An Unwanted WestJet Holiday in Crawley and Finally Home
April 29
I was ready to go home, but to get there I had to endure that part of travel that I do not enjoy, the long plane rides. Today would be an especially painful day with two flights to get me to London. I would be in the air for over 12 hours and spend another three hours on the ground in Doha. After a night in London, I had a shorter flight across to St. John's.
The courtyard had been quite noisy as I got ready for bed, but then everything became quiet once the restaurant closed. As a result, I had a rare, good night’s sleep before an early flight. I was downstairs at 6:45 am for my pickup and found my ride waiting. I had hardly settled into my seat before we arrived at the airport. The 15 minutes would have been much longer if I had been leaving later in the day and had to go through the notorious Kathmandu traffic.
I joined the security line to enter the terminal, but was suddenly pulled out by man who asked me, “Are you on your own?” He rushed me to the front, put my bags onto the belt, pushed me through the scanner, and led me to the Qatar Airways check in line. Then he demanded a tip. I doubt that he had any official function and had saved me only a few minutes, but rather than argue I gave him some of my remaining Nepalese Rupees. I was not going to use them anyway.
I told the agent that I wanted to take my suitcase on board. He checked the weight and told me that my suitcase was almost at the maximum weight, and that I would be over once my backpack was included. Since both would still be on the plane, I wondered why it mattered. That made three out of four Qatar Airways flights that my suitcase had to be checked. I vowed to avoid them in the future.
My second security of the morning was fast, and I was in line for my cappuccino by 7:50 am.
We had just boarded the airport bus to take us out to our plane when a young English woman said hello. I had met her in the immigration line on our arrival in Kathmandu. I was surprised and a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered her. She had gone on a long trek, and I would have loved to find out how her trip had gone, but there was no chance to talk longer on the short ride.
For those of us in the cheap seats, our main hope is that the middle seat remains empty. This one did. The lunch was good, paneer and spinach curry with rice. The five hours went quickly.
We disembarked and went through another security, this time to enter the Doha airport terminal. I guess it makes us safer, but all these security checks seemed rather redundant. That made three checks so far this day. I hoped I was finished but soon found out that I was not.
It is a nice airport. This was my third time here in less than three weeks, so I almost felt at home.
With three hours before my next flight, I had time to find a cappuccino and croissant. I checked one kiosk and made the mistake of converting the price for my combination treat. It was 50 Qatari or $20 Canadian. I decided to check other places. They were all the same. Of course, I still bought my treats. At least they were good.
I messaged Po. She informed me that she was at the physiotherapist being treated for some back issues. It was all related to the activities I had mentioned in an earlier post when she was cleaning out the old caulking in her shower. I had suspected that it was not a good idea. She was anxious for me to get home, especially to help in looking after Zoe. It was good that I would be home soon. Or so I thought.
I found another security check at my gate. They did everything-the swab on my laptop, checked my camera, searched my pack, checked my shoelaces, and patted me down.
We boarded on time. I had used a website called Seat Guru to pick my seat assignment. Passengers’ reviews give advice on especially good or bad seats. This wide body Boeing plane was configured with rows of four seats in the middle, but as the plane narrows in the back, that must change to a few rows of three seats. The first such row of three provided a little pocket of empty space next to the aisle seats which made the seven hours a bit more tolerable. I was proud of myself for having found the seat but have since been disappointed to find that Trip Advisor has closed the Seat Guru site.
The service was good. They gave us a decent lunch and a snack before we landed.
We arrived at Heathrow’s Terminal 4. Immigration seemed a little backed up, but it went fast. It is great to be included with the “in crowd” thanks to Brexit. Canadians and Americans are now included in the line for UK citizens, and the EU crowd are sent off with the rest of the world. I used to spend an hour or more to get through. Now it takes five minutes. I am sure that the electronic screening helps as well.
Now I needed to get to Gatwick where I would catch my final flight home the next day. I had spent some time reviewing my options, a direct bus or an indirect route of trains through London. The bus looked like the easiest, but due to the limited late departures, required a longer wait and a transfer to Terminal 5.
