Day 2 - The Longest Night and Strangest Day

Day 2 – The Longest Night and Strangest Day
Part 1
During the flight to Singapore yesterday, I was able to track the onset of darkness, as I followed the flight path on the plane’s entertainment system. For all intents and purposes, we experienced sunset around 6:00pm somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Having taken off on the second leg from Singapore to London at 11:59pm Singapore (and Perth) time, we then careered headlong into the blackness, for another 12 hours, making it an 18-hour night. We came in to land at Heathrow at around 6:35 am and I thought I’d be relieved to see daylight again, but having descended through the cloud, one could have been forgiven for thinking we had flown in a huge circle, and landed back in Perth, just as it was on Monday afternoon, when I left, grey and rainy.
The flight itself was pretty easy, despite my misgivings. I had chosen an aisle seat for this leg and as I took my seat I noted that where my feet were meant to go under the seat in front, there was some metal enclosure attached to the seat’s left leg, which left me a gap of 30cms or less. Not a comforting thought, when you think you are going to be trapped in that position for the next 13 hours. There was a young gent seated in the window seat, and, can you guess? Yes, another misnomer. Seats 41 A, B and C on a Boeing 747-400 do not have a window. Not that it really mattered, because the whole flight was in the dark, anyway. The flight was not full, and the captain had barely turned off the seat-belt sign, when the young gent was up and off to find something with a bit more legroom. That left me with three seats to myself, and things were looking up. There was a similar situation in the row in front....one guy in the window seat (not a misnomer, in this case), and another in the aisle seat, with a vacancy between. But these guys had plenty of legroom, and weren’t going anywhere. Anticipating correctly, I quickly heaved myself into the middle seat of my row, just as the two lads in front set their seats backs to the recline position. One for the good guys, I mused. Now I won’t tell you the flight was comfortable, but I did have room to move.....and three pillows to myself. So I spent part of the time lying down across all three seats, and part of it sitting up with pillows to support my still sore back. There was no sleep, but I dozed, I’m sure. The lights, as you would expect, were off for most of the journey.
The Heathrow experience was not bad, at all, despite major renovations going on. A few questions from Customs, a few minutes wait for the baggage to appear, and I was heading for the London streets. As I followed the signs pointing to the trains, I ran smack, bang into the mobile ticket-sellers. A quick swipe of the credit card, and I received my discounted return ticket for the Heathrow Express. A 15 minute ride on it takes you to London Paddington station on the Underground. And here’s where things got a bit messy. I believe all the escalators in London Underground stations have been removed, although I am unable to fathom why. You see, from London Paddington station I had to change lines so I could take a Circle Line train to King’s Cross – St. Pancras International station to get on the EuroStar train that goes under the English Channel to Paris. Changing lines, however, often means changing levels in a station. And, of course, this meant I had to purchase another train ticket. The time was around 0745 when I alighted from the comfortable Heathrow Express, and launched into the morning peak-hour rush at London Paddington station. I followed the signs pointing the way upwards to the Circle Line, but ....no escalators....just dozens of stairs.....and me toting a duffel and a backpack, both fully laden. First task: buy ticket. Presented at the one and only ticket machine on the pathway, and joined the queue. A well-meaning, but geriatric attendant frowned when I pulled out the £20 note. “There’s not much change in the machine. Use your credit card.” I duly supplied the card and the attendant punched all the buttons, but the machine obstinately refused it. “Try it again”, suggested the attendant. “No way”, said the machine. Meanwhile the rush-hour queue has grown behind me. A slightly frazzled, but polite businessman tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me. I have a train to catch.” I pulled away from the queue to ponder my options. As I looked around, I noted there were no stalls or machines to get notes changed, and no other ticket machines. While I am puzzling, another tourist, who turned out to be from Melbourne, was trying to buy tickets for his young family. He suffered the same fate, and as he turned around, I commiserated with him. The pair of us had to walk downstairs and across miles of the station to find the main ticket counter, where I purchased a £4 ticket to go the five stops to KC – SPI. Back down the stairs again, with bags, and waited for the underground train. I tried to press myself into the smallest possible footprint against a glass panel near one of the doors, but I couldn’t hide. It seemed that the sheer mass of myself and the baggage was enough to cause every clown on the underground system to gravitate towards me. I can’t possibly squeeze in any smaller, but still there were people looking at me to get out of the way, while other passengers, with no annoying accoutrements, would just stand there and complete the blockage. I made it eventually.
Arrived at KC – SPI, and trudged downstairs, only to go back upstairs, still with the bags, which by now, has increased in weight by a factor of several tons. By now the sweat is pouring off me, and I present myself at the EuroStar access point with the ticket I pre-printed at home. I placed the barcode print on the reader, expectantly. Bong-bong. Reject!! As I cried, a bemused official came to my rescue, and pointed out that the check-in for my train at 11:01am had not yet opened. It was only 8:30am. That’s local time, of course, but for me it was 3:30pm, and the mind and body were starting to fail, after 33 hours on the go. But press on, I must.
I waited the required time (30 minutes), recovered my breath, and my composure, went through the meat-grinder that is the EuroStar “enregistrement” process, and flopped at a small cafe, in the waiting hall. After a bacon baguette and a coffee, the soul was restored, and I was ready for more shenanigans. Bring ‘em on.
Continued in Part 2.