Tomorrow Belongs To Me
On March 8th of this year, when much of the planning for the trip was already done, but several of the tickets were yet to be bought, I received a call out of the blue from Germany. Because it had been a while, a sudden shock shot through me, wondering what news might be given. It turned out to be a social call. Annemarie, wife of my Uncle Helmut (Dad’s younger brother), was just touching base. We chatted a while, and she asked if I was planning a trip to Europe. I said that I planned to visit the UK, but hadn’t been thinking of visiting Germany on this occasion. We ended the conversation, but now I faced a quandary. In 2008, I’d gone back to South Africa to visit Dad because it was becoming clear that his time was limited. When I’d traveled in the Baltics in 2014, I’d not included a trip to Hamburg, and missed the opportunity to see Gerhard (Dad’s older brother) before his death. I had made it to Melbourne to see Erna (Dad’s only sister) before she passed away. I decided (mainly because Annemarie told me it was Helmut’s 80th birthday) that an adjustment to my plans was necessary.
I was again booked on easyJet, though this time on a return ticket. Before boarding, I was sure to activate roaming on my phone, to ensure connectivity and guarantee communication. The fact that I did this would prove invaluable in a couple of days. If I hadn’t, I might still be in the federal republic, living under a tree or something. Landing in Hamburg, I got a cab to Motel One nearby. It was within walking distance, but I didn’t know the route, and it was getting late. I had a great sleep and a healthy breakfast. Following directions, I now returned to the airport on foot. From here I got a train to Hamburg Hauptbahnhof, where my connection to Hannover was delayed. I’d been led to believe that German trains ran like clockwork, but I guess the whole of the European continent is falling apart. I let Annemarie know, saying that I’d contact them again from Hannover, where I’d be changing to a different line to Gifhorn.
In my carriage, the last three rows of seats
on the left of the aisle were occupied by luggage and shopping bags. This seemed odd to me, but whatever. When I sat down, a woman sat beside me. Still nothing unusual. I’d packed a sandwich; since I didn’t know
the correct etiquette on German trains, I asked the woman if it was okay to
eat. This is where it all went mad. She did not stop talking until we reached
Hannover. I learned that she was a
physiotherapist. I learned that the
mountains of bags on the seats were hers.
I learned that she was returning south after a vacation on the Baltic
coast, which the Germans call the Ostsee (East Sea). I learned that it was her eight-year-old
daughter in the seat across the aisle.
(Why were they not sitting together, and more controversially, why was
she sitting beside a strange man when there were plenty of unoccupied seats,
notably the one beside her daughter?) I
learned that she was considering leaving the man who was still vacationing in
the Ostsee as she returned south. I made
the assumption from what she said that the man was not her daughter’s
father. I noticed that her daughter
could hear this conversation about the state of her mother’s relationship. I learned that her daughter’s teacher had
commented to one of her classmates that she dressed like a slut. He said this to an eight-year-old girl! What the actual F! The physiotherapist offered me tips on
keeping a healthy body and healthy mind.
This was all unsolicited, mind you.
By the time we reached Hannover, I was thrilled to be getting away, so
thrilled that I took my backpack but forgot the little bag with my money,
credit cards and passport on the floor beside my new guru. Thankfully, she was decent, and pointed out
that I’d left it there.
What Would You Do
I waited for the next train on a dusty platform in Hannover. I felt like I’d stepped back to the 1970s. I was quite unimpressed. Announcements, however, were frequent and bilingual (the vernacular and English). I’d missed my connection to Gifhorn and the next train departed an hour after the one I was meant to ride. I let Annemarie know.
When I got to Gifhorn, they were
waiting. It was a happy reunion. They drove me to their apartment first, and
later we went to Gifhorn Castle, which is surrounded by two lakes, two rivers
and a moat. In the park attached to the
lake, a circus was set up, and I saw it advertised in the paper over breakfast
the next morning. This circus had
animals! Didn’t Germany get the memo
that (ab)using animals in this way is no longer socially acceptable (and, in truth,
never should have been)? Colour me
shocked! The castle and its surroundings
were pretty and a great place for photography.
 |
| (Schloß Gifhorn) |
We then went into the compact town
centre. Here was an air of truly old
continental nostalgia. Gifhorn is a
sleepy town, one that must be heaven for retirees but hell for youngsters. I knew instantly that if I didn’t have family
to visit, this would never have found itself onto a list of places I’d want to see.
 |
| (Gifhorn town centre) |
Returning to the apartment, Annemarie busied
herself with dinner while Helmut and I chatted and went through old family
photographs over several glasses of wine. When dinner was ready, I was
surprised to find it was salmon. (I
think I need to reconsider identifying as someone who doesn’t eat seafood. I enjoyed the meals on Emirates and I enjoyed
this meal, too.) Accompanying the salmon
was dauphinoise and afterwards, Annemarie brought out a Black Forest gâteau
that she had baked. Neither the
dauphinoise nor the gâteau would receive the approval of
my doctor, but since I’d been mostly behaving myself, and since I certainly did
not wish to offend my hosts, and since I absolutely love both dauphinoise and gâteau,
I ate with relish.
