Flying home?

We left on Friday afternoon to fly back. At check-in they upgraded us and we skipped onto the plane, happy with our almost completely reclining seats for the night flight. Our connecting flight the next morning was delayed but, thanks to H´s super flier status, we settled into the business class lounge surrounded by our books and magazines. Then the flight was delayed and delayed and delayed and slowly rumours of more than just the snow stopping flights started to drift our way. So we spent Saturday night in a hotel and arrived at the airport hopefully on Sunday to take our flight, but it was not to be. So here I am, Monday morning, still at the airport for the third consecutive morning.

I go to the bar to get a glass of water with two ice cubes and a slice of lemon and think about how hard it is going to be to return to real life. Funnily enough being stranded at the airport is not that bad. We are in the business class lounge with endless access to coffee and snacks being provided regularly. I can tell you that the tuna sandwiches are the best I have tasted, the chicken sandwiches being less delicious and I have not even attempted the mystery seafood paste. We now know the passport control people, H is best mates with the elegant girl at the front desk and there is that sense of camaraderie that seems to come about in a crisis. Everyone tells their stories. There is the young Finnish couple who were delayed in Marrakesh and having made their way this far, are now fighting to get a flight home. An Argentinian family with two children have been in the lounge since Friday morning. "I am not even going to the gate until I have a confirmed place," the mother tells me, "I'll do violence if I do." There is a Portuguese couple of my parents´age trying to get to Latin America to start their grand tour who tell us their story through the husband. The wife adds little bits and pieces but I can´t understand her until her husband repeats it in a Spanishy form of Portuguese. A young Venuzuealan couple tell of a huge queue, una cola, to get to the hotels supplied by the airline and the Portuguese wife turns to her husband, "Una cola? Una fila, si?" and he nods. People make jokes about similarities to the Tom Hanks movie and the Argentinian mother tells about her 3 year old washing with little towelettes that usually get handed to you on the aeroplane, "It´s not even hygenic!" she says laughing.

So it looks like we will get back today. I like these temporary communities that spring up. I´ll miss it. There´s something attractive about living with so little and having such a simple goal - getting home. Maybe I should set up a little bar with ice and lemon slices on the kitchen counter at home. The hotel buffet breakfast will be a bit more of a challenge though in my usual 30 minute dash out the door in the mornings. And you know what else? For the very first time ever, I have been glad we do not have 2 little children to entertain in an airport over the weekend. Still, the search for their gateway into my world continues ...

Comments

[Becky]

I've always been amazed at how quickly people become close in these sorts of situations.

[My Reality]

I do hope you get home!