Travelling 101: Find ANOTHER airport.....

AMSTERDAM: Schiphol Airport......

The KLM Cityhopper spews its relieved cargo out into a wet and grey urban starkness. To put it politely, it’s persistently raining.......... My fellow hoppers and I board a bus which shows every sign of driving the rest of the way to Vienna, but which in reality, takes a circuitous tour of the airport buildings (I’m sure we go round twice!) before spitting us out into the sprawling metropolis that is Schiphol. Inside, my tiny mind is blown to smithereens as I stand alone in the midst of this chic, glossy concourse like Tom Hanks’ character in “The Terminal”. Soft muzak plays to calm the irksome traveller, and it’s amazingly clean and sparkly. The marble floors are so highly polished I’m certain that if I were wearing a skirt, my knickers would be reflected in the mirror-like surface! I imagine a camera-shot panning round me and up to the lofty ceiling to give an idea of the vastness of the hall in which I stand. All of a sudden, the solitude of my situation hits me, and I feel truly alone in a crowd....... However, I know exactly what to do, and it’s not long before I find the KPN Communication Centre,
and after a brief detour to make the acquaintance of a fascinating self-flushing toilet, I confess to the guy at the desk that I am a “WiFi virgin” and have no idea how to access the airport’s connection..... He helps me through the stunningly simple set-up process, and I tootle off gleefully to park myself at a WiFi table and impersonate a Sophisticated International Traveller. Within minutes, I’m online and chatting with my mates at GB.Net - I am flabberghasted at how easy it is!

However, in my eagerness to get online, I foolishly forget to buy a coffee BEFORE I set up all my gear, and after triumphantly proving what a techno-geek I am, I give in to the need for stimulants, pack up all my kit and caboodle and go to relieve the cafe of a large Cappuchino and a sizeable chocolate muffin. I retreat back to WiFi heaven with my goodies both technical and digestible and am shortly back with my online buddies, sending them a photo of my hard-won snack!
My friends keep me company and help while away the hours until it’s time for me to go in search of my departure gate, when I pack away my gear and trek off.......

This airport astounds me. En route to my gate, I look like a goldfish as I gawp open-mouthed at the glamour of the place........ I’m not what you’d call an Airport Afficionado, but this one is the bee’s knees of Terminals - the veritable dog’s bananas! However, my ineptitude with my trusty little Nikon frustrates me as I attempt to capture the rich colours of a stunning display of bottles in a champagne bar, and the glitz in the window of a diamond shop....... (I really MUST study the manual.) I try to soak up the atmosphere, afraid that I’ll forget it all knowing my sieve-like mind, but there is too much to take in - I’m on sensory overload. By the time I get to my next point of no return, I’m dazed and bedazzled by the whole experience, not to mention feeling a tad icky - which I blame on the chocolate muffin.

I still have time before my flight boards, so after an abortive attempt at reconnecting to the net, I indulge in a little talent-spotting. There are SO many good-looking men here! I’m like a spectator at Wimbledon watching hunks pass back and forth, and one Super-Studly specimen in particular catches my eye as I join the queue to board the plane. I have to make a concerted effort to shut my mouth and stop dribbling........ This time, there’s a covered walkway to the plane, and I find myself pausing at the gaps, simply to get a breath of air. Once again heavily tainted with the acrid smell of aircraft fuel, it’s not fresh, but at least it’s cool and I long to be able to stick my flushed face outside. It gets even worse aboard the aircraft - it’s stuffy and hot, and I feel the beginnings of hysteria as the plane fills up and I am trapped in my window seat - once again on the wing.... What IS it with me and wings?? I hate sitting there, as I have visions of the scene from the “Twilight Zone” where the guy keeps seeing some weird creature outside...... I scribble wildly to distract myself from the rising panic, and fleetingly wonder what I’m doing, jetting halfway across Europe by myself. Then I remember. It’s called Independence.......

As we are once more thrust skywards with a great screaming of engines - and much silent screaming from me - I cease my manic scribbling, forced back in my seat by the G-force and close my eyes to hope fervently that we stay airborne as long as we need to. (I’m not afraid of flying - it’s the crashing that scares the Bejaysus out of me.) As we level out, I venture another look outside - the lights of nighttime Amsterdam twinkle far below like a scattering of jewels on black velvet - quite simply breathtaking. Content that we might possibly stay aloft for the duration, I resume scratching away in my Moleskine, only to find the bladdy plane juddering again as we encounter yet more turbulence. Whoopi-doo.

The trolley-dollies this time are very ably assisted by a hunkalicious Purser who hauls the weighty trolley uphill, then they take the brakes off the thing and whizz back down the aisle flinging their wares at the startled passengers like newspaper delivery boys..... I decline the offer, as I don’t see any reason to give my churning tum more ammo for any potential projectile vomiting that may occur...... I check out the distribution of puke packs, and am relieved to see I have double quota again. Methinks they knew I was coming..... I wish I could just open a window to cool my badly-timed hot flush, but content myself with fiddling with the woefully inadequate air vent instead. Note to self: Bring ice pack and fan next time.....

The moon casts a glow over the wing of the aircraft, reassuring me that it’s still there at least, and I listen to the laid-back tones of the Captain as he casually informs us that we are flying via Leipzeig and Dresden. What he DOESN’T say is that we’re going to be flying through yet more bloody turbulence, just as I begin to scribble again, and my pen makes an untidy streak across the page of my notebook. However, we have “a gift from nature” (his words, not mine!) in the form of a favourable tail wind, which means that we will arrive in Vienna ahead of schedule. Gusti - get your skates on!......... We’re still bouncing around, and the water I have left in my cup threatens to deposit itself into my lap. I daren’t chug it back, as the little I HAVE imbibed is sloshing around uncomfortably in my tum. I try sipping it, but end up wearing it and abandon the attempt. At 9.35, we begin a swift descent into Vienna’s airport, strange flashes of light showing beneath the wings as we punch our way through low cloud. The lights of Vienna appear suddenly as the cloud breaks, and I’m taken aback by the sprawl of the city - somehow, I imagined it would be smaller! I’m enthralled by the lights, and drink them in, trying to hold the sight in my memory - one particular area is brighter than the rest, and sparkles like a Swarovski ornament - it’s truly beautiful. Then the harsh, ugly lights of the airport hove into view and we bang down hard on the runway in a heavy landing.

I’m here.