My modern Odyssey - that is, my most recent trip to the US - did not really begin until I left for Geneva Cointrin Airport, determined to travel as much on schedule as possible but realizing that this time, things would most decidedly not happen in a trouble-free manner. The trip to the airport went smoothly. Fortunately. The first hint of impending trouble occurred when I attempted to check in.
The hapless registration clerk looked at me in some dismay and called over a supervisor who explained that the noon flight to which I had been rebooked might also be cancelled. Just as my heart began to sink into my boots, the supervisor asked me to wait a few moments while he consulted with someone else. In the meantime, other passengers arrived, were checked in and their baggage tagged. Finally, the supervisor returned and, when my clerk was free again, gave him some instructions in a low voice. I watched as the clerks flying fingers typed out various codes. He printed out boarding passes: two, not simply the one I had been expecting for the flight to London, but also a boarding pass for my Baltimore flight. He explained that the mid-morning flight had been delayed and that they had found me a seat on that one and that he had checked my baggage through to Baltimore. This meant that I stood a good chance of making it to my connecting flight to Baltimore.
Oh, the relief! I was practically hopping with joy, not even noticing the usual hassle of security, and sailing through the passport checks without problem, as I joined the other mid-morning flight passengers, most looking disgruntled at their flight's delay. Somehow I couldn't feel too guilty about being a beneficiary of that delay!
Still, that delay became another. I wondered with a sense of foreboding what was happening when I heard on the loudspeakers that flights to London that were operated by other airlines were also being cancelled. When we finally boarded, our pilot announced apologetically that we had "lost" our departure slot and would have to wait on the ground until a new one opened up. After waiting another 40 minutes, we were finally airborne. But now I was worried. I usually choose the early morning flight precisely in order to avoid missing the transatlantic flight if there are delays with the mid-morning flight. And we had had delays in abundance!
En route, the pilot explained that London had been hit with freezing fog early that morning, requiring that all airplanes be de-iced before taking off. This meant that incoming flights already in the air had been rerouted to other airports for safety reasons and most of those that were on the ground were either delayed or cancelled, with a horrendous add-on effect. Because it looked as if our flight was going to be among the lucky few to make it to London that day, I selfishly hoped that the Baltimore flight departure would be among those delayed. I was not alone among my fellow passengers on a fully-packed flight to hope for similar results.
Even though the pilot made excellent time en route and we were allowed to land when we arrived without having to circle for a long time, our plane was not allowed to proceed to the terminal but was directed to wait for buses to transport passengers there. This, of course, meant yet another delay. When we were finally inside the terminal, it was 12:30, which seemed almost miraculous in light of our delays. The Baltimore flight was scheduled to depart at 01:45 pm (13:00). There was still a slight chance. I asked one of the harassed BA staff what I should do. He told me to head for the Fast Track lane and see whether I had a chance to make the flight. So I raced over to Fast Track - the only lane without a long line - brandished my boarding pass at the clerk who stopped me there. I waited breathlessly as she checked her terminal to find out the status of my flight.
After what seemed an eternity, she looked up, shaking her head. "They've just cleared the last two passengers for boarding that flight," she announced. "You'll have to rebook." "Where do I do that?" I asked and she gestured back towards a line snaking around at least eight times before disappearing around a corner. I gulped and went back to discover that around the corner, the line was still very long. Still, I took my place there. Within five minutes, another 30 people were behind me and the line kept growing in incremental stages.
After about ten minutes when the line had not even inched forward at all, a heavy-set BA staff member came by and shouted that, unless we were prepared to wait in the rebooking line for a very long time, we should consider exiting through passport control, descending to Departures and getting into rebooking lines there where "there would be more resources available." Of course, there was a stampede to the passport control lines. My heart began to sink again. I wondered whether I had gone from the frying pan into the fire when I noticed a sign in front of me saying, "From here, the estimated wait is 45 minutes." And that was just to get through passport control! But now I was committed for better or worse. There was no going back.
As it turned out, the sign's message was optimistic.
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