Tuesday 15 Nov: Calm before the storm

Waiting to board our flight at Newark Liberty International

As we head off from Abington College campus on an over-large bus (more on this later), I have to pinch myself. This day has been so long in the planning and so often delayed by COVID that it’s hard to fathom it is actually, finally happening. The students arrive more or less on time for a 1:30 campus departure to Newark Liberty Airport, when one student discovers she’s left her passport at home. I am slack-jawed.Who does that? At least she didn’t make that discovery on the New Jersey Turnpike. I make a mental note: this is one cat I will have to herd very carefully. Little do I realize this will be a harbinger for so many unwelcome adventures to come in the next 24 hours.

As the student lives on campus, the collection of her passport limits our delay to about 15 minutes, which we can easily absorb. I had done some homework the night before and found that the British Airways check-in is at an odd location near Baggage Claim in Terminal B, so there won’t be a terrible learning curve once we arrive.

Check-in at Newark

It is calm enough at check-in — a calm before the storm as it turns out. As group leader I show my passport and supply a reference number on the documentation provided by our travel agent in their trip app. Each traveler in turn receives two boarding passes, for this trip, annoyingly, is not a direct flight, but rather contains a connection at London Heathrow (oh, so much more on that later!).

Two things disturb me about this. The first is that the timing is quite tight, so I’m hoping this counts as a border crossing at Edinburgh (spoiler: it won’t). The second is that there is no gate designation for the London-Edinburgh leg indicated on the second boarding pass. I won’t be able to research the connection at all, and Heathrow is an airport I have 0 experience with. Rumors abound that Heathrow is an airport where dreams go to die.

Windowless seats

A third disturbing bit of data is revealed on the boarding passes, which are quaintly printed on paper: I do not have a window seat on either leg of this flight. Neither does Stephen, my co-lead. As leaders, we had been asked by the travel agent to specify our seat preferences. Both of us have a good bit of long-haul flight experience, and those in the know prefer a window seat as 1) the one disturbed the least if you are trying to sleep and 2) the one minimizing contact with grubby, Covid-infested fellow-travelers. This was a big ball dropped by the travel agent, who by my count had dropped 3 before we even got off the ground, if you include the over-large bus — a 50-seater for 16 travelers — and an anxiety-inducing layover.

On the plus side, my neck brace (an economical alternative to those puffy travel pillows that actually don’t work), sleep mask, and ear plugs work like a charm in my non-window seat. I get about 4 hours of really decent sleep by plane standards. It helps that I had adjusted my sleep patterns closer to our destined time zone — by the night before the flight I had evolved my bedtime to 7:30 and was up by 3:00 US time, the equivalent of 12:30 to 8:00 in UK time. I need this sleep to stay lucid for the shenanigans we’re about to face at Heathrow.

Wednesday 16 Nov: Designed to fail

Heathrow Terminal B: where dreams go to die. | Wikimedia Commons

We land at Heathrow a few minutes ahead of schedule, but it proves not to be enough of a cushion for the chaos about to reign. What follows is a case study in how to design a connection to fail at multiple points.

We have a little more than an hour to make our connection to Edinburgh, and we are on a steep learning curve. Upon arrival we seek out a departures board, and discover that Heathrow has an annoying habit of not posting gates until just right up to the beginning of boarding. So we are unable to figure out where we need to go right away.

One thing I’m aware of before arriving is that Heathrow Terminal 5 combines all the things travelers love about Atlanta ATL (the multiple buildings connected by a subway) with all the things travelers love about Dulles IAD (the buses that take you to your airplane, excepting the Heathrow variety simply dump you on the tarmac), all topped off with security screening protocols that recall TSA practices circa 2010 (i.e. electronics out of the luggage, please). This creates a multimodal transit and multiple queuing quagmire. While we still aren’t informed as to our specific gate, we do know we are at arrivals so we need to take an underground to departures in another building.

Crossing the border

What I’m completely unaware of is the meat grinder that awaits us when we disembark the subway. It is here we learn the flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh is a domestic flight, so this means we have to cross the UK border in passport control here before we can figure out our gate. And, a bonus: because we are considered outside the security perimeter after crossing the border, we need to undergo another security check. Who designed this? Names. I want names.

At this time of the morning, there are many overseas red-eye flights arriving at a big international terminal like Heathrow’s Terminal 5, thus the line for passport control is sluggish. Complicating this is the presence of a few non-US passports that require visas among our international cohort; they are shepherded to a different, even slower line. Stephen and I decide to split up. He takes the international students while I keep watch over the US students. We’re trying, and failing, to keep the group somewhat together at the same time trying, and failing, to get through expeditiously.

It turns out not to matter. The security check that follows passport control is woefully slow, because it is rush hour for early flights. Some in our group get pulled for random deep checks. We’re now in about three or four different pods moving through the system at different rates. At least the students appear to be sticking with a buddy system, judging by the activity in our group chat. It is evident we will not make the boarding area in time, and we still don’t even know the gate.

Fiasco

At this point Stephen and I are instructing the different groups to make it through as best one can, that we will text the gate number when it is posted and hope for the best. The gate is finally revealed as A10. I miraculously manage to get to the gate barely on time, but I’m the only one. And I discover gate A10 is really a series of 5 gates where one boards buses to the planes.

I worry that one or more of us actually got on the bus but the gate official will not let me find this out without checking in myself. Several of our group have not even finished up at security, so I don’t want to do that. We’re scattered to the four winds at various stages of the process. Two students are forced by someone to get new boarding passes. We have descended from mere chaos, having now entered the rarified depths of unhinged fiasco.

