Adventures in the Upside Down of Heathrow
I love travel, but I hate the plane flight. I have a plus size butt in a tiny world. So, it is always a ten hour nightmare. One time I was shoulder to knee between Scott and some random stranger (sidebar: he was lovely. I find a lot of random strangers are lovely if you smile and ask questions). When we got to Prague and I took off my new blue jeans I was blue from the belly button down from sweating against both of them. Just ewwww.
So, one long ass plane ride later, we get to Heathrow. We get out luggage and find Eurowings to get two of our bags checked. We have two carry-ons, one is filled with toiletries and Scott's meds. UK airports has a ridiculous rule of one sandwich Baggie of travel liquids per person. We had four gallon size bags. Security was a shit fest. By the time we got to the line and realized we had way too many bags it was 2pm, our flight leaves at 2:40pm. More than once I've had to run down endless hallways looking for gate 74z that is hidden is this bloody maze. So, we are freaking out. We tear ass back to ticket counter to check the toiletries bag on the plane. Our ticket agent who was a doll, was leaving for lunch and pulled us over to someone who could check the bag quick and avoid a line. She took one look at my passport and told me we couldn't travel.
What?!?!
My passport expires Oct 27, I'll be home Sept 23. The EU only accepts passports with 3-6 months grace before expiration depending on the country. Old Brexit buns UK will let any asshole in with a valid passport. I lost my damn mind. I argued we had already checked in and were fine. Let us handle it in Vienna. Please let us on the flight.
You ever yell at a brick wall?
Yeah. Same feeling.
They offloaded our luggage, which they promptly lost in the endless tunnels of Heathrow. Meanwhile, I called the US embassy to see about an emergency extension. It was 2:30pm. It takes an hour to get to the embassy from Heathrow. They stop processing at 3pm and close at 5:30pm. They would stay open for me until 3:30pm. (See? I'm even charming when I'm bloody hysterical.) If I could get there by 3:30pm, they'll get me the emergency passport.
Start the clock, Marv.
We run out the upstairs doors to outside, our carry-ons bouncing behind us. It was a cab drop off, not
pick up. I just make a random announcement. Big tip! Help! One guy looks up and tosses a cigarette sideways.
"I'll take you."
I point at him and nod. We hop in his cab and head out. He tells us he could get ticketed for picking up in the drop off, but he felt bad for us. I told him I'd pay the ticket if he got one. I don't remember his name, but he was Romaninan and hilarious. He drove like a big city cab driver, sliding in and out of spaces that made my heart stop. At one point, some guy turning left pulled up beside us to tell our driver that we were "fucking assholes. Shit-eating foreigners, go back" yadda yadda. Just freaking out. Our cab driver blew him a kiss. I pointed and said, "Dude, you're about to miss your light."
He looked up and sped off. We laughed uproariously. It was nice not to worry about being shot for road rage incident. We made it to the embassy. It was an 86 pound cab ride (with tip).
It was 3:25pm. We ran around the side of the building looking for the correct entrance. We almost did the full circle, at the very last we rolled up on two cops with machine guns next to a glass bunker with security inside. They told Scott to wait and me to leave everything but my wallet and passport. I rush through the metal detectors out the back door, up the sweeping sidewalk into the actual embassy that looks like a box covered with huge inflated diamond shaped sandwich baggies. Ugly AF. Guards point me to the elevator. 5th floor, please. The doors swoosh open to display a supremely bored security guard. I ask where to go. He points to my right. I see a line of numbered windows. No one is there. Finally, at window 38 I find a human. It's 3:31pm. She asks if I've spoken to her colleague at window 25. I say no and she points the other way. Window 25 please. I nod and run back the other direction. The guard looks up as I rush past and smiles at me. I wave at him. He waves back. I make it to window 25. They've been waiting for me. She fills out a form and hands it me. Pay at window 40 and return. We have to finish before 5pm. The guard watches as I rush past him. A different human takes my payment and reassures me this happens all the time. I rush back to window 25 with my receipt. She nods and says now I need to go to the photo booth, which is down the hallway past window 40. The guard smiles and nods as I run past again. I get in the photo booth. There is a photo display of what I cannot do when I take the picture this includes smiling. I hate my old passport photo. It was taken at the Long Beach Post Office with a flash. My smile is huge and strained, and my eyes are painfully wide because Icouldn't quit blinking at the flash. A truly awful picture. Well, I get to replace that one with a picture of me without makeup, unsmiling after a ten hour flight and airport hair. I post it later on Facebook and a friend commented I looked like Olga the evil death camp warden. *sigh* Perfect.