I liked their apartment. I walked around Annemarie’s balcony garden,
where she grew pretty flowers and also fruit and vegetables. I wandered through the interior, enjoying
their collection of art and the accompanying stories. The apartment was spacious and tastefully
decorated. Soon, though, it was time for
bed.
 |
| (Die Wohnung) |
In the morning, Annemarie took me to the
nearest supermarket where I might choose the cold meats and bread I’d like for
breakfast. Back at home, these were
accompanied by hardboiled egg and coffee.
As we ate, the first message came through: flight delayed by an hour.
We hung around in the apartment. Annemarie insisted that I take the remaining
bread and cold meats with me to make sandwiches. I packed them. Soon, it was time to return north to
Hamburg. They took me to the station and
waited on the platform until the train arrived.
Helmut pointed at the sign that forbade smoking and then at the
cigarette butts on the ground. Honestly,
I’d thought that smoking was permitted everywhere in Europe; I’d smoked on the
platform in Bern after
my sister’s wedding. But, Annemarie
said, it isn’t permitted. I guess the
law is simply not enforced, judging from what I’d seen. As the train pulled in, we said our
goodbyes. The couple waited on the
platform until the train pulled out.
Arriving in Hannover, guess what. The connection to Hamburg was late. It was then that the second message came
through: flight delayed by two hours.
When I did eventually pull into Hamburg Hauptbahnhof, I decided to wander in the area around the station. There were several museums within walking distance that Google Maps reported to be free. I sauntered to Galerie der Gegenwart, which I misunderstood to mean Gallery of Counterculture. It actually means Gallery of the Present. Entering, I was asked if I’d already bought a ticket. I said, “I thought this was free.” With true north German emotionless efficiency, he responded, “Das ist nicht frei.”
By now I was feeling
defeated. More was to come! Much more!
Before I continue, I’m going to make an admission. The next several hours were going to test me
like never before, and I failed to remain calm. If, dear reader, you wish to jump off here, I'll accept that.
I decided to get back to the airport and wait
in air conditioning until my now quite delayed flight took off. I rode the train and emptied into the
airport’s underbelly. I ambled landside
for a short while, buying some treats at Edeka for myself and my
colleagues. I sat for a while, gazing at
Sixt car rental service. I have shares
in this company, and they are not doing well.
Then I went through security.
There were still hours to wait, but I knew there’d be food to eat and
things to see on the other side. That’s
when I got the third message: flight delayed by three hours.
What use is there in getting angry about
it? In truth, I was really quite pissed
off; it took some effort to calm myself.
I felt like getting a beer, but decided that I might need to keep all my
synapses firing, at least until I was sure I’d be on the flight. I had a salad and sat where I could charge my
phone. That’s when I got the fourth
message: flight canceled.
I jumped up.
The chap at the information counter told me how to get out of the secure
area (I had no idea that was even possible) and where to find the ticketing
counters that might be able to help. I
scurried. Getting to ticketing, the
first lady told me, “Sorry, we are closed.”
I protested that I had a flight back to Asia tomorrow. “Sorry.”
I went to the second counter, where I got the same answer. “Is sorry all I’m going to get?” “Sorry.”
I didn’t raise my voice, but I wasn’t polite. Fortunately a logical voice buried deep
beneath my panic reminded me that this was not the fault of my apologetic foes.
One step at a time, Malcolm! Breathe!
It was at this point that I really thanked the digital gods for my
decision to keep my Skype account open and funded. I got on the phone to Emirates. I explained my situation. The very helpful man looked to see if I could
fly to Taipei on Saturday instead of Friday.
Miracle! There was a seat on both
the flight to Dubai and the flight to Taipei.
The change would cost NT$ 7843.
“Please pay now. I’ll stay on the
phone while you do.” “It doesn’t seem
that the payment has gone through.”
“Don’t worry, sir, there is always a short wait for card payments to be
checked. I will email your updated
flight details once the payment is confirmed.
If that doesn’t happen, I will call you back.” (All of my credit cards are set to send me a
text message with an OTP to finalise purchases.
Since I was abroad, my Taiwanese SIM card was stored in the luggage at
Gatwick. Luckily, my debit cards are set
to send a text and an email. I got the
OTP and was able to pay Emirates this way.)
The payment did go through and I got the email
as promised, but I couldn’t wait for that confirmation. Other arrangements were needed. The next thing was to book a room at Motel
One. Luck! There was a room. Now I had to get back to easyJet. Upon cancelation, they gave the choice of
getting a refund or rescheduling to tomorrow at the same time. I’d not made the choice while still in the
secure area because I didn’t know what I’d find at the ticketing counter. I now chose to reschedule, and my flight was
confirmed to be departing tomorrow.
