Sunday, Feb 01.
11.40ish: Snow begins to fall
18ish: P's mother no longer willing to drive to Gatwick Airport tomorrow morning
18.00 - 00.00ish: Panic and packing (and last-minute overlooked translation)
00.05: P sets alarm for 04.45: so early it's practically already happened
Monday, Feb 02.
04.30: P's Dad, loudly: 'What time did you set your alarm for?" P (very unhappy): 'about fifteen minutes' time'.
04.40: P gets out of bed.
05.10: P and Dad drag cases up the drive, through powdery snow, into car.
05.11: P rolls the Spaniel on its back in the snow.
05.12: Yellow snow.
05.14: P and Dad drive - very gingerly- to Sevenoaks station.
05.20: P purchases train ticket to Gatwick Airport, at extortionate peak commuter time price.
05.21: P and several haggard-looking suits (all male) are only people in station (apart from one Canadian guy with a big rucksack). Next train is due at 06.12.
05.40: Network South East operators come out and tell everyone that all trains are suspended*.
05.41: P and Canadian guy exchange looks of disbelief.
05.45: P goes to get refund on expensive peak-time train ticket. 'You'll have to go the ticket office', replies train operator. It is not yet six in the morning. Ticket office is closed. P can't answer that one.
05.50: P calls Dad.
05.52: Taxi driver pulls up at station. P accosts him in normal fashion.
05.54: M25 completely impassible. Apparently. P's Dad arrives at station.
06:00-06.20: P on phone to anyone, anyone at all alive at Gatwick Airport.
06.21: P gets through to A Real Person who is definitely alive and breathing at Gatwick Airport.
- 'Sorry, I can't help you with that: I'm the disability liaison officer'.
Britain is nothing if not politically correct.
06.25: P and Dad reckon the taxi driver was wrong and decide to give it a shot.
(Check in opens at 07.10)
06.30: small slide on snowy road.
06.40: P and Dad hit the M25 and wonder what they ever worried about. Lanes are clear, going is good. Phew.
06.55: QUEUES.
07.00: P and Dad in car
07.10: P calls airport. Automated system.
- 'There is no information for that flight. Please hold, while I put you through to a customer services advisor'. Music.
P holds.
07.20: P's phone runs out of credit.
07.25: P calls Orange and tops up phone.
07.31: 'All of our advisers are busy. Please hold.'
08.15: Junction 6**. P's Dad knows a shortcut. But it's through dangerous A-roads, which might not be cleared and gritted. Should they turn off? Should they stay on track?
08.16: Car inches past slip road.
08.18: Car inches just a little further.
08.20: P's Dad makes sharp skiddy turn back onto sliproad.
08.21: Hooting.
08.22: Classic FM plays Winter from Four Seasons, only for first time today.
08.25: A-roads are fantastic!
08.35: Drivers who are afraid of the snow and drive at 20mph in a 60-limit are not fantastic.
(Check-in closes at 08.50)
08.49: Gatwick Airport!
08.50: P hugs Dad goodbye and legs it, dragging two cases and one laptop bag into terminal building.
08.50 and a half: P jams credit card into automatic check-in machine. Yesssss!
08.55: Flight very delayed. Check-in open late anyway.
09.10 - 10.20: P becomes very well acquainted with departure lounge.
11ish (P has stopped counting):
*Due to lack of 'safety staff'. Hands up who's ever seen 'safety staff' on a PKP service?
**Sevenoaks is junction 5.
Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Polish word of the day: 0022009
Today's Polish word of the day is 'śnieg'.
Here is an illustration of the meaning of this word.
And here are some examples of its use:
- Lotnisko zamknięte z powodu opadów śniegu
- Z powodu padającego śniegu, dzisiejszy lot do Krakowa jest odwołany
It's actually quite hard to find this sort of example on google, seeing as how, in Poland, things are not often cancelled z powodu śniegu. In Poland, they put on winter tyres and drink tea with raspberry syrup and get on with it.
In England, nothing works when it snows.
trzymajcie kciucki.
Here is an illustration of the meaning of this word.
