’t too concerned, even when some light snow began to fall. However, as the morning passed, the snow went from light to heavy. And it began to stick.
As I mentioned in my earlier post, “Winter Vacation: Christmas in the Shire,” England rarely gets snow. The Gulf Stream swings northward from the Gulf of Mexico through the Northern Atlantic, bringing warm water and warm air to the British Isles and moderating the winter weather considerably. Even though surrounding European countries get snow every year, England, normally, gets rain all winter long. If you didn’t need to invest in equipment to deal with snow, why would you? It’s expensive. And except for the snow that fell last year, the last time it snowed in England was more than thirty years ago.
We knew that Rob and Cathy didn’t have snow tires or chains for their cars. And we had been reading about the grit shortage that several weeks of snow and below-freezing temperatures had created, so that secondary and tertiary roads were not getting salted and sanded. Grit supplies were being reserved, now, for major routes. Soon, Rob, Richard, and I were all standing at the window, watching the snow pile up with increasing dismay. My intuition told me that this was not going to let up any time soon, not even tomorrow morning, and that if we were going to get to Heathrow, now was the time. 
Fortunately, Richard and I were all packed, so the minute Cathy was finished with her students, we called an airport hotel and made reservations for all of us, in case Cathy and Rob weren’t able to make it back that evening, and piled into the car. It was white-knuckle driving until we got to the main road. We had to drive out of the valley in which their village was nestled and we couldn’t stop on any hills, lest we lose our momentum. The most nerve-wracking move was having to make a righthand turn (like making a left here, across two lanes of traffic) on a blind curve and hill that generally had quite a bit of traffic on it. If we accidentally pulled out in front of someone, they wouldn’t have been able to stop on the snow and ice.
But we finally made it (whew!) and got onto the main route to Heathrow, which was backed up going the other direction for miles and miles. In our direction, however, the traffic was moving briskly, and soon we were driving in completely clear weather. We hoped that this boded well for our flight tomorrow. Cathy and Rob dropped us off at our hotel and we said our goodbyes, feeling sad that we were going to miss our last evening together, but they knew they needed to get back on the road or they might have a hard time getting home, despite the clear weather here (they barely made it, in fact). One thing that impressed me more than any other time we have visited here, was the breadth and depth of microclimates in England. 
So Richard and I checked in, a little unnerved by the signs that went up in the lobby after we arrived saying that a major winter storm was predicted to hit the next day and that travelers should check in with their airline before going to the airport. Well, things had gone so well up until now, we hoped that our luck would hold. So we crossed our fingers. I got settled in the room while Richard went to get our boarding passes on one of the hotel computers. He barged into the room not long after, an odd expression on his face.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said grimly, picking up the phone to call British Airways.
Actually, things were more than okay. For some reason, we had been upgraded from coach to business class. This filled us with an incredible amount of glee as I had flown business class once before when my brother generously used some of his frequent flier miles to upgrade my ticket to England when I came to visit Cathy one year. I knew how nice it was going to be. This had the effect of deepening our conviction that luck was riding with us. So we slept well that night, checked on our flight before taking the shuttle bus the next morning, and saw that, yes, we were scheduled to leave for San Francisco on time.
When we arrived at the airport, our flight was still listed as departing on schedule, so we checked our bags (the underwear bomber had struck by then so that we couldn’t take as much carry-on as we could when we arrived), delighted to be able to check in at business class where the lines were much shorter, and reassured to see a “Priority” sticker going onto each one of our bags. We went through security and then Richard suggested we find one of the lounges that business class travelers are entitled to use at the airport. When we got there, I was both amazed and frustrated, realizing what comfort and sustenance is available to those who can afford to buy such tickets, and knowing that, unless we lucked out again sometime in the future, this would not be available to us again. We selected a couple of comfy upholstered chairs and sat down, then looked around to get the lay of the land. All kinds of tasty food and drink were available, for free (well, if you don’t count the $8000 that the actual ticket would have cost), and there were free newspapers to read, from all over the world. There was free Internet access, too, on computers set up for patrons. Richard got himself a latte, while I got a cup of hot chocolate and a UK Telegraph to read, and we settled in for the wait. At one point, I went to use the lavatory, and found a clean, spacious room with not only a toilet, but a bidet, as well as art hanging on the wall. Oh, and some nice, lavender-scented soap and some hand cream as well.
