The trouble with email
My booking reference wasn’t recognised at Manchester airport. The British Airways clerk told me that the only flight to Barcelona was departing at 18:20. It was 13:00. I showed her my ticket. She shrugged. Not a crisis, but I was somewhat indignant that the airline hadn’t informed me of the change in departure time. Enjoying the first of many coffees I managed to get online and checked my email, considering what to write to BA. To my chagrin I not only found an email with changed flight details, but I had both forwarded it to my contact in Spain and flagged it as important. I’m going to use the excuse that I get too many emails, but I reality I just have a bad memory. Now why didn’t I copy over the details to Evernote?
Manchester airport was heaving and, by the number of people steadily getting drunk, it seems as though many flights had been delayed. I walked in loops around the lounge to kill time, tried unsuccessfully to buy access to the BA lounge and then somehow hacked an Internet connection. On my way back from checking the departure board for the twentieth time, I found the Papp family waiting in one of the restaurants. I haven’t seen them for years. Camille and Johnathan have grown so much since they were at DBGS, but they are still the wonderful kids they were five years ago when they moved to Dubai.
My flight eventually departed at 20:15 with the pilots apologising that he was late because his plane had been stuck in Bologne. By the time we arrived I was glad I had booked myself into the NH Hotel in Sant Boi as it is just a short way from the airport. The airport taxi proved that it is still possible to rip off a traveller even when you use the meter. Twenty five euros for the short journey would have stung if I hadn’t seen my motorcycle waiting for me inside the hotel car park.
Despite being an airport hotel, reception was surprised by the arrival of guests after midnight and I had to rattle the huge iron gates for a couple of minutes before someone finally woke up.