And here are some examples of its use:
- Lotnisko zamknięte z powodu opadów śniegu
- Z powodu padającego śniegu, dzisiejszy lot do Krakowa jest odwołany
It's actually quite hard to find this sort of example on google, seeing as how, in Poland, things are not often cancelled z powodu śniegu. In Poland, they put on winter tyres and drink tea with raspberry syrup and get on with it.
In England, nothing works when it snows.
trzymajcie kciucki.
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Bowl of credit crunch, please, skinny milk
Wow, Sterling airlines is the latest budget travel company to go... uh... into a tailspin.
I flew to Sweden with them six weeks ago, booking my ticket rather nervously on the recommendation of the group I was volunteering for and wondering whether or not my return flight would actually take off. However, when I called their UK helpline, a polite young man with polished English answered and I felt rather relieved: it looked like a case of clean Scandinavian efficiency all the way.
Unfortunately it seems a lot of their shareholders hailed from Iceland. Uh oh.
Iceland: a whole country has gone bankrupt! (it's been a while since I got my highlighter out over the Economist). I suppose that's what happens if Kerry Katona is heading your advertising campaign. Where's Mum going to go now?!
This credit crunch lark is mad! I mean - I have absolutely no idea what it's all about. Friends who work in the City are starting to cut down on the heady social life and acquaintances in accounting look a little more nervous than before, but other than that...
Here's Pinolona's guide to surviving the credit crunch:
1/ Housing crash.
Apparently lots of people will end up in negative equity. Mortgage lenders are going bankrupt. General woe abounds. The solution? Rent a flat - in Poland, with students. Or, go for the option favoured by any red-blooded Italian male and live at home with your parents. Ensure they are suitably distracted - e.g. by fitting a new kitchen - and they may not notice you are there (thereby omitting to charge you rent).
2/ Increased food prices.
See no. 1, part two.
3/ High cost of heating.
Make sure you live in a building with permanent communal heating which is included in the rent (radiator knobs not included; fiddling around with wrenches and getting covered in black grease compulsory). This will probably take you to Poland (or your parents' house, see no 1, part 2).
3/ Job insecurity.
Waves of redundancies are rippling across the City like a scythe through ripe wheat.
Avoid the fear by quitting your stable job and becoming self-employed. Hey presto! Permanent underlying job insecurity brings no nasty surprises in times of financial hardship.
4/ Interest rates.
I'm not entirely sure what's going on with interest rates to be honest, but, since I haven't been in credit since 2003, it doesn't really matter. So why not blow all your savings on a costly (and worthless) university education?! Then you won't have to worry about not making any money on them. (plus if you're a student no-one can make you redundant. Winners all round!)
5/ In the absence of any kind of disposable income, indulge in simple pleasures. Such as... watching the snow (snow?!).
Other free spectator sports include: the US presidential elections; the queue at the Post Office; counting SUVs driven by bewildered au pairs trying to do the school run; attempting to spot a happy face among the commuters returning from central London at 8.15 on a school night.
Happy crunching!
I flew to Sweden with them six weeks ago, booking my ticket rather nervously on the recommendation of the group I was volunteering for and wondering whether or not my return flight would actually take off. However, when I called their UK helpline, a polite young man with polished English answered and I felt rather relieved: it looked like a case of clean Scandinavian efficiency all the way.
Unfortunately it seems a lot of their shareholders hailed from Iceland. Uh oh.
Iceland: a whole country has gone bankrupt! (it's been a while since I got my highlighter out over the Economist). I suppose that's what happens if Kerry Katona is heading your advertising campaign. Where's Mum going to go now?!
This credit crunch lark is mad! I mean - I have absolutely no idea what it's all about. Friends who work in the City are starting to cut down on the heady social life and acquaintances in accounting look a little more nervous than before, but other than that...
Here's Pinolona's guide to surviving the credit crunch:
1/ Housing crash.
Apparently lots of people will end up in negative equity. Mortgage lenders are going bankrupt. General woe abounds. The solution? Rent a flat - in Poland, with students. Or, go for the option favoured by any red-blooded Italian male and live at home with your parents. Ensure they are suitably distracted - e.g. by fitting a new kitchen - and they may not notice you are there (thereby omitting to charge you rent).