I snatch my picture out of the dispenser and hightail it back to window 25. She takes one of the photos and hands back the rest saying I can reuse the photos (as if). She tells me to sit and wait near window 38 and her colleague will call me over. I show the guard my photo. We laugh at them. After a short wait, I have my passport in my hot little hand. I go back outside, find Scott, and now we have to find a cab. We are in a weird industrial area. Our phones are dying and our charger cords are in our packed luggage at Heathrow. We roll down the street with our carryons, looking for a random human to help us. No dice. Scott keeps asking what we are going to do. I sigh and tell him I have no idea. We get to a corner. I try to figure which direction the traffic runs, so we can be picked up easily. Traffic is blasting past us. I throw up my hand a few times, but all the taxis already have people. I'm beginning to despair when I see a taxi with its light on. I start waving my arms like it's a rescue plane. The driver pulls over. He tells us we are lucky. This area isn't a place taxis usually go. His name is Warren, he's from East London and he's dying to visit California. We talk politics, gentrification, and culture. Cool dude. He wishes us the best and drops us off at Terminal 2 around 5:30pm
You'd think the adventure was over.
Nope.
Our phones are dead, our luggage is lost in the bowels of Heathrow, and there are no flights to Vienna for the evening. We need to book a new flight and find a place to stay. The booking agents are trying to work with us, but they can only sell us tickets at airport prices which are $500-$1200 apiece for next day flight. Eurowings can only refund part of our ticket, and only after I have a 30 minute conversation with customer service agent on my dying phone. He was a doll and scandalized by my tale of woe. Scott was with one of Heathrow's ground crew searching through mountains of luggage. Only one of us was allowed past security to search. I was searching for a flight while Scott walked away with this person. After two hours, I storm into security and demand the return of my husband and luggage. I ranted there was nothing on or in either of them that warranted them being detained. I knew this for a fact, because I had all our weed vape pens in my purse.
Now, just an FYI, to quote American Gods: Do Not Piss Off Bitches at the Airport.
This is an actual law in Europe. You can be arrested for being mean to transport workers of any type. I fully endorse this, having worked with the public my entire life, so my hysteria had to be under control. I couldn't argue or abuse, I had to plead and enlist others in my cause.
Let me state unequivocally, the entire crew at Heathrow was on our side. The ticket staff stayed over an hour past their shift escorting us behind the scenes, looking at different airlines for tickets, an canvassing other workers for suggestions about where to stay. Our luggage was found around 9pm. We plugged in our phones and Scott managed to book a flight the next morning at 7am and a shit room at the airport in near Gatwick. We got in the taxi que and found out at 10:30pm that a cab to Gatwick would be 150 pounds. Not happening after all the money we already shelled out. One of the agents told us we could take the underground and train for 40 pounds. We decide to do that.
Fuck me, it was awful.
We didn't lay down until 1am. There was a problem on the tracks that slowed the train down. We wearily took a cab from the train station to hotel and booked a return cab for 4:45am. We dropped our luggage in our room and went back downstairs for a smoke. In the elevator I looked at Scot and said, "Tell me you paid Ibis prices for this shithole. (IBIS is the Motel 6 of Europe)"
The guy in the elevator with us started laughing. That's how we met Romeo. Instagram influencer and international drug smuggler. He walked with us to the parking lot and we had a really fun conversation with him at 12:30am. He shared a joint with us while we smoked cigarettes. He offered us some coke. I felt so old, because my immediate answer was , "Ew! God no!"
All I wanted was sleep. We bid our new friend goodbye. I took a shower and collapsed next to my snoring husband. We woke in three hours, caught our cab and made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. We were in Vienna by noon.