The trains won out. I waited for my suitcase and raced to the Elizabeth Line where I just made the 9:00 pm train. I got out at Farringdon Station and looked for a turnstile where I could tap off, having tapped my credit card to get through the turnstile at the airport. I followed the signs to the lift and found myself at the Thameslink platform. I asked an attendant where I was supposed to pay and was directed to the middle of the train where I tapped, trusting that it not only gave me permission to board the Thameslink train but ended my Elizabeth line trip. These are all new things to this old guy from a small town in Newfoundland. I used tokens and tickets in my subway travelling days in Toronto.
I arrived at Gatwick Airport station in the South Terminal, took the airport train shuttle to the North Terminal, and walked across to the Premier Inn. I was in my room by 10:55 pm.
I was feeling quite content with how I had handled the journey across London. I would be home the next day. Po needed my help.
At least that was the plan.
April 30
I decided to get my croissant and cappuccino after I checked in, so I skipped the hotel breakfast. I got ready, dropped off my key card, and took the short walk across the road to the terminal.
I went to the security area and scanned my electronic boarding pass. It did not work. I tried two more times before I concluded that I had to find WestJet. I went downstairs and found a lone agent and a few passengers. That should have been my second alert, but I still tried the electronic kiosk. It told me to see an agent. The agent was busy informing passengers that our flight was cancelled and that we needed to go across to another desk for more information. This is when I met my new friend, Kate.
We walked across to the agent. I was told that I was rescheduled for the next flight which was two days away. Her situation was bit more complicated since she had a connecting flight. We were all being provided with room and board at the Europa Hotel in Crawley.
I tried to absorb this not so good news. A few minutes before I was ready to board my last flight, thinking that I would be home in a few hours. Po had said that she really needed me to get home, the first time she had ever said that during one of my trips. Instead, I would be in the UK for two more nights in some place named Crawley.
Kate and I shared an Uber to the hotel.
The hotel looked okay from the outside, but I was not impressed with the inside. It was rather old and dingy. We were also told that our meals would be buffet service. After my many days in Bhutan, I was quite tired of buffet food. My room was spacious enough but seemed as dated as the rest of the place.
Kate and I decided to find something for our delayed breakfast. We asked at the front desk and were guided to a café at a community centre. The area was nice for walking.
We found the place. The centre was open, but the café was not. They suggested a nearby bakery which turned out to be Crawley’s only saving grace. The food was good, and the courtyard seating was quite pleasant. I had an almond croissant since they were out of plain ones to go with my cappuccino.
I had a nice visit with Kate and teased her about her choice of flights. She was stuck in Crawley even though she was only connecting through St. John's. Newfoundlanders would never risk a connection through our local airport. The weather can be uncertain, and we have a limited number of flights at the best of times. She had innocently booked through a travel app.
We walked back to the hotel and after a brief rest, I decided to see more of Crawley. It had the look and feel of a North American subdivision. Afterwards I learned that Crawley was greatly expanded after World War II by the British Government in an effort to move people away from London. There was a master plan to create new residential, commercial, and industrial areas in the area. The result was a town that might be a good place to live but is not an especially interesting or exciting place to visit.
I revisited the bakery and enjoyed a great sandwich before returning to the hotel. There was a pub in the lobby, and the draft beer taps looked inviting. I bought a Guinness and went out to the patio. I soon had two new friends, Robin and Regina, Newfoundlanders who were returning from Spain and like me had been booked on the morning flight.
The buffet supper was as boring as I had expected. I was not having a great time. I really wanted to be home but was stuck in a dreary hotel in Crawley. I fell asleep sitting up on my bed watching English television. I woke after two hours, took my shower, and went to bed properly.
May 1
I added a good sleep on top of the one I had sitting up.
I had breakfast with Kate. They had arranged a direct flight for her, so she was leaving that day. She would not be visiting St. John’s International Airport after all.
After she left to catch her flight, I saw Robin and Regina across the room. I went over to say hello and met Jan, another WestJet refugee. The three were planning an outing to Brighton. I asked to join them. We agreed to meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. We all planned to get our boarding passes first. Getting mine gave me little comfort since I had a boarding pass for the cancelled flight.
