FENAVIN day 1
04-May-09 - It's FENAVIN week in Ciudad Real and I had a cunning plan to avoid having to fly into or out of Madrid terminal 4, which is where the souls of the sinful go after death to spend eternity tramping the endless marble walkways in search of their gate, waiting endlessly for a flight which is never going to depart. The lounges are rubbish as well.
Madrid terminal 1, however, is a delight. Out of the taxi and through security in 10-15 minutes, then into the Priority Pass lounge and a couple of large ones and a sandwich before a manageable walk (even for me) to the gate. Good, eh?
Well, yes and no. I had elected to fly with Air Europa (AE) because BA only fly to terminal 4 and AE fly to terminal 1, and this had worked beautifully last month when I went to the Salón de Gourmets and Vinus Durii. This time was different: apparently, a weak bridge at LGW south terminal had closed the upper-level drop-off zone so I had to get off at the lower level which offers only an escalator coming down (not up) and a six-level ramp up. There is, however, a lift, some several miles down the walkway outside... Which was out of order. A helpful traffic warden pointed me towards a lift several miles up on the other side... Which turned out to be staff-only and you had to have a key to access it. So I returned to the bowels of the terminal building and started the long, slow push up the ramp.
At the top there's a moving walkway into the terminal which is several miles long, but at least the queue for check-in (slight downside to AE - you can't check in online) was short, although I don't understand why I am always behind a huge group of people with children, extended family, pushchairs, skiing equipment, motor bikes, kitchen sinks and shotguns who have written their ticket number down incorrectly, necessitating hour-long 'phone calls by the booking clerk to some computer centre somewhere in the airport. Security was relatively painless, however (eventually), and I managed the better part of an hour in the Lingfield lounge where the ice was cold, the whisky plentiful and the soda water the real thing (have you noticed that it's virtually impossible to find proper soda water outside the UK? Whisky and agua con gas is a poor substitute, and if the agua is Vichy Catalan forget it unless you like your drinks salty). The flight was called to gate 34 - low number! Not far to walk! Fat chance.
This proved to be a walk more or less the length of the London Marathon, down endless, faceless, featureless corridors with NOWHERE to sit. The other passengers flew by in droves and I felt a bit like Orpheus in search of Eurydice, passing through the vestibule of Hell, ever overtaken by the souls of the futile chasing a ragged flag back and forth without reason.
Once on board, however, I found my seat (4c) and nodded off, as I always seem to do just before take-off and landing. I wonder if it's something to do with the change in air pressure. It was a busy flight and, as I've mentioned before, the seat-pitch in economy is too tight for me to be able to drop the table, so I have developed another cunning plan. Once the 'craft is upstairs and the seat-belt light is off, go to the loo and, in so doing, suss out whether there are any rows of three with only one passenger, ideally in a window seat. I found the one and only in the very last row (but handy for the loo) and took up residence for the duration so that I could use the table on the middle seat. Good, eh?
Well, yes, except that the seat pitch on the back row (no reclining back) is even tighter than that further forward, and my knees were pressed hard against the seat in front, but this was a small price to pay for the convenience of being able to get something to eat - at this point I'd been up for six hours and eaten nothing. It's not cheap: a bocadillo of jamón, little bottle of water, little bottle of Rioja (Antaño - very good) and a large one to finish came out at just over €16, but it filled a hole. Afterwards I made my way back to row 4 - near the front, no-one in club, first off the 'plane!
Or not. The pilot overshot the stand by about 3 metres and so we had to wait until one of those 'shunter' trucks could come and move us back, and the tube thing could be attached. This took about 20 minutes and impatient fellow-passengers were pushing forward towards the doors. I eventually escaped only to discover that we were somewhere near the outer spiral arm of the galaxy, not only with two flights of stairs up and a further two down (no lifts, no escalators) but also endless, featureless corridors which were as bad as, or even worse than, LGW. There were, at least, strategically placed air-conditioning units at just the right height to perch on for long enough to get the breath back and assuage the aching limbs. Nevertheless, it took the better part of an hour before I was in a taxi and heading for Atocha.
