Yawn ! I’ve been up since 03:30 and the trip to Heathrow T2 was dark and very wet. The only advantage to an early morning flight is the lack of traffic, especially around London. Terminal 2 was not overly busy and it took me about 30 minutes to check in and clear security. Despite lots of signs around the terminal proclaiming wi-fi I have been unable to get my fix of the Internet this morning. Well I suppose I’ll be off the Net regularly until my next brush with reality and civilisation. I do find it odd and more than a little irksome, that, one of the busiest airports in the world does not have free wireless with good coverage in the terminals like many of the smaller US airports. I suspect that this will be the first of many little niggles on my 15 hour journey to Ecuador, courtesy of Iberian airlines. The last time I flew Iberia I was so mightily unimpressed that I vowed, never again. Yet, by quirks of fate I find myself waiting for another of their flights. I can only hope it is better.
Sitting at the gate I think again about how much I really hate air travel, especially long-haul. As much as I love working on the Nautilus Explorer and as much as I like the chance to see other countries and cultures the whole flying thing sucks. Surely it’s time for the airlines to install something similar to those coffin hotels they have in Japan. Put a TV screen at one end of it and give me the option to inhale a strong sedative and it would be perfect. All this cramped seating and cattle prods is just wrong!
Another concern is the cost of flying. Not just financial but also in terms of the environmental impact. It’s always something that I have to wrestle with. I spend my life on the ocean preaching conservation, and yet the only way my guests can come and see all of the wonders of the ocean is to hop on a large aircraft. Therby taking a large carbon rich shit on my lovely pool. It is not, as I have often said a perfect world, and I far from one of its perfect inhabitants. It can only strike a note of deep irony, that I am now sat on a large jet airplane with a heavy (very heavy) backpack full of electrical toys, gadgets and assorted “stuff”, on my way to gawk at poor South American country. Still, there we are, or at least here I am.
The backpack (very heavy) really is full of stuff. It’s sitting in the overhead locker above me (which is where overhead is of course). If memory serves me correctly, and there is no reason for it not too then it contains: EOS 20d camera, 18-55mm lens, 10-20mm lens, 100-400mm lens, a 50mm macro lens, Fuji F31fd compact camera, Lomo LC-A film camera, Etrex GPS, Flip ultra video camera, card reader, 2 portable HDD, USB memory sticks, spare mobile phone, a small notebook and pens, various batteries, 2 rolls of Fuji film, a paperback book, iPod nano and of course my Macbook. I also have my iPhone (on which I writing this entry) and an 80gb ipod in my pockets. That is probably enough tech stuff to launch a small satellite into orbit, and certainly enough to be killed for somewhere like Quito. Fortunately all I have to do is get from the airport to the hostel. Once there I meet the rest of the gang, and I hope there’ll be safety in numbers.
It turns out that there are several people on this flight to Madrid flying on to Quito, why wouldn’t there be. Including the two middle aged women sat next to me from Kent. Madrid is a huge airport and on landing we receive two sets of instructions in rapid fire Spanish, followed by an unintelligable English translation. The announcement concerned our onward travel plans, and having disembarked the aircraft via the front doors I was held on the jetway and informed to leave by the rear doors and get aboard a bus. I was not the only one, there were about twenty other lost sheep. All english, all with a grasp of languages that could be surpassed by your average hamster. Still, we did manage to get onto the terminal bus and find the right gate for our onward flight to Quito.
Now, here I am at gate 57, a gate much like platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross, for it only appears to exist in fiction. Not quite, but almost, since there are no signs for it at Madrid airport anywhere. I have to admit that with only 20 minutes to get my connection my arse was twitching. I’d paid no attention at all to my boarding pass from Madrid to Quito when it was issued at Heathrow. When I pulled it out (the boarding pass) at Madrid I was a little astonished to see that I was assigned seat 6D. To anyone who’s ever flown a wide bodied jet that means the pointy end of the plane. The pointy end means first or business class. How was this so? My ticket had not cost me a small mortgage. I assumed that it was a mis-print or possibly that Iberia had taken the perverse step of numbering it’s seats from the aft of the aircraft. So, I was most astonished when I was shown, shown you will note to a seat in Iberia’s business plus class. Bonus! My day was looking up. The irony was getting more, well, irony by the minute. Here was I a jobbing divemaster sitting where only the stupid rich, those with large expense accounts and the nieces of rich uncles generally park their arses. Well, of course my impression of Iberia had already risen considerably. Was it true that I could sell my soul for a comfy chair and a glass of cava ? You are damn right!
Not only did I get a glass of champagne I also had a wonderful three course meal and several fine glasses of Gran Fontal. A meal served with real cutlery, for of course we all know that no self respecting hijacker or terrorist would choose to fly business class. Why on earth would one want ones last flight to be bourgeois? Still I do pity the peasants in economy.
Now that I’ve completed this somewhat lengthy blog entry and am somewhere over the Atlantic, I shall fully recline my capacious seat and sleep off the gourmet meal. Whilst enjoying the silence provided by my Bose QC2 headphones (not in my pack but round my neck, that’s why I forgot to list them above). Normally I don’t go in for such blatant shows of disposable income but these were a present, and they make air travel much more pleasant. Even when I’m not in economy.
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