9am Monday morning.
The flight to Tirana from Istanbul is a short one, though long enough for me to go into the toilet and change every item of clothing I was wearing.
And as the plane descends below the tops of the snow capped mountains and wends it’s way through misty valleys it was a nerve wracking flight too. Thank goodness for radar. We landed of course without incident.
Mother Teresa International is a shiny new Terminal building, but one which has not been supplied with passport stamps explained the welcoming immigration official.
After the uncertainty and adrenalin fuelled drama of Istanbul Ataturk, all I had to do in Tirana was wait for 90 minutes and hope ROme was really open. I also needed to find a plug socket, charge my iPhone, connect to the wifi and research routes to London.
And how did I find a plug socket in Tirana airport? I did what anyone sensible would do. I thought to myself… “If I had to clean this place, where would I plug my hoover in?” I’d found a socket in 90 seconds. With the phone charging I got down to some research work.
After arriving in Rome, the continuation of Plan J had been to get to Milan somehow and connect on the sleeper to Paris. I could now imagine myself being on that train tonight and getting home on Tuesday.
I researched train times. I could be in Milan at 7pm. The train to Paris departed at 10pm.
So I texted my mate stranded in Milan, inviting him and his wife out for a pizza that evening and asking him to do me a favour. Could he go to Milano Centrale and book me a ticket to Paris Bercy?
The text came back and the news was not good.
They were both at Milano C already. Having been stranded in Milan, from where there are lots of daily flights to London, BA had been looking after them pretty well. They had hotel accommodation and they had been given the certainty of being rebooked onto new flights. But three days into the crisis and they had seen three other flights they were due to go home on cancelled. With rolling news hysteria bracing public opinion for months of closures, they had decided to go overland after all.
The queue at Milano C was 5 hours long and advisors were walking down the queue informing those waiting that all services to Paris were booked solidly until Saturday. “Find another route mate” I was told. “Whatever you do, do not come to Milan. There’s no way out.”
Plan J was only good for Istanbul to Rome. Another plan was needed from there.
The flight to Tirana from Istanbul is a short one, though long enough for me to go into the toilet and change every item of clothing I was wearing.
And as the plane descends below the tops of the snow capped mountains and wends it’s way through misty valleys it was a nerve wracking flight too. Thank goodness for radar. We landed of course without incident.
Mother Teresa International is a shiny new Terminal building, but one which has not been supplied with passport stamps explained the welcoming immigration official.
After the uncertainty and adrenalin fuelled drama of Istanbul Ataturk, all I had to do in Tirana was wait for 90 minutes and hope ROme was really open. I also needed to find a plug socket, charge my iPhone, connect to the wifi and research routes to London.
And how did I find a plug socket in Tirana airport? I did what anyone sensible would do. I thought to myself… “If I had to clean this place, where would I plug my hoover in?” I’d found a socket in 90 seconds. With the phone charging I got down to some research work.
After arriving in Rome, the continuation of Plan J had been to get to Milan somehow and connect on the sleeper to Paris. I could now imagine myself being on that train tonight and getting home on Tuesday.
I researched train times. I could be in Milan at 7pm. The train to Paris departed at 10pm.
So I texted my mate stranded in Milan, inviting him and his wife out for a pizza that evening and asking him to do me a favour. Could he go to Milano Centrale and book me a ticket to Paris Bercy?
The text came back and the news was not good.
They were both at Milano C already. Having been stranded in Milan, from where there are lots of daily flights to London, BA had been looking after them pretty well. They had hotel accommodation and they had been given the certainty of being rebooked onto new flights. But three days into the crisis and they had seen three other flights they were due to go home on cancelled. With rolling news hysteria bracing public opinion for months of closures, they had decided to go overland after all.
The queue at Milano C was 5 hours long and advisors were walking down the queue informing those waiting that all services to Paris were booked solidly until Saturday. “Find another route mate” I was told. “Whatever you do, do not come to Milan. There’s no way out.”
Plan J was only good for Istanbul to Rome. Another plan was needed from there.
Comments
Post a Comment