2/ Increased food prices.
See no. 1, part two.
3/ High cost of heating.
Make sure you live in a building with permanent communal heating which is included in the rent (radiator knobs not included; fiddling around with wrenches and getting covered in black grease compulsory). This will probably take you to Poland (or your parents' house, see no 1, part 2).
3/ Job insecurity.
Waves of redundancies are rippling across the City like a scythe through ripe wheat.
Avoid the fear by quitting your stable job and becoming self-employed. Hey presto! Permanent underlying job insecurity brings no nasty surprises in times of financial hardship.
4/ Interest rates.
I'm not entirely sure what's going on with interest rates to be honest, but, since I haven't been in credit since 2003, it doesn't really matter. So why not blow all your savings on a costly (and worthless) university education?! Then you won't have to worry about not making any money on them. (plus if you're a student no-one can make you redundant. Winners all round!)
5/ In the absence of any kind of disposable income, indulge in simple pleasures. Such as... watching the snow (snow?!).
Other free spectator sports include: the US presidential elections; the queue at the Post Office; counting SUVs driven by bewildered au pairs trying to do the school run; attempting to spot a happy face among the commuters returning from central London at 8.15 on a school night.
Happy crunching!
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Traveller in Time
Captain's Log, Stardate apparently some time in mid-December 2008
Initially very little seemed to have changed upon my return to the Old Country, but gradually over the past couple of days I have begun to observe subtle differences which lead me to question the true nature of my return journey from Bratislava. Allow me to explain: I appear to have travelled, not only through international air-space, but indeed in time itself.
Do not be fooled by my dramatic air. For an entire day, all seemed normal. I am not attempting to convince you that I have travelled forward into the tortured imaginary lands of George Orwell and HG Wells. Nor have I sped back into some primitive country redolent of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. However, minute tweaks in the fabric of my everyday surroundings lead me to suspect a short skip of a matter of months.
The evidence is as follows:
1/ Absent-mindedly picking up an advertising leaflet from the coffee table in the lounge (to use as a bookmark) I realised that it was publicising a 'Christmas menu' at a local downmarket eatery. While I agree that it makes sense to book in advance, no-one of my acquaintance has ever yet had trouble getting a table at the Riverhead Harvester.
2/ Foraging through my absent parents' larder, I stumbled upon a solid slab of cake in a crackly cellophane wrapper. Closer inspection of the festive red label revealed this to be nothing more than 'Iced fruit cake', but a tell-tale sprig of holly innocently lurking in one corner raised my suspicions.
3/ Marks and Spencers. A short excursion (in search of wine) left me in no doubt. On the end of the aisles: Advent calendars! In the bakery section: Mince pies! Under beers wines and spirits: Mulled wine! (And an intriguing dark bottle labelled 'Chocolate Ruby'. This turned out to be British fortified wine flavoured with dark chocolate. Excruciating hangover guaranteed: any more migraine triggers and it'd be classified as a weapon of mass destruction).
What conclusions can be drawn from all this? When I clambered wearily up the Ryanair boarding steps (trying unsuccessfully to block out the baritone exuberance of several jubilant Polska fans behind me), I had no idea that I was about to embark upon a Journey Through Time. There was no clue that what I took to be turbulence on take-off - apparently caused by heavy rain over central Europe - was in fact the rippling of the Fabric of Destiny. How could I have guessed that a simple two-hour flight would in fact catapault me two months into the future? Why, in Kraków they weren't even selling lamps for All Saints' Day (at least not any more so than usual).
Or maybe it simply took much, much longer than I thought to get through arrivals at Stansted Airport.
Initially very little seemed to have changed upon my return to the Old Country, but gradually over the past couple of days I have begun to observe subtle differences which lead me to question the true nature of my return journey from Bratislava. Allow me to explain: I appear to have travelled, not only through international air-space, but indeed in time itself.
Do not be fooled by my dramatic air. For an entire day, all seemed normal. I am not attempting to convince you that I have travelled forward into the tortured imaginary lands of George Orwell and HG Wells. Nor have I sped back into some primitive country redolent of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. However, minute tweaks in the fabric of my everyday surroundings lead me to suspect a short skip of a matter of months.
