At least Hotel Angleterre possessed at least one night porter, who promised to help me down one flight of stairs to the elevator, so I wouldn’t have to throw my knees and back out trying to maneuver my luggage.
Of course I got up too early. But he finally arrived (as promised) at 2:50. Of course when he took my card out of its socket everything went black and I couldn’t see a thing. Nevertheless I don’t think I left anything behind.
Eventually, we descended the stairs to the third floor, where we took the elevator down to the first floor, Then he had to get up all those steps to the courtyard, where our tour guide met us. Then I had to follow them out through a gate to the road that ran just behind the hotel. I was traveling with a couple to Geneva Airport, and the first thing I had to do was pay the wife for my share of the journey. Then we had to set about finding out taxi.
Of course, the taxi waiting patiently by the curb wasn’t for us, and we had to wait several minutes for our taxi to arrive. Finally, he appeared at 3:20, five minutes late and we piled in. It was a quiet, dark drive to Geneva Airport, but he got us there at 4 am, just as he promised.
Once there, we said our ‘goodbyes’ and set ourselves the task of getting through the self-serve system at Geneva Airport. Fortunately, there was a pleasant young man standing at the end of the queue who worked for Swiss Airways. With that over, I made my way to security, which was a breeze. Then I got myself a bottle of water from one of the few shops that was open at 4:30 am.
Finally, I found a place to sit while I waited for the gate announcement at 5:35 for the plane to Brussels. Of course, I felt so sleepy I ate half a Toblerone before it was time to go to the gate.
The plane was absolutely packed, but that didn’t matter as I was able to get everything under the seat in front of me. After the plane took off, I fell asleep, so I don’t remember much about that flight.
We arrived 10 minutes early in Brussels, which was a mercy as the really hard part of the trip started.
Making my way towards the B Gates, I was luckily stopped by a young man asking if I had a British Passport. When I said “yes” he herded me and other British and American passengers into a queue where we had to scan our passports, and then stare at a screen which took a photo of us. It should have taken only one try, but of course it actually took three tries. (Perhaps the sun was in its eyes. Who knows?)
Eventually the machine accepted us. And so we escaped!
But no, of course not, we had to get into yet another queue for a Belgian official to actually look at our passports. This took another half an hour, and people had to catch planes. I made myself hot by fast-walking it to Gate B-31 and getting there just after boarding had started. Fortunately, I made it onto the plane, and slid into my seat with some time to spare.
This time, I didn’t fall asleep, so I was able to see that Brussels is not that far from the sea. We seemed to cross the channel over the narrowest part, which is Dover to Calais. Then I think I saw the mouth of the Thames, before going inland and flying over the Pennines.
Shortly thereafter, we landed at Manchester, where I got off to spend two very pleasant weeks with my sister and brother-in-law.