Travel skills: Boss.
So, one long ass plane ride later, we get to Heathrow. We get out luggage and find Eurowings to get two of our bags checked. We have two carry-ons, one is filled with toiletries and Scott's meds. UK airports has a ridiculous rule of one sandwich Baggie of travel liquids per person. We had four gallon size bags. Security was a shit fest. By the time we got to the line and realized we had way too many bags it was 2pm, our flight leaves at 2:40pm. More than once I've had to run down endless hallways looking for gate 74z that is hidden is this bloody maze. So, we are freaking out. We tear ass back to ticket counter to check the toiletries bag on the plane. Our ticket agent who was a doll, was leaving for lunch and pulled us over to someone who could check the bag quick and avoid a line. She took one look at my passport and told me we couldn't travel.
What?!?!
My passport expires Oct 27, I'll be home Sept 23. The EU only accepts passports with 3-6 months grace before expiration depending on the country. Old Brexit buns UK will let any asshole in with a valid passport. I lost my damn mind. I argued we had already checked in and were fine. Let us handle it in Vienna. Please let us on the flight.
You ever yell at a brick wall?
Yeah. Same feeling.
They offloaded our luggage, which they promptly lost in the endless tunnels of Heathrow. Meanwhile, I called the US embassy to see about an emergency extension. It was 2:30pm. It takes an hour to get to the embassy from Heathrow. They stop processing at 3pm and close at 5:30pm. They would stay open for me until 3:30pm. (See? I'm even charming when I'm bloody hysterical.) If I could get there by 3:30pm, they'll get me the emergency passport.
Start the clock, Marv.
We run out the upstairs doors to outside, our carry-ons bouncing behind us. It was a cab drop off, not
pick up. I just make a random announcement. Big tip! Help! One guy looks up and tosses a cigarette sideways.
"I'll take you."
I point at him and nod. We hop in his cab and head out. He tells us he could get ticketed for picking up in the drop off, but he felt bad for us. I told him I'd pay the ticket if he got one. I don't remember his name, but he was Romaninan and hilarious. He drove like a big city cab driver, sliding in and out of spaces that made my heart stop. At one point, some guy turning left pulled up beside us to tell our driver that we were "fucking assholes. Shit-eating foreigners, go back" yadda yadda. Just freaking out. Our cab driver blew him a kiss. I pointed and said, "Dude, you're about to miss your light."
He looked up and sped off. We laughed uproariously. It was nice not to worry about being shot for road rage incident. We made it to the embassy. It was an 86 pound cab ride (with tip).
It was 3:25pm. We ran around the side of the building looking for the correct entrance. We almost did the full circle, at the very last we rolled up on two cops with machine guns next to a glass bunker with security inside. They told Scott to wait and me to leave everything but my wallet and passport. I rush through the metal detectors out the back door, up the sweeping sidewalk into the actual embassy that looks like a box covered with huge inflated diamond shaped sandwich baggies. Ugly AF. Guards point me to the elevator. 5th floor, please. The doors swoosh open to display a supremely bored security guard. I ask where to go. He points to my right. I see a line of numbered windows. No one is there. Finally, at window 38 I find a human. It's 3:31pm. She asks if I've spoken to her colleague at window 25. I say no and she points the other way. Window 25 please. I nod and run back the other direction. The guard looks up as I rush past and smiles at me. I wave at him. He waves back. I make it to window 25. They've been waiting for me. She fills out a form and hands it me. Pay at window 40 and return. We have to finish before 5pm. The guard watches as I rush past him. A different human takes my payment and reassures me this happens all the time. I rush back to window 25 with my receipt. She nods and says now I need to go to the photo booth, which is down the hallway past window 40. The guard smiles and nods as I run past again. I get in the photo booth. There is a photo display of what I cannot do when I take the picture this includes smiling. I hate my old passport photo. It was taken at the Long Beach Post Office with a flash. My smile is huge and strained, and my eyes are painfully wide because Icouldn't quit blinking at the flash. A truly awful picture. Well, I get to replace that one with a picture of me without makeup, unsmiling after a ten hour flight and airport hair. I post it later on Facebook and a friend commented I looked like Olga the evil death camp warden. *sigh* Perfect.
