Airport Rage

Getting to the airport and through to the departure gate is the one part of going on holiday that I dread. There are so many variables that can cause delays....traffic jams/diversions/road works, car problems, infrequent transfers from the long-stay parking lot, long queues at the check-in, even longer queues at security, etc, etc.

Consequently, I tend to allow massive “safety time gaps” whenever I travel and plan for all eventualities...most often resulting in us getting to the terminal and into the departure lounge way, WAY too early. The longest departure lounge wait we ever spent was 6 hours for a London to Cape Town flight back in 2006 ....I figured it would take us 3 hours to drive there (it took just over one), allowed an hour to transfer from the parking lot (45 minutes is recommended, it took less than 10), then about an hour in the check-in queue (South African Airways flights are notorious for long lines) and another to clear security (we were the only ones checking in and subsequently got fast-tracked through security) plus I’d allowed an extra hour or two, “just in case”. As a result of this phobia, I am very familiar with the layouts of all four of London’s airports having spent many an excess hour wandering around in them, desperately trying to kill time...yet happy that the first part of the ordeal of travelling is over (remember though, I fear flying so I know there is still bad stuff to come).

B is extremely tolerant of my “disorder”....he happily leaves for the airport by whatever absurd time I feel is necessary, knowing that I will be like a tightly-coiled spring until I am perusing the perfumes in the Duty Free, boarding pass in hand. But, travelling with friends can be a nightmare...most of them are fairly laid back, and, like most “normal” people, try to minimise time spent at an airport. The worst airport experience for me ever was our flight to Lyon for a week’s skiing with friends over Christmas 2003. J&M are possibly the most relaxed people on this planet (you know, the so-laid-back-they’re-horizontal types). Our flight was at noon.....bearing in mind we lived at that time about an hour’s drive from Gatwick, I had an  8 am start planned (at the very latest, preferably 7.30). I started having palpitations the night before the trip when J casually suggested we get a taxi for “around 10ish then?”.... WHAT???!!!! Assuming a good run (and I never assume that) we would be arriving with less than an hour to spare before the plane was shooting down the runway? Not on your life! B stepped in quickly (I was still pulling my slack jaw off the floor) suggesting we go a “little bit earlier” than that as the airport might be just a tad busy as it’s Christmas Eve. The taxi was thus booked for 9 (still cutting it way too fine for my liking). 8.59 am and I was shepherding everyone out and into the cab before the driver could lift his finger to press the buzzer.

We were at Gatwick within the hour and were doing OK (my heart rate was slowing down to about 120)...then, major panic (for me at least) when J&M had problems checking in (they’d recently got married so J still had her old name on her passport but the booking was held in her married name and she’d misplaced their marriage certificate! Silently cursing all women who insist on taking their husband’s surname (and I can, as I didn’t!), I was desperately trying to remain calm (at least on outward appearance). Eventually, after much deliberation and negotiation, we were through to departures and the *boarding* sign for our flight was flashing on the screens....to me a sure sign that we should make haste to the gate (yes, yes, only to wait a further half an hour for the inconsiderate sods who delay the flight as they’re stocking up on Johnny Walker but better safe than sorry....you never know how long the walk is).

Not so for J&M....”oodles of time still to have a coffee, check out the shops”....my stomach is starting to churn queasily by this stage....but I don’t want to appear uncool, so I bite my tongue. That is, until I hear “Will passengers J, M, N and B kindly make their way to the departure gate, your flight is now closing....” over the tannoy. J&M saw another side to me in that moment....funny, we haven’t travelled together since....

Recently, I’ve discovered a great way of combating some of the “getting to the airport” stress: go the night before.....no, not to sit in the departure lounge for even more ridiculously extended hours....but to spend the night in a hotel as close as possible (preferably within crawling distance, just in case the shuttle service fails). Usually parking is thrown in with the deal and the rates are not much more than booking a long-stay park on its own anyway. For the Italian trip (which included a 6 am outbound flight), we splashed out on the comfy Gatwick Sofitel, which is so very conveniently actually connected to the North terminal. We checked in our hold luggage the night before, had a relaxed dinner and a few hours’ sleep, and then strolled back the next morning to clear security and board the plane. Possibly my best ever airport experience....and a great start to a fantastic holiday.