Regrouping

I stay calm. I have to, I’m the leader. So I make a phone call to the travel agent’s 24-hour emergency line to explain our situation. I get sent to voice mail. Voice mail. On. A. 24. Hour. Emergency. Line. If you’re keeping score, that’s ball drop number 4.

I call our guide, a very nice Scottish gentleman by the name of Tony, who expects to meet us in Edinburgh in about an hour and change. I explain the situation and tell him I will keep him updated as we re-book for a later flight. He’s very accommodating. I then try the emergency number again. This time, miracle of miracles, I speak with a human. What I’m expecting is for the agent to help with some of the heavy lifting on the re-book and instructions on where to pick up new boarding passes. Instead, I’m told all this falls to me to do on the ground. We are given no assistance whatsoever for dealing with this Habitrail of an airport.

By now, an hour after the departure of our missed connecting flight, we’ve all somehow managed to join up in one quiet corner. I tell everyone not to move while I go to seek out a service counter. I finally locate a large customer service kiosk randomly plunked between gates and duty-free stalls. The person assisting me can’t believe what they’re hearing. I want to simply collect new boarding passes for the group but they don’t allow that without everyone present with an ID.

Rebooking

I text Stephen to tell him to bring everyone over (the gate is of course far, far away) so we can comply. Then, the new boarding passes are issued and no one is ever asked for an ID. Go figure. But, silver lining: we are all on the same flight. I call Tony, as well as Chris and Mary at Dundee, to update them on our progress.

Because this flight is now super full thanks to us, they are asking for people to check bags at the gate. As we are lining up to do this, we discover one student — you guessed it, the one who started the trip without her passport — did not pick up her new boarding pass. At this point, I’m ashamed to say I lose it a bit. I stand, frozen, and say “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” wanting to say far worse. Stephen rises to the occasion. He says “Come on” and grabs the student to scurry back to the customer service kiosk. Remember: this is very far away from the gate. I’m mentally calculating how it will affect our progress if they end up on another, later flight.

Amazingly, Stephen and the student show up right as the bus is set to pull away. I can’t ask for a better co-lead than this guy.

Welcome to Edinburgh

Upon arrival in Edinburgh two hours late, we learn that gate check in the UK works differently than it does in the US. Instead of receiving your bag on the jetway, it goes to baggage claim. There, we discover that the airline has lost luggage for three students. So, another steep learning curve is encountered as we learn that customer service in this arena amounts to little more than a QR code leading to an online form filled out with chunky fingers on a phone. Hilarity ensues as jet-lagged, anxious students attempt to fill this out. I’m literally spelling the name of the hotel out loud to them because they are so out of sorts.

After collecting what’s left of the luggage, we finally meet Tony, who proves to be a godsend. He’s really the first and only thing the travel agent has done right thus far. He leads us to our coach, which is another gigantic 50-seater, way oversized for our needs. Are we paying extra for these supersized buses? If yes, ball drop number 5, and we’re not at our final destination yet.

A new itinerary

On the bus, we strategize. It’s clear our itinerary is a shambles for the day, and at this point, we’ve utterly lost the students. We need to rekindle their enthusiasm. Tony suggests a late lunch at an organic farm with a cafe, followed by a stop in Falkland to see the Bruce Fountain made famous in the opening scenes of Outlander. I phone Angela, our director of Global Programs, and request authorization to purchase lunch for the group. She thinks it’s a great idea.

We pull into the Pillars of Hercules, an organic farm that reminds me a bit like a cross between Blue Heaven in Key West at a ridiculously out-of-place latitude and the Germantown Kitchen Garden. Lunch for me is a big bowl of split pea soup and delicious coffee, shared with our crew in a giant poly tunnel with a wood fire-pit in the center. Those of us with our luggage are starting to calm down.

After lunch, Falkland is a nice unexpected bonus. I recognize it immediately because, it should come as no surprise, Outlander is one of my guilty pleasures.

Pillars of Hercules entrance | PoH outdoor seating | Falkland, Fife, Scotland

Heading for Dundee

Back on the bus, Tony asks me a few questions as we make our way toward Dundee. He’s surprised to learn we’re not making a stop at Saint Andrews, which he strongly recommends. I make a mental note for a future trip.

We check in at the Apex City Quay Hotel around 3, and we are already starting to lose sunlight. I encourage the crew to rest and find some refreshment and dinner. However, no rest for the co-leads: we have to take the three students without luggage to find essentials to cover them until their luggage catches up. So our first night is consumed by a trip to Overgate, an indoor shopping center (they don’t use the term “mall” here) that snakes around an old landmark church like a python poised to constrict its prey. The students acquire their first Scottish souvenirs: socks, undergarments, toothpaste.

Apex City Quay Hotel | Overgate indoor shopping center | Tahini Restaurant

Quiet after the chaos

After shopping, Stephen and I recover well, finding our way to Tahini, a Lebanese tapas-style set meal. It is amazing food, though the beer choices are a bit less inspiring.

I take out my displeasure with the day by writing a missive to the travel agent expressing how avoidable this fiasco could have been. The response from the travel agent is couched in lame corporate passive-aggressiveness: we defer to that which the airline tells us will work.

Wait, what? Really? So: exactly what value-add does the agent bring to the table, then? What expertise and experience are we paying for that might provide a measure of healthy skepticism toward what in hindsight is a clearly over-optimistic connection scheme? I could have done the same thing with TripAdvisor and Expedia, and made the same error in judgement, but at least I’d have saved the cost of the agent fee. You guys are supposed to be the experts.

Silver linings: we are here, and tomorrow is a fresh start… not to mention my birthday!