frankfurt
It was fitting that my final day in South America should be shrouded in rain and clouds. It reflected my mood somewhat. The traffic jams and the incessant car horms along the way just added to the solemn atmosphere.
Rio is a fairly sh*t airport. I could have forgiven it the ugliness if it was not such a recent construcion; 1999. Even the gormless taxi driver got lost in its tangle of spaggetti roads and loops. We ended up in the car park of Terminal 2. Not where we should be. After a series of conversations with some geezers hanging around he was still no wiser. I, in shocking Portugese, managed to navigate our way out of the web. Pointing, grunting and emphasising.
Checked in and returned outside for a smoke. Despite the gloom ( I was going to Thailand for heavens sake). I was thinking that it was great that the past six months had passed without injury (apart from serial liver attacks, self-induced), loss or even a whiff of crime. Eight countries. So much for the doomsayers.
The flight to Frankfurt was probably the best long haul of my life. Jacky had thoughfully given me some sleeping pills. I have notorious difficulties in sleeping and usually arrive knackered. Not this time, I ate the night meal, downed two pills and woke up just as breakfast was being served. Just lovely.
Plane arrived, dismarked, made my way to find someone to talk about my connection to Bangkok. WHAT! You see, I flew from Rio with Varig. I was to connect with Thai at Frankfurt. Thai would not accept any endorsed ticket from Varig. Hadn't done so for two months! No one told me! Old Varig as opposed to the new 'Varig Brazil' would not issue a refund. I would have to cough up....
I was like a violent whirlwind in that airport, spinning from one bunch of c*nts to another bunch of c*nts. It made absolutely no difference. I pleaded to their logic. I had paid for a $2k ticket six months prior. I had made use of three flights contained with that ticket and I now wished to make use of the final part. I have PAID. The internal f*ck up that is the soi distant 'Star Alliance' is none of my business and I should not be effected by it. The Mr GayPants behind the counter just got more hysterically girly and I realised that I needed to review my options.
The irony of all this is that when I orginally bought the ticket, the idea was to jump off at Frankfurt and make my way home. That would have covered my twelve month plan. But since I decided on the extension, timing and all had changed. For a while, I figured I would throw in the towel and revert to the original plan. It was fate after all! But I considered this while standing outside Frankfurt airport inthe chillyweather. In a tee shirt. Then I figured I would come to regret it if I quit although it would mean saving some dough and getting back to earnings some dough
.
It all came down to one roll of the dice. If the ATM would allow me to withdraw 700 euros, the cost of the flight (taking off in 2 hours) then I would go. If, as I suspected, the card had a daily limit and 700 euros was over the threshold then I would take it on the chin as Fate and go to Dublin.
The dough was dispensed. I had to suffer the humilation of handing speaking nicely to Mr GayPants and boarded the plane to Bangkok. To compound my troubles, I lost my remaining two sleeping pills and had to endure 10 hours of clenched fisted, manic revenge plotting.
I was happy to finally arrive in Bangkok. When I had stepped into Rio Airport I had started my stopwatch, as I stepped out of Bangkoks new uber-modern, swish airport, the time read 36 hours 24 mins.
Rio is a fairly sh*t airport. I could have forgiven it the ugliness if it was not such a recent construcion; 1999. Even the gormless taxi driver got lost in its tangle of spaggetti roads and loops. We ended up in the car park of Terminal 2. Not where we should be. After a series of conversations with some geezers hanging around he was still no wiser. I, in shocking Portugese, managed to navigate our way out of the web. Pointing, grunting and emphasising.
Checked in and returned outside for a smoke. Despite the gloom ( I was going to Thailand for heavens sake). I was thinking that it was great that the past six months had passed without injury (apart from serial liver attacks, self-induced), loss or even a whiff of crime. Eight countries. So much for the doomsayers.
The flight to Frankfurt was probably the best long haul of my life. Jacky had thoughfully given me some sleeping pills. I have notorious difficulties in sleeping and usually arrive knackered. Not this time, I ate the night meal, downed two pills and woke up just as breakfast was being served. Just lovely.
Plane arrived, dismarked, made my way to find someone to talk about my connection to Bangkok. WHAT! You see, I flew from Rio with Varig. I was to connect with Thai at Frankfurt. Thai would not accept any endorsed ticket from Varig. Hadn't done so for two months! No one told me! Old Varig as opposed to the new 'Varig Brazil' would not issue a refund. I would have to cough up....
I was like a violent whirlwind in that airport, spinning from one bunch of c*nts to another bunch of c*nts. It made absolutely no difference. I pleaded to their logic. I had paid for a $2k ticket six months prior. I had made use of three flights contained with that ticket and I now wished to make use of the final part. I have PAID. The internal f*ck up that is the soi distant 'Star Alliance' is none of my business and I should not be effected by it. The Mr GayPants behind the counter just got more hysterically girly and I realised that I needed to review my options.
The irony of all this is that when I orginally bought the ticket, the idea was to jump off at Frankfurt and make my way home. That would have covered my twelve month plan. But since I decided on the extension, timing and all had changed. For a while, I figured I would throw in the towel and revert to the original plan. It was fate after all! But I considered this while standing outside Frankfurt airport inthe chillyweather. In a tee shirt. Then I figured I would come to regret it if I quit although it would mean saving some dough and getting back to earnings some dough
.
It all came down to one roll of the dice. If the ATM would allow me to withdraw 700 euros, the cost of the flight (taking off in 2 hours) then I would go. If, as I suspected, the card had a daily limit and 700 euros was over the threshold then I would take it on the chin as Fate and go to Dublin.
The dough was dispensed. I had to suffer the humilation of handing speaking nicely to Mr GayPants and boarded the plane to Bangkok. To compound my troubles, I lost my remaining two sleeping pills and had to endure 10 hours of clenched fisted, manic revenge plotting.
I was happy to finally arrive in Bangkok. When I had stepped into Rio Airport I had started my stopwatch, as I stepped out of Bangkoks new uber-modern, swish airport, the time read 36 hours 24 mins.
posted by Ciarán at 6:53 p.m.
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