The end of the journey

OK, so I'm at my brother's place in Ludwigshafen. I need to catch a flight from Frankfurt to London at about 2:30 PM. This is easily accomplished using Germany's relatively efficient train network, especially considering my brother's apartment is a short walk from the Ludwigshafen train station. This part goes off without a hitch. While I vaguely recall checking to see that the departure time was apparently normal, nothing appears out of the ordinary until I am sitting in the departure lounge (having passed through 3 layers of security including a pat-down) at about 2 PM, with no sign of an aircraft.

This usually gets me worried, since I know from experience how long it typically takes to turn an aircraft over between flights.

Never fear, my worries are realized. An announcement is made about air traffic control problems in the UK.

They don't know if our plane is even off the ground. They'll know more at, oh, 3:30. What's not mentioned is that the problem was only in the morning, and they're now basically in recovery mode.

This sort of thing sucks. But at least I'm going in the right direction (home).

I hightail it back out (past 3 layers of security), and head for the ticket counter, since I worry about making the London->Boston flight. Can they book me onto the later Boston flight? Or a flight series on a different day? The last thing I want to do is spend the night at a hotel near Heathrow (I like England just fine thank you, but this is not my idea of fun).

No can do. All possible flight combos are booked for the next few days, but they can conditionally book me onto the later Boston flight. This turns out to be a smart move.

Armed with the notion that I've made my best effort, I return to the gate lounge (through 3 layers of security, and another pat-down -- I've got the drill down about keeping the change out of the pockets) and wait.

The plane arrives around 3:30. I forget exactly when it takes off, but we arrive at Heathrow around 5, which of course missed my original Boston flight by 30 minutes. I get pointed at the flight transfer desk to fix my problem. The flight transfer desk has a line that looks at least 1 hour long. This puts the 6:30 departure of the second Boston flight at risk, if I have to wade (err, wait) through it.

Fortunately there is an BA rep at the end of the line doing triage. I explain what happened in Frankfurt, including the backup booking. He says "Oh good" and directs me to wait in a much shorter line, preceded only by a Pakistani family apparently doing a similar exercise for a different flight. By 5:30 I have a new boarding pass in hand. Yay.

Now all I have to worry about is food, since BA has catering problems. Never mind that special meals don't normally follow you when you rebook onto a different flight.

There's a semi-decent Italian restaurant at Terminal 4. I sit down, peruse the menu, and say "What's vegetarian that I can be done eating in 30 minutes?"

We settle on manicotti. 28 minutes later, I exit the restaurant and head for my gate. I stop at a computer, buy 5 minutes of Internet (cost: 1 Euro) to send email to Herself and Phil about the change of flights.

The flight to Boston is uneventful, even though it is populated by some teen church group that went to World Youth Day. They were remarkably well-behaved, even if the kid next to me never showed me much more than the back of his shoulder. One of the meal options turns out to actually be vegetarian, but I only pick at it, since I just ate. I get to see Robots on a 3"x5" screen (or whatever size those in-seat screens are) with horrible resolution. I'll see it on DVD again, I think.

Upon arrival in Boston, I spend more time than I ever have in recent times waiting to pass through passport control. As I'm waiting for my bag, I worry that I will have to wait to the bitter end of the baggage delivery to find out it didn't make the rebooking.

Fortunately, BA does manage to do some things right. There is a PA announcement that includes something that sounds vaguely like my name. I get hooked up with the person who has The List, who says "Sorry your bag didn't make it, here's a form for where we should deliver it tomorrow." Yay.

This speeds my exit considerably. Herself meets me as expected. We trundle (via MBTA Silver Line Bus and Red Line) to her place, and then Phil gives me a ride from there back to my place. Time? 11:30PM or so.

Let's see. I was up at 8AM Central European Time (GMT+1). Bed around midnight EDT (GMT-5). I don't like 30-hour days.

But it was good to be home, even if my bag wasn't. (It did arrive the next evening.)