Next, I had to get hold of Premier Inn at Gatwick to reschedule my stay
from tonight to tomorrow. “Unfortunately,
we are not able to make changes to reservations after 2pm.” “Can I cancel then?” “Unfortunately, we are not able to make
changes to reservations after 2pm.”
Well! Tsk! The only thing to do would be to lose the
money for tonight and book again for tomorrow.
This I did, which actually got me a booking instead at the Premier
Inn to which Katja had first taken me, the one at which my bags were stashed.
Finally, I extended my arrangement with Stasher, adding another day to
the rental. I called Premier Inn to
notify them about the longer period of stashing. (Incidentally, I got a message from Stasher
after paying their exorbitant fees, informing me of a spring special. Great timing!) Now I walked to Motel One, patting myself on
the back for managing the crisis. I was,
however, livid.
I was happy to be back at Motel One because I liked it.
I had initially booked for the
first night at Hotel Cockpit because I loved the naughty euphemism in its name,
but decided later that it was slightly too far from the airport. (I had also intended to visit Daddyhole Road
in Torquay, Devon for the same metaphorical whimsy, but decided that it would
take valuable time away from manor house hunting.) I got into survival mode, which happened also
after returning from Antarctica. Then
the start of the pandemic and now the endless delays meant that my supply of
medicine wouldn’t last, so I’d have to skip a dose to make it last longer. Since I’d only brought enough clothes for two
days, I had to hand wash several items (if you’ve read my other blogs, you know
how little I think of this chore) and hope they’d dry by tomorrow. It was summer time, and the heating was not
functioning. (All but the socks
dried. I chose to wear day-old socks. I’d not be taking my shoes off on the plane
on this flight, would I! In fact, they’d
not come off until I reached Premier Inn.)
I went downstairs for a drink… several drinks. It was then that I remembered that I’d need
to reschedule my journey on Taiwan’s high speed rail. That was the last of the adjustments that
easyJet forced upon me…. or so I thought.
After the fourth beer, I called it a night.
At breakfast the next morning, I got the first message. Schweinhund! Merde! Bitch!
There was no way I would go through all of that again! I immediately got a ticket with Eurowings to fly me to Heathrow. Then I booked a train to take me from Heathrow to Gatwick. When all was said and done, this easyJet debacle had cost me NT$ 33,673, which amounts to US$ 1039.96. Not to worry, I’d get it back from insurance. (Only, I wouldn’t. I have always bought travel insurance from World Nomads, but after the pandemic, their premium had doubled. I decided to go with the Taiwanese arm of Allianz. I’ve never claimed from insurance before, and I’ve always decided that the fine print can be read if it turns out I need to make a claim. Once home, I read the fine print, which needed to be scanned and run through Google Translate as the documents were naturally in Mandarin. Turns out I had bought only medical insurance. There was no cover for delays or baggage. Schweinhund! Merde! Bitch!)
Money Makes The World Go Around
My new flight would depart at 18:00. I stayed in my room until the noon check-out
deadline. Then I ambled back to the
airport. These very long waits in
airports were beginning to become a joke, but I had lost all momentum and the
thought of going out to explore did not entice.
I had been unable to check in online, and the self-check-in machines at
the airport would also not allow it. I
had to go to the counter, where only two people were available to help, one man
and one woman. The woman was unable to
help as her computer was crashing. She
kept scurrying off to an office out of sight, returning with what seemed to be
codes, and then repeating. The number of
passengers who needed help was fast growing.
People were getting angry. I had
arrived with no patience, but decided that I’d not let it escalate (and I was
also very early, so there was plenty of time to sort out my trouble); I
remained polite. Eventually, I got
checked in and passed through security.
I got to the gate way too early, so I ate and
had several pints. The woman working at
the canteen right at the gate spoke only German. How do they have a person working beyond
immigration, airside, who speaks no English?
No Arabic, sure. No Punjabi,
well, yeah. No Hakka, of course
not. But no English? It was here at the gate that I got the second
message from easyJet. No bother, I
wasn’t using their service anymore.
Soon, however, Eurowings was also delayed! My effing god! What the eff was going on? I decided that Germany and indeed all of
Europe might just as well go and eff itself.
The door to the bathroom here (in Hamburg, let me remind you) was held
open with a plastic strap (several plastic bags tied together). One of the basins had no water.
Once, when I was young and irresponsible, I
had a “dream’. It wasn’t really a dream,
but to avoid incriminating myself, we’ll call it that. In this dream, which took place at an outdoor
trance party, I became convinced that the organisers of the party were walking
around, taking car keys, abducting friends, or otherwise thwarting exit plans
in order to keep all party goers at the party.
Now in Hamburg, stone cold sober(ish), thirty years later and trying to
get home, I felt like that dream had in fact become reality.
I stayed until just before the check-out
deadline. I stomped to the airport. I boarded my plane. Departure from Dubai was delayed by an
hour! I landed. I took the high speed rail. I got home.
I didn’t Care Much