The evidence is as follows:
1/ Absent-mindedly picking up an advertising leaflet from the coffee table in the lounge (to use as a bookmark) I realised that it was publicising a 'Christmas menu' at a local downmarket eatery. While I agree that it makes sense to book in advance, no-one of my acquaintance has ever yet had trouble getting a table at the Riverhead Harvester.
2/ Foraging through my absent parents' larder, I stumbled upon a solid slab of cake in a crackly cellophane wrapper. Closer inspection of the festive red label revealed this to be nothing more than 'Iced fruit cake', but a tell-tale sprig of holly innocently lurking in one corner raised my suspicions.
3/ Marks and Spencers. A short excursion (in search of wine) left me in no doubt. On the end of the aisles: Advent calendars! In the bakery section: Mince pies! Under beers wines and spirits: Mulled wine! (And an intriguing dark bottle labelled 'Chocolate Ruby'. This turned out to be British fortified wine flavoured with dark chocolate. Excruciating hangover guaranteed: any more migraine triggers and it'd be classified as a weapon of mass destruction).
What conclusions can be drawn from all this? When I clambered wearily up the Ryanair boarding steps (trying unsuccessfully to block out the baritone exuberance of several jubilant Polska fans behind me), I had no idea that I was about to embark upon a Journey Through Time. There was no clue that what I took to be turbulence on take-off - apparently caused by heavy rain over central Europe - was in fact the rippling of the Fabric of Destiny. How could I have guessed that a simple two-hour flight would in fact catapault me two months into the future? Why, in Kraków they weren't even selling lamps for All Saints' Day (at least not any more so than usual).
Or maybe it simply took much, much longer than I thought to get through arrivals at Stansted Airport.
Monday, 4 August 2008
Auf Deutshe, bitte
I'm in Germany.
The past few days have been packed with linguistic confusion.
From the moment the Pani (Frau?) at the bus stop (wo ist die bushaltestelle bitte?) asked me something and I answered: 'nie wiem... uh... no... crap... ich weiss nicht', I knew it would be disastrous.
It started out well. I bought a beautiful Berlitz phrase book and CD from Borders in Stansted airport (at 6.45am there's not even too much of a queue) and hit the books straight away. With a large cup of coffee.
By the time we landed at Frankfurt-Hahn, I was at least able to ask for a ticket to Saarbruecken. Not bad for a Friday morning. The ticket guy answered by giving me directions, and that's no problem: apart from anything else, it usually consists largely of gesticulation, and how can you go wrong with that?
The bus terminal at Saarbruecken Hauptbahnhof is extremely complicated, with buses in two lanes and trams down the middle (four 'platforms' in all).
I was there for over an hour.
It wasn't even a linguistic problem: I simply couldn't spot my bus (being woken up at 4am doesn't do much for my powers of observation).
Twice I saw the vehicle in question drawing in to land over on the other side of the bus station. I picked up suitcase, computer bag, handbag, waterbottle and passport and legged it across the tram tracks, narrowly missing falling over the steps in the middle platform.
I reached the other side just as it was pulling away.
The second time I made it, presented myself - rather out of breath - at the drivers' doorway, and gasped 'Jugendherberge bitte!'
- You have to go back to the other side.
... said the bus driver, in English.
After another half hour, another six or seven buses which were manifestly not for me, and the company of several different bus stop drunks, I gave up and headed for the taxi rank.
Three days later, my German is only slightly improved: I now know the following:
Abendessen
Mittagessen
Fruhstuck
Wurst
Ein Weissbier bitte
and 'Ich mochte gern eine Flasche Wasser fur die Dolmetscherin'
The essentials, really.
The past few days have been packed with linguistic confusion.
From the moment the Pani (Frau?) at the bus stop (wo ist die bushaltestelle bitte?) asked me something and I answered: 'nie wiem... uh... no... crap... ich weiss nicht', I knew it would be disastrous.
