I’ve long heard travel horror stories from people who have travelled far more than I. I suppose if you travel enough, you’re bound to have some sad story to tell, but now I have a travel horror story worth telling. I think London history will speak of the ill-fated Terminal 5 for some time. Large scale mess-ups of high profile, very expensive projects such as Terminal 5 are difficult for people to forget. As someone who was unfortunate enough to be booked through terminal 5 during its first week of operation, and, worse yet, after the unseasonable snow storm of April 6, 2008, I certainly will not forget Terminal 5.It’s funny, in a sick sort of way. I’ve slept exactly two nights in London. The first was in 2000, when I arrived in the city too late to make the last Chunnel train of the night. I managed to find a hostel with an open bunk bed, slept the night, and caught an early train out in the morning. The second was last night, after getting stranded with a few hundred other unlucky travelers in London Heathrow’s new Terminal 5. I was flying from Copenhagen, Denmark to Edinburgh, Scotland by way of London. This certainly looked like a fairly simple undertaking when my flight was booked, but looks can certainly be deceiving.
I arrived at the Copenhagen airport around 1PM and made my way to the check-in counter by 1:15. My first signs of trouble were when the self check-in kiosk did not find my reservation. Luckily, the person behind the check-in desk had no problem finding it, but told me that there may be a problem with my flight and then took my passport to the booking desk to see if I could be changed to another flight. When she returned she told me that the flight was delayed and that the ticket counter would know in about 30 minutes whether to leave me where I am, or rebook me to an earlier flight. The decision, when it finally came, was to book me on the 2PM flight that was now set to leave at 3:50PM. She walked me back to the check-in to explain to them how to handle my flight. While I was checking in, the woman at the computer decided to double-book my London to Edinburgh flight, just in case I was not able to arrive on time. Turns out, this was a good plan, but it wasn’t quite enough.
Boarding pass in hand for my new flight, I headed for the security check point. I suppose it should go without saying that my boarding pass for a 2PM flight raised some eyebrows at 2:30PM. I can’t blame the guard one bit for her concern, I’m actually glad that she took the time to call down and make sure that everything was fine. I did eventually get through security and checked the board to find my gate…nothing, just “Await Info.” I asked someone if they could at least point me to which of the 4 terminals I should sit in, but was told that my flight could end up in any of the terminals. I found something to eat and waited. Just as I finished my lunch a gate number appeared on the monitor: A-something, if I recall correctly. I was in C. I grabbed my bags and hurried through C, B, and half of A to the passport control, where I was checked and waved through. Just as I walked up to the gate I hear and announcement, surprisingly by the same person who had tried to check me in originally, “There has been a mistake, this gate is for the New Castle flight, please have a seat and we will let you know when we have a new gate number.” Five or ten minutes pass before the next announcement. “I’m sorry to inform you that this flight has been canceled. Please move to the closest transfer station, which is just outside of border patrol.” Ok, I slowly gather my things and let the mad rush go ahead of me before passing back through border control, STAMP, and on to the transfer station, where there’s a plane full of people standing and 2 people at computers helping. Certainly an hour passes, perhaps not two, but I do eventually get a new ticket to London…on my original flight. It’s too bad they only double-booked my connection, not my outbound. Off to gate A15 and back through border control, STAMP.
Not surprisingly I found more than a few people waiting at A15, including some familiar faces. At this point it’s probably near 5PM and the flight is expected at 6:15. Oh wait, that changed to 6:00, progress! I only had to wait about 20 minutes or so there before they started boarding. The hope was that if the plane was full we could claim the first take-off slot that becomes free. I was fortunate enough to share an almost-business-class row with a nice gentleman from London. Once everyone was in their seats the purser announces that they will begin handing out water and orange juice to hold us over until we can get in the air. They no sooner begin pouring and the plane begins moving. “Abort drink service, begin take-off preparations.” We do, in fact, taxi out, to the usual safety videos and what-not, but we don’t get far.
We make a fairly long taxi out from the gate toward the runway, but soon come to the realization that we won’t be leaving. The plane turns around and begins moving back toward the terminal from which we had just left. After a brief conversation with the flight deck the purser announces that we will be returning to the gate to remove some bags that were loaded on our plane rather than the later flight. He told us that leaving these bags on the plane would amount to a big security risk. Past experience told me that this was simply not true (my bag has beat me home before), but the decision had been made, there was no turning back around.
Some 30 or 45 minutes pass while the bags are unloaded and our flight is assigned a new flight number and departure window. Our flight attendants handed out drinks, apologizing that they had nothing “stiffer” to give us, and we waited. The wait eventually passed and the flight to London went without incident. The flight attendants were even nice enough to share the bubbly with those of not fortunate enough to sit before the blue curtain dividing first class and coach. The flight time passed, we landed and pulled up next to the terminal…the now infamous Terminal 5.
We sat, parked parallel to the terminal for an abnormally long time before the pilot finally announced that nobody was at our gate to guide us in. Several minutes later someone dashed by “like a startled gazelle,” as the pilot described, but this someone could not find the switch to turn on the gate lights, so we waited. A truck was eventually dispatched to our rescue and we were guided into our spot, only 15 minutes or so after our arrival and some 30 or 45 minutes after my flight was to leave. I did hear some passengers grumble about the light-hearted remarks of our pilot and purser, but I think most appreciated the attempts to lighten the frustrated mood on the plane. Upon exiting the plane… at last… I learned why this building is given the name “terminal.”