Regina had ordered a taxi and specified a trip to the train station. When the driver heard that we were taking the train to Brighton, he told us that the cost of the train tickets for the four of us would be the same as a taxi ride. He quoted us a price but said that it had to be in cash, which meant that he was going to keep the fare for himself. The problem with that plan was that none of us had a lot of UK pound notes. None of us had planned to be in the UK, so were not carrying pounds. We added up all our UK money which came to a lot less than his quote. He accepted it.
The driver dropped us at the beach in Brighton. It was apparent that no one had a big plan for the outing. I think we all were feeling the same. Our trips were over. We really wanted to be home in Newfoundland and were only trying to fill in the time until WestJet took us there. I was no help since I had decided that I would just do what everyone else wanted to do.
We first walked onto the beach and touched the water. It seemed the symbolic thing to do, touch the water on the other side of the Atlantic.
We walked along the promenade.
We found a café for lunch and had a nice chat with the owner, an Iranian woman. My sandwich was quite tasty.
We walked through the downtown in the general direction of the train station.
We came to the Royal Pavilion & Garden. It was built in stages beginning in 1787 for George, the Prince of Wales (who later became King George IV) to serve as his seaside resort. George’s successors, William IV and Queen Victoria, continued to use the Pavilion, but ultimately Victoria switched her beach holidays to another resort. The Pavilion was ultimately sold to the city of Brighton.
None of my travelling companions wanted to pay to go inside, and I stayed with my plan to just go along with the crowd, so we just walked through the gardens.
That was the end of our little tour of Brighton. We walked to the train station and were soon back in lovely Crawley.
There was a big group at supper, and I wondered who they were. I assumed that they were waiting for a flight, and they seemed to be in a good mood, so I doubted that they were dealing with a flight cancellation like we were. I could not imagine them choosing Crawley as a destination.
May 2
Would this be it? Was I going to get home today?
I woke up at 4:00 am but had to wait until 7:00 for my breakfast, the last of my buffets.
I shared a taxi with my three Newfoundland friends. I thought that I travelled light, but I was impressed with the small bags that Robin and Regina were carrying. We all passed through security. Our boarding passes were valid. The plane was still on schedule.
We went to a coffee shop where I bought coffees to make up for the taxi fares that the others had paid. They hoped to be reimbursed by WestJet, but there was no guarantee.
The board flashed that our plane was boarding, so we hurried to the gate, but it was then apparent that they just wanted us there. We stil had to wait. I met a man who was connecting through St. Johns’s, just like Kate had tried to do. He was going to have more luck. It was reassuring to see our plane waiting for us.
I sat next to Robin and Regina on the plane. I was not impressed that our row had no window. I had WestJet’s finest pasta, a hard choice over the chicken and a glass of wine to celebrate that I was going home.
I could not find my wireless ear buds and suspected that they were left out when I repacked my suitcase and backpack. The plane had internet but no entertainment system, so I read an old e-book that I had on my phone, Paul Theroux’s “The to Ends of the Earth”, a selection of his train travels. I bought it a few years ago and have only read while I was travelling.
We landed at our little St. John’s International Airport. There are no electronic kiosks here; you must talk to an officer. The young woman asked me lots of questions.
“You travel a lot?” “Yes.” “You were in Russia?” “No.”
I pointed out the date of the visa. It was for May 2020. That one was never used. I wondered if she was doing this to check me out or was just curious. I could not believe that she had serious concerns about this old guy returning to Newfoundland.
I walked out of the terminal and waited for Po to pull up. She was happy to see me but complained about her back. Zoe was still at home. She was also happy to see me. We went out to the backyard.
Zoe had managed to live until I got home, but her days were numbered. We took her to the vet the next week and were told that it was time. A few days later we said goodbye. When you adopt senior rescues, you must suffer losing them far too soon. She came to us when she was 10. We were amazed that she lived until 14. During those few years she managed to do more naughty acts than any of the other dogs that we have had, but I had mixed emotions when she stole things off the counter. I had to marvel that an old dog with bad hips could jump so high.
We still miss her, but now that we have no furry friend to look after, Po is free to join me on my next adventure. Stay tuned.
This featured blog entry was written by Bob Brink from the blog Searching for Magical Moments.
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