It started out well. I bought a beautiful Berlitz phrase book and CD from Borders in Stansted airport (at 6.45am there's not even too much of a queue) and hit the books straight away. With a large cup of coffee.
By the time we landed at Frankfurt-Hahn, I was at least able to ask for a ticket to Saarbruecken. Not bad for a Friday morning. The ticket guy answered by giving me directions, and that's no problem: apart from anything else, it usually consists largely of gesticulation, and how can you go wrong with that?
The bus terminal at Saarbruecken Hauptbahnhof is extremely complicated, with buses in two lanes and trams down the middle (four 'platforms' in all).
I was there for over an hour.
It wasn't even a linguistic problem: I simply couldn't spot my bus (being woken up at 4am doesn't do much for my powers of observation).
Twice I saw the vehicle in question drawing in to land over on the other side of the bus station. I picked up suitcase, computer bag, handbag, waterbottle and passport and legged it across the tram tracks, narrowly missing falling over the steps in the middle platform.
I reached the other side just as it was pulling away.
The second time I made it, presented myself - rather out of breath - at the drivers' doorway, and gasped 'Jugendherberge bitte!'
- You have to go back to the other side.
... said the bus driver, in English.
After another half hour, another six or seven buses which were manifestly not for me, and the company of several different bus stop drunks, I gave up and headed for the taxi rank.
Three days later, my German is only slightly improved: I now know the following:
Abendessen
Mittagessen
Fruhstuck
Wurst
Ein Weissbier bitte
and 'Ich mochte gern eine Flasche Wasser fur die Dolmetscherin'
The essentials, really.
Friday, 30 May 2008
Shipping forecast
I don't know how they do it. Somehow, shoes, clothes, and particularly books, manage to multiply in a positively-rabbitlike manner over the course of just fourteen months.
There's no way Easyjet will let me take this lot on board. Even if I wear Every Item Of Clothing I Own, plus the rollerblades. Imagine how long it'd take me to get through security (possibly slightly quicker than expected if I manage to wear the rollerblades).
Nope, I decided I'd pack up all the heavy things in a nice cardboard box all safely taped-up, and ship it off home to the UK while I relaxed in orange-painted comfort at high altitude with old SqueezyJ.
The traditional Poland to England shipping company is called Eagle Freight or something similar, and their website says they've been carting people's worldly goods between here and Blighty since just after the war (presumably with a cheery wave to my Grandad, who was employed by the British Army to try and cart them back again). Early in the week I sent an email to their UK office. Then I sent another to their Polish office.
No dice.
Now my polski przez telefon isn't as hot as I'd like, but needs must when the devil drives (and on Polish roads you'd never know the difference).
In any case, I find now that if I breathe slowly and concentrate very hard it's actually a lot more understandable than I expected (unfortunately sometimes the slow breathing makes me sound like a pervert).
- Oh... sorry... Pani jest too late for this week's delivery
I resisted the urge to point out that if they'd answered my email in the first place I wouldn't have been. Instead, I took a deep breath and asked if they could recommend someone else.*
Desperately I scrabbled around in boxes and cases for a pencil while she started to read out the number.
Two phonecalls later and I had booked a courier to pick up my box on Monday afternoon. All I had to do was send my details in an email and wait for their confirmation.
I sent the email.
No confirmation.
Thursday morning: still no confirmation.
I called again.
A woman answered.
- Ah... czy Pani ma kłopot z polskim?
- uhh... I replied... 'Czasami...'
I asked to speak to the same guy as before.
- Ale ... *tutting sound and slow sucking in of breath through teeth* Wie Pani Co? On jest bardzo zajęty w tym momencie...
Uh oh.
We continued like that for a while: me trying to spell out my name and address, she trying to put me off.
The whole thing was punctuated by more sucking in of breath and doubtful-sounding 'Wie Pani co...' s
There were a lot of things this Pani nie wiedzała.
Later that day, I got the original confirmation email.
I only hope they don't send me two couriers...
*n.b. this is freelancer instinct. "Can you do it?" No. "Do you know someone who can?". It pays - literally - to be popular...