Damn! It was going to be really hard to go back to steerage! But for today, we just reveled in our good fortune. Around noon, I helped myself to some hot soup, salad, cheese, and bread, while Richard got himself a bowl of chicken curry and rice. We would occasionally catch each other’s eye and beam, thoroughly enjoying this entirely new airport experience.
Soon it was time to go to our gate for boarding. Around at this time, we started to get an inkling that all was not well. We chatted with some people sitting near us, a young English woman who was getting her PhD at U C Berkeley, and a cute couple from San Francisco who seemed to have some knowledge of what was going on at the airport that we didn’t have. A number of flights had been delayed for quite some time, and we watched the snow piling up as we waited, feeling that every minute was starting to count in terms of getting out of here. We didn’t see many snow plows in evidence, and we didn’t see many planes taxiing out to the runways. 
Of course, because of the frigging fucking underwear bomber, security had to be beefed up. The new regulations were that everyone’s carry-on had to be gone through by hand, and everyone had to be patted down. But because this was so new, the airport hadn’t had a chance to get their procedures in place and they started the security at the normal time that the flight would board, about a half-hour before. An announcement came on saying that first and business class passengers should go back to their respective lounges (I can only image how opulent the first class lounges must be) and that we would be called when it was time.
I felt a little guilty leaving everyone in coach to shuffle through those long lines, but it sure was nice to go up to the comfy lounge where we settled our nerves with a glass of wine. And some more cheese. We could actually sit and look down on our gate, so as soon as we saw the lines dwindling, we headed down. Got frisked. Boarded the plane and sank into our wide, comfortable seats where we were immediately offered a glass of champagne or orange juice (we chose the champagne), and started familiarizing ourselves with the media offerings. I was happy to find that the headphones in business class were adjustable enough to fit me.
At this point, we were two hours past our departure time. The pilot came on to say that we were in line to be de-iced. A flight attendant came around and gave us a packet of cashews. We drank some more champagne. We made our dinner selections from a menu that came around. I chose the Scottish lobster while Richard picked a beef dish. More time passed. The pilot stopped coming online with updates. They turned the video screens on since we were spending so much time on the ground and I tried to watch Julie and Julia; but I was becoming distracted by the growing suspicion that things were starting to go south and by the fact that the speech coach for the film apparently didn’t see fit to correct the Julie character’s pronunciation of “boeuf” from “boof” to the correct French pronunciation, which is something closer to “berf.” It didn’t help that the script called for the actress to say “Boof bourguignon” about seven times in the space of a minute, with a blissed-out expression both on her face and in her voice. But the fact that this ridiculously petty issue was bothering me so much was, I think, a cover for my growing feeling of doom.
All of a sudden, the flight attendants were serving us tea, since we’d been grounded for so long without eating. This came with all kinds of yummy sandwiches and fresh scones and pastries. Much appreciated. And then, no sooner had we finished tea than they were frantically serving dinner. Confused, we started to refuse since we were full, but the attendants told us we wouldn’t get dinner at all if we didn’t have it then. So we gobbled down our dinner, now five-and-a-half hours past our departure time, and then, the next thing we know, the pilot came on the sound system to tell us the flight had been cancelled.
What?? Shit!!!!!!
Attendants were throwing forms at us, informing us that we would have to go back through immigration once we de-planed. We tried to get off the plane as quickly as we could, but we were prevented from de-boarding until every first class passenger had gotten off, the flight attendant in first class stopping to kiss passengers on both cheeks as they exited. Finally, we were able to de-board to the terminal.
And there, complete and utter chaos awaited … .
Above: Wintry scenes from our journey to the airport.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010