8am Monday morning
I started thinking about breakfast. I started thinking about a stiff espresso. I started thinking that maybe trains out of Istanbul would be sold out. I thought that one last look around the ticket offices was worth a try before heading to the train station.
BA was closed of course and then I saw an Olympic Airlines office.
The research I had done in Sydney had suggested a route through Athens to Naples on Olympic so I went to see what, if anything they could offer.
Mehmet was the most cheerful chap I’d seen in the airport that morning. But why not? He was presumably making record sales.
“I am most apologetic, but all flights out of Athens are fully booked."
“Today?”
“Today, tomorrow, until Saturday. A wave of the hand. Plan H already over.
“Let me look at other airlines for you.”
Tap tap tappety tap.
“How do you feel about Libya?” Plan I!
“Libya?” I hadn’t bargained on taking this journey home to a fourth continent!
“I have just sold that gentleman a single to Rome through Tripoli. They are available for €1080.”
“Oh that’s a shame” I said. “I have been to Libya before, and would love to visit again. But I know that to enter Libya you have to have an Arabic translation of your passport details. The passport I had which had that translation was stolen from me last year.”
“Oh dear”
“Yes. The Ukraine”
A shrug as if to ask what else I could have expected from the Ukraine.
“So I cannot go through Libya. Are there any other unusual routes?”
Tap tap tappety tap.
The intensity and level of tapping suggested he may have been rerouting flights on my behalf. Repositioning satellites at the very least.
“What do you think of Albania?” Plan J?!
“I’ve been to Albania. I like Albania.”
“€180 one way to Roma through Tirana”
“I LOVE Albania.”
“The flight is boarding. Check in closes in 12 minutes. You will be in Rome for lunch. If you miss check in come straight back and I will give you a refund and make another suggestion. Check in is in Zone H.”
I could have kissed him. The plexi-glass meant this wasn’t an option.
Instead I reached my hand through the gap where you thrust the credit card and gripped his hand in thanks. He seemed taken aback, but in our capitalist consumerist world what he didn’t realise was he had just given me the greatest piece of customer service I think I can ever expect in this life.
Then I grabbed my ticket. Then I ran.
I started thinking about breakfast. I started thinking about a stiff espresso. I started thinking that maybe trains out of Istanbul would be sold out. I thought that one last look around the ticket offices was worth a try before heading to the train station.
BA was closed of course and then I saw an Olympic Airlines office.
The research I had done in Sydney had suggested a route through Athens to Naples on Olympic so I went to see what, if anything they could offer.
Mehmet was the most cheerful chap I’d seen in the airport that morning. But why not? He was presumably making record sales.
“I am most apologetic, but all flights out of Athens are fully booked."
“Today?”
“Today, tomorrow, until Saturday. A wave of the hand. Plan H already over.
“Let me look at other airlines for you.”
Tap tap tappety tap.
“How do you feel about Libya?” Plan I!
“Libya?” I hadn’t bargained on taking this journey home to a fourth continent!
“I have just sold that gentleman a single to Rome through Tripoli. They are available for €1080.”
“Oh that’s a shame” I said. “I have been to Libya before, and would love to visit again. But I know that to enter Libya you have to have an Arabic translation of your passport details. The passport I had which had that translation was stolen from me last year.”
“Oh dear”
“Yes. The Ukraine”
A shrug as if to ask what else I could have expected from the Ukraine.
“So I cannot go through Libya. Are there any other unusual routes?”
Tap tap tappety tap.
The intensity and level of tapping suggested he may have been rerouting flights on my behalf. Repositioning satellites at the very least.
“What do you think of Albania?” Plan J?!
“I’ve been to Albania. I like Albania.”
“€180 one way to Roma through Tirana”
“I LOVE Albania.”
“The flight is boarding. Check in closes in 12 minutes. You will be in Rome for lunch. If you miss check in come straight back and I will give you a refund and make another suggestion. Check in is in Zone H.”
I could have kissed him. The plexi-glass meant this wasn’t an option.
Instead I reached my hand through the gap where you thrust the credit card and gripped his hand in thanks. He seemed taken aback, but in our capitalist consumerist world what he didn’t realise was he had just given me the greatest piece of customer service I think I can ever expect in this life.
Then I grabbed my ticket. Then I ran.
It's no longer necessary to have an Arabic translation in your passport in order to visit Libya. The rule was changed in November. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for the feedback... This all happened to me in April!
ReplyDeleteYou could have kissed the plexiglass!
ReplyDelete