There's no way Easyjet will let me take this lot on board. Even if I wear Every Item Of Clothing I Own, plus the rollerblades. Imagine how long it'd take me to get through security (possibly slightly quicker than expected if I manage to wear the rollerblades).
Nope, I decided I'd pack up all the heavy things in a nice cardboard box all safely taped-up, and ship it off home to the UK while I relaxed in orange-painted comfort at high altitude with old SqueezyJ.
The traditional Poland to England shipping company is called Eagle Freight or something similar, and their website says they've been carting people's worldly goods between here and Blighty since just after the war (presumably with a cheery wave to my Grandad, who was employed by the British Army to try and cart them back again). Early in the week I sent an email to their UK office. Then I sent another to their Polish office.
No dice.
Now my polski przez telefon isn't as hot as I'd like, but needs must when the devil drives (and on Polish roads you'd never know the difference).
In any case, I find now that if I breathe slowly and concentrate very hard it's actually a lot more understandable than I expected (unfortunately sometimes the slow breathing makes me sound like a pervert).
- Oh... sorry... Pani jest too late for this week's delivery
I resisted the urge to point out that if they'd answered my email in the first place I wouldn't have been. Instead, I took a deep breath and asked if they could recommend someone else.*
Desperately I scrabbled around in boxes and cases for a pencil while she started to read out the number.
Two phonecalls later and I had booked a courier to pick up my box on Monday afternoon. All I had to do was send my details in an email and wait for their confirmation.
I sent the email.
No confirmation.
Thursday morning: still no confirmation.
I called again.
A woman answered.
- Ah... czy Pani ma kłopot z polskim?
- uhh... I replied... 'Czasami...'
I asked to speak to the same guy as before.
- Ale ... *tutting sound and slow sucking in of breath through teeth* Wie Pani Co? On jest bardzo zajęty w tym momencie...
Uh oh.
We continued like that for a while: me trying to spell out my name and address, she trying to put me off.
The whole thing was punctuated by more sucking in of breath and doubtful-sounding 'Wie Pani co...' s
There were a lot of things this Pani nie wiedzała.
Later that day, I got the original confirmation email.
I only hope they don't send me two couriers...
*n.b. this is freelancer instinct. "Can you do it?" No. "Do you know someone who can?". It pays - literally - to be popular...
Monday, 5 May 2008
Social Responsibility
Scene 1
I sat on the OrlyBus staring out of the window and tuning in to the chat of two late middle-aged Italian guys sitting behind me.
- Do we get off here or there? Is this West? No... Sud?
I think Orly Sud is the terminal that all the budget airlines fly from. As I listened to them deliberating whether or not to get off the bus, I became more and more worried for these two apparently gentle guys (probably identifying them with the father of a previous boyfriend who was largely content with life so long as there was a sofa to lie on and Fiorentina stayed in Serie A). Eventually I could bear it no more and I turned round:
- This stop is Orly West; I said
- Oh... but we don't have tickets. We did it all on the internet. Maybe it's this terminal.
- Me too!; I said, slightly more concerned; 'I got an e-ticket too... where are you...'
At that point the bus stopped at Orly West.
- Che ne so?! Dai... scendiamo a vedere...
And they made for the door before I could save them.
Scene 2
The flight was a little delayed, and announcements were made - of course - in French followed by English. I could see the younger members of the Polish families waiting around the boarding gate straining to decipher the heavy French accent weighing down the English announcements so they could interpret to their parents.
I began to feel the worry mounting up inside me again. Did they really understand? Was I the only one with all the information? Should I jump in with my francuski-polski translation?
And here's the thing. Dear Transavia France and Aerogare Orly Sud. Would it really be so hard to learn the names of your flight destinations in each of the languages in which you are planning to announce them?*
I mean, Krakow and Warsaw are really not so hard to remember. It could be worse: Moldova versus Moldavia or Moldovia, for example. And do we say 'Ukraine' or The Ukraine (cos I heard the second one would be received very poorly indeed by actual Ukrainians)? Oh yes and the perennial Bielorussia question... Just what is the name in English now? Can anybody tell me what language they speak there? Is is Belorus, Belorussian, Byelorusian? What would John Humphreys say?
