London Day Eight

Short version: Jim and I nearly missed our flight, which itself was uneventful. Got home safe.

The full story for my travel journal follows. Read on at your own risk.



Jim's alarm didn't go off. He awoke at 9:15. Breakfast closed at 9:30. Check-out time was 10. I was still full of the fish and chips from last night. Much as I live for bargains, it felt fine to pass on our last "traditional English breakfast." Our hotel was near Hyde Park, in Sussex Gardens, which has dozens of small hotels. We visited a few for price comparisions. Stylotel offers a double at 72 pounds during the slow season, if booked by phone. Days Inn, which has name recognition among Americans, was dearer: 105 pounds. Some places offer either an English breakfast or a "Continental breakfast." I imagine in some hotels that means real French croissants and pastries rather than the bagels and donuts of American motels, but probably not for 79 pounds a night. Speaking of donuts, Krispy Kremes are in evidence in grocery stores.

We took the double-decker bus #36 to the end of the route at Queen's Park, a 20 minute ride but just two tube stops from Paddington Station, in zone 2 of 6. It's a big city. We wanted to ride the Jubilee line to Victoria Station, and the Metropolitan line, but they were both closed for weekend repair. So our total for the week was five tube lines: Bakerloo, Central, Circle, District, and Picadilly. We bought sandwiches for later and returned to the hotel for our bags. From the lobby TV we learned that all transatlantic flights out of Heathrow were delayed. An air traffic control computer in Scotland had shut down. Jim decided to check-in online, which was key to our subsequent success.

We had both forgotten that the Circle line leg of the route to Heathrow takes about a half hour. (The Picadilly leg of the trip takes 50 minutes.) We got to the check-in queue around 1:30 p.m. for the 2:50 flight. All international flights close at "minus sixty." A cheery agent assured us we were fine, and that a closure agent would call us out of line if need be. We watched our line crawl along and watched for the closure agent, who never came by. When we got to the counter, the flight was closed. The closure agent was called over, and she assured us that there was no chance of getting onto the Boston flight, the only one that day. She obviously doubted that we had been in line and maintained that she had called for Boston passengers. She was not pleased when Jim said, "You didn't do your job!" She also doubted that we had talked to another agent, who had disappeared from our view. She offered to book us on the next day's flight. Jim insisted that Virgin Atlantic pay for a hotel and asked to speak to her supervisor. Just about then the cheery agent walked by, remembered us, and corroborated our story. Because Jim had checked in online, the supervisor found us in the computer and checked our bags 20 minutes after the flight was "closed." At this point we received VIP treatment. A new agent was asked to escort us to the gate. She took us down the first class corridor to security (no line, no waiting), actually taking her shoes off to go through security with us, and delivered us right to the queue at Gate 33. Because Gate 33 has no skyway, all the passengers were being "coached" (bussed) to the 747 on the tarmac, causing substantial delay. We arrived at the gate before some of the passengers who checked in before us, since they had to come through the economy security point.



Kudos to Jim! He methodically worked the problem and insisted on fair treatment. I was ready to go look for a hotel the first time the closure agent said the flight was closed.

Jim's seat was 50B, mine 65F, but we were just happy to be on board. I read some of Sam's pick for our family book group: His Excellency (George Washington) by Joseph Ellis. They fed us lunch and served beverages twice and even handed out ice cream bars. We breezed through customs at Logan Airport and Peter Jones kindly picked us up at the curb, or should I say kerb?