That Would Be Coryton
Part 1: chelle's Rubric Still Applies
Sun 13 January, 2002
The journey out, back on Thursday December 27, was always going to be tense. Not least because I had a very tight connection at Atlanta, and immigration and customs to clear. This was a major headache before beginning.
Starting at Birmingham, I asked for my baggage to be checked through to Tucson. After a quarter of an hour, it transpired that the Air France computer was unable to book my baggage on the entire journey. I could re-check at Paris, or at Atlanta. Given that there's a three-hour layover in Paris, and minutes in Georgia, I picked the former option.
Then get through security. Because Birmingham is completely incapable of operating more than one of those metal detector gate thingies, and the Travelling British Public does not understand the concept of "Remove all metal from your pockets," this took 75 minutes of queueing.
Flight to Paris is uneventful. Claim baggage, go in line for over-exhaustive security check, where the agent is thoroughly confused by the fact that I've entrusted my bag to a connecting flight. Supervisor checks luggage tag and says that's OK. The actual check in agent refuses to give my bag a priority tag for Atlanta, claiming that this would have it mixed in with the first class baggage. I don't want to press the issue, but this is a really crap excuse.
The flight to Atlanta is long and hot and boring. But we arrive 18 minutes early. The line for Immigration is exactly one person long. The bag finally emerges, is whisked through Customs, and handed to another check-in clerk. They don't have the usual Unified Queueing System, which had me having to ask to move ahead of some people making a less tight connection. They also have another security check before leaving the arrivals hall, which makes absolutely no sense.
If anyone at the airport was knocked over by a guy in a green jacket, I apologise. On the upside, I made the connection with ten minutes to spare. Having a boarding pass made the random security inspection totally bearable. Even the hotel being overbooked and sending me to a competitor (for free and for nothing) was fine. Just, like, let me sleep.
Coryton itself began the next morning, and I'll come back to that later.
Thursday was the day after Atlanta had suffered a whole four inches of snow. This is, apparently, the worst storm in 60 years. My connection to Cincinnati falls through, and after much humming and hawing, I'm booked to an early morning flight Friday morning going via Cincy and JFK. The agent lobs $60 cash my way to help with the expenses. Yay. I get an extra day in Tucson. There are worse places to be stuck.
Friday, the early morning Cincy flight is cancelled, and I'm re-routed via DFW in mid-afternoon. Hang around the airport, as one does, then make a flying visit to Jaeville. Two hours later, I'm en route to Paris. The only seat they had was in business class, to which I'm not hugely objecting.
So, just the last 200 miles home. Only Birmingham airport has been closed following a crash, and the flight I'm on is said to be running six hours late. Air France refuses to fund a trip through the Channel Tunnel, but is generous enough to hand out a voucher good for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
Unlike Tucson, Charles de Gaulle airport is not a good place to be stuck. Many amenities are missing. There are, for instance, no cash machines in the terminal building. Nor is there anywhere to buy food other than in a very over-priced cafe. I resent paying ECU 4 (USD 3.60, GBP 2.50) for a coffee and croissant. Vending machines are noticeable by their absence. So are no smoking zones. And payphones that accept cash rather than credit cards. Indeed, this terminal is so backward that the litter bin has yet to put in an appearance.
Finally, over nine hours late, and still having received nothing more than this one snack, we take off for the Midlands. Birmingham is still closed, the next nearest airport is closed for the night, so we're dumped at East Midlands. Coaches take us the last miles.
So. From this, the following conclusions can be drawn:
1) Chelle's Rubric Still Applies.
2) Air France sucks.
3) Charles de Gaulle airport sucks.
4) Next time I'm travelling overseas, I'm going by train and boat.
5) Elmer Fudd works for one of the above two organisations.
6) Letters of complaint are in the post.
7) There *are* worse places to be than Tucson.
8) Under Oz's theory of animal communication, Elmer Fudd is a monkey.
9) Other conclusions will follow.
Hence to part two