Back to Orly Sud and the departure gates. Here's an example:
- Ladeez zand dzentlemen we are pleez to annonce ze departure offlight nombere XXX to ... uhh... Varsovy...
Eventually the confusion was just too much and they found someone to make the announcements in Polish.
[Don't even get me started on the security woman who indicated the seams of my skirt and then said 'neetch', pointedly, several times until I realised that she was trying to check, in Polish, that I had nothing ('nic') in my pockets. Seeing my state of confusion she then turned to her colleague and laughed about how stupid these Poles are]
Finally we were all lined up and moving, albeit slowly, towards the boarding gate.
I was a little nervous, but I prepared my little speech. I had something to say to the Transavia employee at the gate.
I took a deep breath as I handed over my passport:
- Excuse me but the English for Cracovie is Krakow not 'Cracovia' and it's important to know because there are people who only speak English and they'll miss their flights and there we go I just thought you should know these things...
- yes Madame. Don't worry Madame. Yes. Of course.
She spoke over me, nodding her head. Clearly nothing had sunk in.
It didn't matter. That niggling feeling of worry was assuaged. Placated, my conscience and I stepped onto the plane with a big grin of embarrassment. Someone had had to butt in, and it had been me.
I don't know. One random act of tourist rescue and suddenly you think you're Superwoman.
Should I have mentioned that Cracovia is a football team? Or should I leave Transavia to deal with the potential hordes of angry Wisła fans...
ps: talking of social responsibility, I thought nanny-state adverts only existed in Scotland, but no: TVP1 just played an ad urging you to avoid heart disease by not getting angry.
Does that mean there'll be a rehaul of the tax system and drobne for all and sundry??
*And seriously, how about recording a safety announcement in Polish if you're flying to Polish destinations? Surely there's some regulation that states that everyone on the plane should understand what to do in an emergency?!
I sat on the OrlyBus staring out of the window and tuning in to the chat of two late middle-aged Italian guys sitting behind me.
- Do we get off here or there? Is this West? No... Sud?
I think Orly Sud is the terminal that all the budget airlines fly from. As I listened to them deliberating whether or not to get off the bus, I became more and more worried for these two apparently gentle guys (probably identifying them with the father of a previous boyfriend who was largely content with life so long as there was a sofa to lie on and Fiorentina stayed in Serie A). Eventually I could bear it no more and I turned round:
- This stop is Orly West; I said
- Oh... but we don't have tickets. We did it all on the internet. Maybe it's this terminal.
- Me too!; I said, slightly more concerned; 'I got an e-ticket too... where are you...'
At that point the bus stopped at Orly West.
- Che ne so?! Dai... scendiamo a vedere...
And they made for the door before I could save them.
Scene 2
The flight was a little delayed, and announcements were made - of course - in French followed by English. I could see the younger members of the Polish families waiting around the boarding gate straining to decipher the heavy French accent weighing down the English announcements so they could interpret to their parents.
I began to feel the worry mounting up inside me again. Did they really understand? Was I the only one with all the information? Should I jump in with my francuski-polski translation?
And here's the thing. Dear Transavia France and Aerogare Orly Sud. Would it really be so hard to learn the names of your flight destinations in each of the languages in which you are planning to announce them?*
I mean, Krakow and Warsaw are really not so hard to remember. It could be worse: Moldova versus Moldavia or Moldovia, for example. And do we say 'Ukraine' or The Ukraine (cos I heard the second one would be received very poorly indeed by actual Ukrainians)? Oh yes and the perennial Bielorussia question... Just what is the name in English now? Can anybody tell me what language they speak there? Is is Belorus, Belorussian, Byelorusian? What would John Humphreys say?
Back to Orly Sud and the departure gates. Here's an example:
- Ladeez zand dzentlemen we are pleez to annonce ze departure offlight nombere XXX to ... uhh... Varsovy...
Eventually the confusion was just too much and they found someone to make the announcements in Polish.
[Don't even get me started on the security woman who indicated the seams of my skirt and then said 'neetch', pointedly, several times until I realised that she was trying to check, in Polish, that I had nothing ('nic') in my pockets. Seeing my state of confusion she then turned to her colleague and laughed about how stupid these Poles are]
Finally we were all lined up and moving, albeit slowly, towards the boarding gate.
