It's been a couple of days since I left London. But not a lot of people knew what sort of nerve-wracking experience the journey home was.
The day started off great. Nice, sunny and cold. Almost everything I did that day was documented in my previous post, and the picture set is here. What happened after, well, listen up.
I was set to be picked up by the airport shuttle my company had arranged for me at seven o' clock at the apartment I was staying in. A couple of minutes before seven, I had turned off my laptop, sat in the lobby (luggage and all) and tried to read my Neverwhere book. Seven came, no one was around yet, save for the receptionist. Five minutes went by, I thought it a bit unusual for the driver to be late. Seven-fifteen, I had resolved to take it up with the travel agent, the company uses. The contact at the other line was puzzled as well, and tried to contact the shuttle service. It was already around forty past the hour when she told me that the driver is already there and they tried to contact me using my mobile. My phone of course, is fully charged and has full service (signal) but no call came. The receptionist went outside and saw nobody. The contact finally said that they didn't know what happened and that it would be twenty minutes before someone can pick me up. They said that if I can find my own way to the airport, it would be so much better. I still had the sanity not to take it out on the travel agent contact, so I just politely thanked her for the help.
I hauled my ass out of the apartment near Westferry Circus to flag down a couple of cabs. Not being totally prepared for this disaster, I had no money (or at least I was afraid it wasn't enough) and was only armed with my credit cards and debit card. After attempting to flag down around five cabs, I realized that none of them take credit cards at the time, much less American Express. I went back to the apartment and tried to book cabs over the phone.
No such luck. All units with credit card-swiping machines have all been dispatched already.
At that point, almost eight-o-clock, I had to take things into my hands. I lugged my stuff from the apartment all the way to Citibank in Canary Wharf, which took me a good fifteen minutes, in single-digit temperatures, with (I soon learned) thirty kilograms of luggage plus handcarried bags.
Quarter past eight, I was able to flag down a cab. The driver, aware that I'm running late, suggested that I go to Paddington Station and take a fifteen minute ride on the Heathrow Express to the airport, instead of going all the way by car. I took the suggestion and he was on his way. The cab ride, took a good thirty minutes. Before I alighted the cab, Qantas (the codeshare partner of British Airways) had called me up and asked me if I will be joining them tonight. He suggested that from the look of things, and judging from where I am, I might not make it, since I needed to be at the check-in counter at quarter past nine. It was already 8:50pm. I thanked the cab driver for the 35 pound trip, asked for the receipt and ran the platform towards the ticket counter.
One way to Heathrow Airport, fourteen pounds-fifty. Luck was still teasing me, the train will be leaving in around four-minutes just giving me enough time to catch my breath inside.
I asked the ticket-inspector, Ben, who is also Filipino (I learned because he had a flag of the R.P. on his name tag) how long it would take to get to the airport. He said fifteen minutes, I'll make it.
The clincher I think was that it stopped first at terminals 1,2, and 3, waited for four minutes (it was already 9:14PM) before it went on the four-minute ride to terminal four, where I should be.
The train arrived at terminal four at 9:18PM, then I ran til my veins pumped battery acid. I had not eaten dinner yet, my mouth was dry because I had no water to drink, and my body ached from pulling that weight of luggage. I took the lift up to the check-in counters.
At 9:20 PM, the lady at the check-in counter told me they already closed the boarding for the flight to Singapore and that I am not able to get on that flight, no matter what I do.
--
Tired, hungry and thirsty, I knew I had to take a later flight. I asked the ticket sales what time the next flight was, there was a morning flight at eleven, and an evening flight at nine. Both only had economy class seats. At that point, I knew that I had stayed in London long enough, and opted to replace my business class ticket with a sure-economy ticket on the morning flight, and just have myself waitlisted for business class.
Once I settled that, I had to spend the night somewhere. The Hilton Hotel at Heathrow was the closest, a ten-minute walk through the tunnel. I didn't even care how much it cost or if I will be able to reimburse the company for it.
At the check-in counter, the lady told me of a £159++ room which I can stay for the night. I had given her the corporate credit card, which was, for unexplanable reasons, declined to be charged. What it meant was that I had to shell out some money first, which I didn't really have to since I got my personal credit card with me. At least I'd earn some rewards points for this, I thought.
At Room 423, I watched TV and called room service to order a Hilton burger which cost around a bit less than £30. The order arrived some twenty or thirty minutes after. It had a decent taste and I tried hard not to gobble it up so quickly to avoid getting indigestion.
Eleven-something, adrenaline pumping, heart still beating fast, I tried to get some sleep and wake up the following day, feeling refreshed and relaxed from the events of the day before.
--
You know in the movies where the character reaches some sort of breaking point after enduring trial after trial? Almost happened.
I woke up at around seven thirty, peeked out the window, and looked at the heavy fog and rain outside. I was afraid my flight will get cancelled. Nonetheless, I thought I'd take a nice bath with the beautifully laid out Crabtree and Evelyn products in the bathroom before heading out to the terminal.
After taking a bath, here was the moment. I was cleaning my glasses when the right lens fell out because the screws on the frame, slipped out for some reason. It was almost impossible to screw it in because it was so tiny.
There were no tears, I only let out a sigh.
I pressed the part together forcibly making the screw tight and just hoped it wouldn't fall out until I get some jeweller screwdrivers.
--
The check-in went well. I was told by the Qantas/BA crew that from the look of things, I might just get that business seat; but I couldn't find out until before boarding. I still was able to get into the British Airways Lounge and grab some breakfast and snacks, and surf the Internet while waiting for the flight to start boarding.
Blood pressure went to normal once the receptionist at the lounge told me that they are able to accomodate me at business class after all. Big smile on my face. At least a few things went my way.
--
The flight was relatively uneventful. I met my first single-serving friend, Philippe, on his way to Australia (after it stops at Singapore). I watched World Trade Center, a bit of You, Me And Dupree and Lucky Number Slevin. I only got a few hours sleep, got hungry, ordered a lamb sandwich before breakfast.
Twelve or so hours later, Monday morning, I was at Changi Airport feeling the tropical heat, and relieved to get back home.
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