I moved fairly quickly through the terminal, hoping that there might be yet one more flight to Edinburgh before the end of the night. As I rounded the corner to the transfer desk I found a line of people long enough to rival that of a brand new roller coaster on opening day of an amusement park; more than one hundred people, channeled back and forth by a thin band of fabric, stood between me and the airline employees who could help me find my way to Scotland. I stopped by the men’s room, realizing that I would be settling in for a long wait, and then joined my fellow, stranded travelers sometime around 6:30 or 7:00 in the evening. There would be no trip to Edinburgh tonight.
Over the next couple of hours travelers came and went, although only rarely leaving from the front of the line. It was several hours before I determined that this was due to the fact that at any given moment, no more than three people were helping travelers find new flights. Meanwhile several other BA employees stood behind the line answering people’s questions as they joined the line and assuring increasingly irate travelers that nobody would be going home until everyone in line had been serviced. Strangely, these same people began disappearing at a much faster rate than those of us in line. Occasionally travelers were told that anyone wanting to get themselves a hotel room could call BA toll free to rebook and would be reimbursed in the morning. We were unimpressed, few people took this offer. Some did try the toll-free number, but the people I spoke to who tried this were turned away by the operators. I even tried using my laptop to rebook online, but the torrent of misplaced travelers was too much for poor ba.com. Those of us in line settled in and got to know each other. Behind me were a mother and two teen-aged girls on their way from Glasgow to the Bahamas. Missing their flight meant missing out on a week in the warm, Caribbean sun. I hope they didn’t arrive too late to enjoy their island paradise.
By about 11PM we began noticing that the already outnumbered British Airways employees were becoming quite scarce. It was becoming obvious that no back-up had been called in and the “nobody can leave until the queue is empty” story was beginning to seam like a fairy tale. It was around that time that two BA employees began walking through the line, handing out bus and hotel vouchers. The 24 hour service line was closing until 4:45AM and we were being brushed aside. I suppose it goes without say that this was unpopular. The tired travelers that had waited more than 4 hours at this time began to wake like a sleeping bear poked by a foolish camper. As people in line, still at least 100 strong, began becoming less irate and more livid, I snuck around the perimeter to claim my ticket, I was tired and a bed sounded better than the cold, hard floor of the airport terminal. As I claimed my vouchers, two lower-management level BA employees came out to try to calm the crowds…they really should have taken the back door out of the airport. I slinked away, wishing my new Scottish friends well, as cries from the line became louder. Before I left, I did ask about my checked luggage. I was assured that when I returned in the morning, it would be put on my new flight. I knew better, but that’s a later story, off to bed.
Naturally, with flights still arriving and more poor saps like myself being sent away, the line through Passport Control was long, but I was probably through within 20 minutes and to the bus stop within about another 10. The bus to the free hotels was not particularly difficult to find, it was the one with 50 or so tired, bagless travelers lined up and waiting. To the bus driver’s credit, he filled that bus beyond capacity, but it still wasn’t enough to service the entire line. Thankfully, my hotel was the first stop, but that was true for most of the people on this particular bus. We piled into the hotel and assumed a position, with which we were all too familiar, in line. Although the hotel had been warned that we were coming, they still chose to use just one person to check us in, while two people stood idle behind the normal check-in desk. Thankfully, I had made it into line close to the front, so I was serviced fairly quickly. The hotel clerk then proceeded to tell each of us that although we had dinner and breakfast vouchers, dinner had closed hours earlier…gee, good thing BA gave us all a granola bar, huh? To bed, I was too tired and hungry to complain.
As I’ve already said, I’ve spent exactly two nights of my life in London. I do hope that one day I’ll actually be able to see some of the sights around London, but until then I’ll remember London as the place I stay when I can’t travel any farther. I will say, however, that the Days Inn near Heathrow is significantly nicer than the cheap hostel, where I stayed in my previous trip through London. None-the-less, I was in a hurry to get out in the morning, already a day late to Edinburgh. I phoned British Airways, got rebooked on a flight that would get me to Edinburgh around 5PM. Now for a short rest and then off for the airport to make sure that my belongings and I make the trip to Scotland together.
As I boarded the bus, the bus driver greeted me, then pointed at my carry-on bag, saying “Kiss it good bye, you’ll never see that again.” Sadly, he was not far from the truth. I arrived at the airport some 4 hours ahead of my flight. Since it’s unlikely that you’ve been through Terminal 5 at the time I write this, I’ll tell you that it is designed for automation. If can check yourself in and put your bag on a conveyor belt, you can pick any of several dozen check-in stations, but if you have anything out of the ordinary, there’s only a small handful of people you can speak with. I joined the line of poor folks who had been turned away by the kiosks, for whatever reason. It took some time to get through the line, but I did eventually get to speak with someone. I explained that my luggage was somewhere in the building and that I wanted to make sure it joined me on my flight. The attendant tapped away at the computer and then assured me that everything was taken care of. At that point, I made my way through security to the mall… err… terminal. Once past security, there was nothing out of the ordinary about my transit from London to Edinburgh; I came, I ate, I flew, I landed.
Upon landing in Scotland, at last, I made my way to the luggage carousel. There was no shortage of baggage to be claimed. So many bags had arrived that airport employees were retrieving those not marked to have arrived on the current flight and piling them together by the baggage office. Even with this wealth of baggage, my suitcase was nowhere to be found. I wasn’t terribly surprised by this, so I filed my lost baggage report and found a taxi. I’ll tell the story of my luggage in full in a future post, but I did finally reach my destination, only a day late and checked into my room: room 5, how ironic.
Cross-posted at: jeffsbasement.vox.com