I was a little nervous, but I prepared my little speech. I had something to say to the Transavia employee at the gate.
I took a deep breath as I handed over my passport:
- Excuse me but the English for Cracovie is Krakow not 'Cracovia' and it's important to know because there are people who only speak English and they'll miss their flights and there we go I just thought you should know these things...
- yes Madame. Don't worry Madame. Yes. Of course.
She spoke over me, nodding her head. Clearly nothing had sunk in.
It didn't matter. That niggling feeling of worry was assuaged. Placated, my conscience and I stepped onto the plane with a big grin of embarrassment. Someone had had to butt in, and it had been me.
I don't know. One random act of tourist rescue and suddenly you think you're Superwoman.
Should I have mentioned that Cracovia is a football team? Or should I leave Transavia to deal with the potential hordes of angry Wisła fans...
ps: talking of social responsibility, I thought nanny-state adverts only existed in Scotland, but no: TVP1 just played an ad urging you to avoid heart disease by not getting angry.
Does that mean there'll be a rehaul of the tax system and drobne for all and sundry??
*And seriously, how about recording a safety announcement in Polish if you're flying to Polish destinations? Surely there's some regulation that states that everyone on the plane should understand what to do in an emergency?!
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Oops
For some reason I prefer sitting at the back of the plane. The Worst-Case Scenario Travel Handbook, in the chapter on 'How to survive a plane crash' says: "The odds of surviving a crash are higher in the middle-to-rear section compared to the middle-to-front section of the cabin".
Also, you can eavesdrop on the cabin crew, which is always a good way to add interest to an otherwise routine and uneventful flight.
Awaiting take-off, one of our orange-clad friends passed me doing a final headcount with the clicky thingy and I heard him exclaim
- No, it's no good, I'm still getting 156
before setting off down the aisle again with the clicker.
I watched him reach the front of the cabin, and a few moments later there was an announcement over the intercom.
- Ladies and gentlemen, we do apologise for the delay to today's take-off, this is due to a discrepancy between the number of passengers in the paperwork and the number of people on the plane and we are unable to take off until this discrepancy has been resolved.
There appeared to be fervent discussion near the front exits.
After a moment, the head of the cabin crew took the mic.
- Ladies and gentlemen, this flight is shortly to depart for London Gatwick. If there is anyone on the plane who does not have a ticket to London Gatwick, we do advise you to get off the plane as quickly as possible.
Subdued mirth. People started to get their boarding passes out.
Finally, the all-British crew managed to find someone to make the announcement in Polish:
- Szanowni Panstwo! W krotce ... [uhh... etc...]
Subdued mirth among the Polish speakers on the plane and more restrained commotion at the front of the cabin.
Several minutes later, the plane was taxiing towards the runway...
Also, you can eavesdrop on the cabin crew, which is always a good way to add interest to an otherwise routine and uneventful flight.
Awaiting take-off, one of our orange-clad friends passed me doing a final headcount with the clicky thingy and I heard him exclaim
- No, it's no good, I'm still getting 156
before setting off down the aisle again with the clicker.
I watched him reach the front of the cabin, and a few moments later there was an announcement over the intercom.
- Ladies and gentlemen, we do apologise for the delay to today's take-off, this is due to a discrepancy between the number of passengers in the paperwork and the number of people on the plane and we are unable to take off until this discrepancy has been resolved.
There appeared to be fervent discussion near the front exits.
After a moment, the head of the cabin crew took the mic.
- Ladies and gentlemen, this flight is shortly to depart for London Gatwick. If there is anyone on the plane who does not have a ticket to London Gatwick, we do advise you to get off the plane as quickly as possible.
Subdued mirth. People started to get their boarding passes out.
Finally, the all-British crew managed to find someone to make the announcement in Polish:
- Szanowni Panstwo! W krotce ... [uhh... etc...]
Subdued mirth among the Polish speakers on the plane and more restrained commotion at the front of the cabin.
Several minutes later, the plane was taxiing towards the runway...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
