This week, I have been working in Bergen, near Norway. Normally, I view my trips to major European cities simply as a means to end and after a while they all tend to blur into one unified major European city. Same hotel room, same office, different people, same problems, same computers, same restaurants with the same cashless transaction mechanism.
Bergen, however, is different. The city is just beautiful. I love it. Mountains, water, snow, history. Just stunning. If I didn’t have ties, I think I would seriously considering moving here full-time.
Although I flew out to Bergen on Sunday night on a direct flight from Gatwick, limited availability meant I had to return via Schipol. My latest commuting story begins at Bergen airport…
‘Hi - do you think I should check this bag or carry it on the plane ?’
‘Its entirely up to you, Sir. I can check your bag all the way through to London.’
‘Ok. Great. So you’re promising me that when I reach Heathrow, my bag will also get there.’
‘Well, we can only hope so, Sir.’
‘OK. Thanks. I’ll check it into the hold.’
‘As you wish, Sir. Now, is there any way someone could have interfered with this bag or placed items in it without your knowledge ?’
‘Well, we can only hope not.’
As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately felt a pang of regret, a twinge of remorse at cracking such a weak joke. This sense of regret turned into blind panic, and total fear 10 minutes later when I found myself in a windowless room, buried deep in the bowels of Bergen airport.
‘Henrick, some new latex gloves, please. Now, Sir, please to be bending over.’
Anyway, after enduring the rather extended, lengthy and, err, in-depth security checking procedure, I arrived in Amsterdam and managed to navigate from C15 to D24 without further incident. It was quite easy. You just move your Knight twice and castle on the Kings’ side.
Irritatingly, there was yet another lightweight security check at the entrance to gate D24. This took forever as the entire population of China was on this short hop to London and were carrying suitcases, coats, souvenirs, carrier bags, duty free goods and small, colourful birds onto the plane rather than use the hold for some reason.
After waiting 25 minutes in the lengthy queue, I didn’t really want to be told rather disdainfully by the security guard: ‘Sir, are you aware you need to at the gate 30 minutes prior to departure ?’
‘Yes - I am well aware of that. I was actually here at the gate 45 minutes prior to departure but are you aware I have been standing in line for 25 minutes because you are so flipping slow ?’
Finally, I clear security and stand in yet another queue to board the plane. My boarding card says I am right at the front handily positioned in seat 2C in the luxury of business class.
Normally, I travel economy which is fair enough as the customer is paying and the flights are only short hops within Europe. The business travel flight booking system is similar to the Lottery Balls Selector. You never quite know how it is programmed or what results it will produce. Nor can you ever question its decision which is final. However, for some reason, on this return trip to Bergen, the random business travel flight booking system has elected to book me into business class on both legs.
In fact, on the outward journey from Gatwick, this was a little embarrassing. I was the only passenger on a half-empty plane so I was privileged enough to have the sole, exclusive, undivided attention of one, pretty air hostess all to myself.
Every 30 seconds, she would appear with a beaming smile: ‘Champagne, Sir ?, ‘Hot towel, Sir ?’, ‘Another drink, Sir ?’, ‘Pretzels, Sir ?’, ‘Hot meal, Sir ?’, ‘Newspaper, Sir ?, ‘Could I offer you a beer perhaps, Sir ?’ God, it was never ending. It was eerily reminiscent of the ‘Not The Nine O’Clock News’ sketch where Pamela Stephenson invites an American Express customer ‘Would you like to put your head between them and go ‘Bubble, bubble bubble ?’. Almost but not quite.
I finally enter the plane and look at seat 2C which, oddly enough is on the first row. However, this means there is no hook on which to hang my coat and there is some metal fixture preventing me placing my laptop under my seat. I start to panic and look towards the overhead lockers. Inevitably, as this flight is completely full, so are the overhead lockers.
There is a hanging cupboard to my right where coats and overflow luggage has been stowed with some spare capacity so I quickly remove my coat. In my rush, I forget that I am wired into my iTouch and the my earphones are pulled out of my ears leaving wires dangling everywhere. A helpful Dutch Gentleman interjects:
‘Excuse me - but your ears are on the floor.’
Quick as a flash, I reply: ‘Hey come on, My ears are pretty big but they don’t reach down that far.’ He laughs. Nervously. The air stewardess is now desperately trying to close the flight and do the very important passenger count (2-4-8-11-15-17, doh, 2-4-8). She looks my way and enquires: ‘Excuse me, Sir but is that your laptop ?’. As I am still embroiled in the continuing, unarmed struggle to disentangle my ears from the iTouch and my coat, I look over and nod.
‘Well I am sorry, Sir, but you have placed your laptop on top of the the defibrillator so I will just have to find another place for it.’ Her tone implied I had committed a capital offence and I honestly feared she was going to place my Lenovo T61 on the left wing of the aircraft.
Finally, we sit down to be told in two languages (but not Chinese) that the rush to board was all for nothing as now there is a small problem with the navigation system which the engineer is coming fix and then ‘we will be on our way, flying to London’.
Time passes - we listen to music, we read papers, we look out of the window looking for a laptop bag. An engineer in blue overalls arrives and leaves, laughing and joking. I think I heard him say to the first officer: ‘Yes - if it happens again during the flight just reboot it.’
The smooth talking pilot announces: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the navigation system is now fully operational so we will just have a 10 minute taxi to the runway and we will on on our way.’
I must have dozed off, tired after 4 days of intense work and a night in a Bergen sports bar, drinking expensive Norwegian lager, watching United somehow contrive to lose to a Championship side.
When I awoke, I stretched out, looked at my watch and glanced out of the window to find we have arrived in London. I must have slept so soundly I had even missed the descent and more importantly, my complimentary bread roll, metal cutlery and glass of wine.
I unbuckled my seat belt when my well spoken neighbour informed me: ‘We are still at Schipol. We haven’t taken off yet. There is a problem de-icing the plane.’
I buckled up again, grunted my appreciation and put wires into my oversized ears. Eventually, another engineer popped down to the aircraft equivalent of Halfords, a fresh aerosol can of de-icer arrived and we taxied to join the rear of a lengthy queue of large aircraft waiting to depart to various destinations.
Finally, we took off and I was able to enjoy my bread roll and glass of wine. I arrived in London just an hour late. So did my bag and I got home at 10:30pm - a full seven and a half hours after I had left Bergen.