Here's a short entry about my strange and very long series of flights from Costa Rica to Hong Kong. Not sure how long in the air total, but over twenty hours, on four planes.

I wrote this in Amsterdam airport:

Unexpectedly going back to England.

Bollocks.

International long distance economy flying is awful, an immense Victorian churning Machine of cogs and pulleys. To be caught up in it is always unpleasant. My connection in Amsterdam was missed, despite assurances from the airline about how unlikely this was when I bought the ticket. So I have been sent to Heathrow for a couple of hours, then onto a BA flight to Hong Kong. The up side is that the BA flight will be much preferable to a KLM one. The down side, and I can't decide how I feel about this, is that I am coming back to England. Feel sick that I will be a couple of hours from my family, and won't be able to see them. But should be entertaining to be back on English soil for a couple of hours. I really feel like I have no interest in spending more time in England, so now I will be able put that belief to the test.

Airline transfer staff must have one of the worst jobs in the world, it is one of those jobs where none of your customers are pleased to see you. The transfer desk meets people who are pissed off that they've missed their connection, and they get them when they are sleep deprived and have no one else to complain to. Yet the transfer desk have very little power: they can't really do anything except put someone on the next flight, and I can't imagine that satisfies anyone's thirst for retribution. Really, the airlines should employ a fat old man to sit in front of the transfer desk. He should cackle what every jilted passenger suspects anyway, "Ha! By running my planes too close together, I make more profits, who cares if you suffer! Heh heh!?" He should probably be eating steak in mushroom sauce while saying this. People could line up and punch the old man in the face, and then, tension dispelled, move on to the transfer desk and get given another flight onwards.
I was particularly unimpressed by my transfer staff, as when I explained that I wasn't happy with what had happened, the woman behind the desk starting essentially saying it was my fault for choosing an odd out of the way destination like Hong Kong, and my fault for having such a short connection time. I raised my voice, which comes surprisingly if you haven't slept properly, and pointed out several key facts that undermined her view of the situation. But shouting at transfer staff is like kicking a puppy, they just stare sadly back at you. And so here I wait in the practically deserted D53 departure lounge, wondering what Heathrow will feel like.

I wrote this on the flight out of Heathrow:

Heathrow

Felt very little being back in Enlgand. But then, Heathrow was a pretty nondescript place. Aside from a WHSmith, a shop I have always disliked, there was nothing that jarred my heartstrings. Some unexpected familiarity of people's accents, some face types that are recognisably English, but overall little to remember. One idea was poignant was when it occurred to me I might miss my flight out, and the playful idea grew of having a day until my reallocated ticket was due, and taking a tube all the way home, knocking on the door unannouced, how would my parents react? It would be so great to see my family again. I would take the tube into central London and out again up the Northern Line, get off at Belsize Park and walk the short distance, explaining the airline mix up with a smile, talk for hours then get the tube back to Heathrow and fly on. But I traversed the deserted warrens of Heathrow successfully, the plane was on time and my luxurious BA flight took off for Asia.

Daniel, 17th or 18th of Jan 2004, in various planes