Alarm set for six, and transfer pick up due at 8:20. So fairly leisurely tidy up, sandwich packing, and rubbish out. Transfer shuttles only collect from hotels, not private residences, so back to the Hotel do Cerro a block away. Cerro means hill, so seems to have given its name to quite a few places around here. Driver late - in fact immediately after I phone the Ticket Shop to inquire.
He takes the slow route through small towns, a bit inland from the coast. On arrival we came by the motorway, so this is interesting. Actually much more interesting. But why is he doing it? Speed limit mostly 50, so it’s going to take longer. Suppose that he may wish to save petrol and has no customers after us anyway. Or? See short story plotting itself in my head. Robbed by shuttle driver well away from the public eye. Though some tweaking required. We are going east, as we should be, and this is scarcely uninhabited territory. Arrive at the airport the regulation two hours before the flight.
And another, much more intriguing short story in the making. There’s a two stage escalator up to the floor of our departure gate. The woman ahead of me has placed her carry-on on the step ahead, somewhat awkwardly, and as she reaches the landing between the two stages, she trips over it and clumsily removes both bag and herself to the side of the escalator. And, clearly distressed, begins plaintively and repeatedly calling « Bernie, Bernie «. I assume that she’s trying to summon assistance from the man who had been just ahead of her, who is paying no attention, but who could be slightly deaf. So I touch him on the arm and say that I think his wife is calling him. He’s very pleasant about it but says not his wife - he’s travelling alone and a free man until he gets home in the evening. So a mystery. Eventually she comes through the security check into the departure lounge, with much discussion well out of hearing range. But joins a couple who are obviously friends of hers and sits immediately behind us, where I hear only enough to be sure that her husband has not turned up at the airport. She’s upset but actually sounds more angry than panicked. Would love to know the backstory. All sorts of fictional possibilities.
Happy we’ve taken sandwiches on the plane - toasted cheese, mushroom, and caramelised onion - and tap water. Have noticed that very few people seem to buy the food (M&S) that British Airways insisted most wanted when they stopped providing free meals and snacks. Some by drinks, but at £1 ($1.70 CAD) for a bottle of water, it’s no bargain. The couple next to me have brought sandwiches but buy a cup of tea each, and are charged £4.90 ($8.33 CAD). Yes, realise my response is generational but think it’s taking outrageous advantage of a captive audience.
Land at Gatwick, and as usual the non-EU queue moves slowly enough - for much of the time served by only one desk - that the carousel with our suitcases has long stopped and four lonely bags, two of them ours, are standing beside it. This strikes J as a security risk. For us, obviously, but also for the airport, as presumably someone with an explosive device and timer could have checked luggage blow up in the airport if uncollected cases are an unremarkable occurrence.
Train to St Pancras and then tube « home ». Renovations continuing, so not our usual room, but we’re fine.
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