I snatch my picture out of the dispenser and hightail it back to window 25. She takes one of the photos and hands back the rest saying I can reuse the photos (as if). She tells me to sit and wait near window 38 and her colleague will call me over. I show the guard my photo. We laugh at them. After a short wait, I have my passport in my hot little hand. I go back outside, find Scott, and now we have to find a cab. We are in a weird industrial area. Our phones are dying and our charger cords are in our packed luggage at Heathrow. We roll down the street with our carryons, looking for a random human to help us. No dice. Scott keeps asking what we are going to do. I sigh and tell him I have no idea. We get to a corner. I try to figure which direction the traffic runs, so we can be picked up easily. Traffic is blasting past us. I throw up my hand a few times, but all the taxis already have people. I'm beginning to despair when I see a taxi with its light on. I start waving my arms like it's a rescue plane. The driver pulls over. He tells us we are lucky. This area isn't a place taxis usually go. His name is Warren, he's from East London and he's dying to visit California. We talk politics, gentrification, and culture. Cool dude. He wishes us the best and drops us off at Terminal 2 around 5:30pm
You'd think the adventure was over.
Nope.
Our phones are dead, our luggage is lost in the bowels of Heathrow, and there are no flights to Vienna for the evening. We need to book a new flight and find a place to stay. The booking agents are trying to work with us, but they can only sell us tickets at airport prices which are $500-$1200 apiece for next day flight. Eurowings can only refund part of our ticket, and only after I have a 30 minute conversation with customer service agent on my dying phone. He was a doll and scandalized by my tale of woe. Scott was with one of Heathrow's ground crew searching through mountains of luggage. Only one of us was allowed past security to search. I was searching for a flight while Scott walked away with this person. After two hours, I storm into security and demand the return of my husband and luggage. I ranted there was nothing on or in either of them that warranted them being detained. I knew this for a fact, because I had all our weed vape pens in my purse.
Now, just an FYI, to quote American Gods: Do Not Piss Off Bitches at the Airport.
This is an actual law in Europe. You can be arrested for being mean to transport workers of any type. I fully endorse this, having worked with the public my entire life, so my hysteria had to be under control. I couldn't argue or abuse, I had to plead and enlist others in my cause.
Let me state unequivocally, the entire crew at Heathrow was on our side. The ticket staff stayed over an hour past their shift escorting us behind the scenes, looking at different airlines for tickets, an canvassing other workers for suggestions about where to stay. Our luggage was found around 9pm. We plugged in our phones and Scott managed to book a flight the next morning at 7am and a shit room at the airport in near Gatwick. We got in the taxi que and found out at 10:30pm that a cab to Gatwick would be 150 pounds. Not happening after all the money we already shelled out. One of the agents told us we could take the underground and train for 40 pounds. We decide to do that.
Fuck me, it was awful.
We didn't lay down until 1am. There was a problem on the tracks that slowed the train down. We wearily took a cab from the train station to hotel and booked a return cab for 4:45am. We dropped our luggage in our room and went back downstairs for a smoke. In the elevator I looked at Scot and said, "Tell me you paid Ibis prices for this shithole. (IBIS is the Motel 6 of Europe)"
The guy in the elevator with us started laughing. That's how we met Romeo. Instagram influencer and international drug smuggler. He walked with us to the parking lot and we had a really fun conversation with him at 12:30am. He shared a joint with us while we smoked cigarettes. He offered us some coke. I felt so old, because my immediate answer was , "Ew! God no!"
All I wanted was sleep. We bid our new friend goodbye. I took a shower and collapsed next to my snoring husband. We woke in three hours, caught our cab and made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. We were in Vienna by noon.
Travel skills: Boss.
Holy crap
ReplyDeleteBra-f*cking-vo! You are a badass traveler. Hope it’s upward from here! Xoxoxo
ReplyDeleteNailed it! Do you get a medal after each level of traveling hell? Just checking for future adventures.
ReplyDelete