Once there I found that I had an hour to spare, and had a cold beer and a plate of salad in the station buffet, which was very pleasant. The train departed and arrived immaculately on time, of course (about 200 km in 53 minutes - that's an average speed of just over 140 mph) and there was a bus waiting for us at the station to take us to our various hotels.
I am lodged the Hotel Guadiana which is very pleasant indeed, with a comfortable bed, big armchair, spotless bathroom and good air conditioning as well as free wifi (which didn't work for me) and the alternative of a free ethernet cable connection (which did)!
There were several delegates staying at the hotel and some of us decided that, after (in my case) nine hours of travelling we didn't want to go out for dinner. The beauty of so many hotels in Spain is that, as well as a full restaurant, they have an excellent cafetería where (in my case) you can get a very acceptable steak and chips for about €15. Sadly, the 1993 Señorío de Los Llanos was corky but the 2005 Corcovo hit the spot. Then it was cafe con leche and a large Carlos I and zonko. Good? Yes.
Madrid terminal 1, however, is a delight. Out of the taxi and through security in 10-15 minutes, then into the Priority Pass lounge and a couple of large ones and a sandwich before a manageable walk (even for me) to the gate. Good, eh?
Well, yes and no. I had elected to fly with Air Europa (AE) because BA only fly to terminal 4 and AE fly to terminal 1, and this had worked beautifully last month when I went to the Salón de Gourmets and Vinus Durii. This time was different: apparently, a weak bridge at LGW south terminal had closed the upper-level drop-off zone so I had to get off at the lower level which offers only an escalator coming down (not up) and a six-level ramp up. There is, however, a lift, some several miles down the walkway outside... Which was out of order. A helpful traffic warden pointed me towards a lift several miles up on the other side... Which turned out to be staff-only and you had to have a key to access it. So I returned to the bowels of the terminal building and started the long, slow push up the ramp.
At the top there's a moving walkway into the terminal which is several miles long, but at least the queue for check-in (slight downside to AE - you can't check in online) was short, although I don't understand why I am always behind a huge group of people with children, extended family, pushchairs, skiing equipment, motor bikes, kitchen sinks and shotguns who have written their ticket number down incorrectly, necessitating hour-long 'phone calls by the booking clerk to some computer centre somewhere in the airport. Security was relatively painless, however (eventually), and I managed the better part of an hour in the Lingfield lounge where the ice was cold, the whisky plentiful and the soda water the real thing (have you noticed that it's virtually impossible to find proper soda water outside the UK? Whisky and agua con gas is a poor substitute, and if the agua is Vichy Catalan forget it unless you like your drinks salty). The flight was called to gate 34 - low number! Not far to walk! Fat chance.
This proved to be a walk more or less the length of the London Marathon, down endless, faceless, featureless corridors with NOWHERE to sit. The other passengers flew by in droves and I felt a bit like Orpheus in search of Eurydice, passing through the vestibule of Hell, ever overtaken by the souls of the futile chasing a ragged flag back and forth without reason.
Once on board, however, I found my seat (4c) and nodded off, as I always seem to do just before take-off and landing. I wonder if it's something to do with the change in air pressure. It was a busy flight and, as I've mentioned before, the seat-pitch in economy is too tight for me to be able to drop the table, so I have developed another cunning plan. Once the 'craft is upstairs and the seat-belt light is off, go to the loo and, in so doing, suss out whether there are any rows of three with only one passenger, ideally in a window seat. I found the one and only in the very last row (but handy for the loo) and took up residence for the duration so that I could use the table on the middle seat. Good, eh?
Well, yes, except that the seat pitch on the back row (no reclining back) is even tighter than that further forward, and my knees were pressed hard against the seat in front, but this was a small price to pay for the convenience of being able to get something to eat - at this point I'd been up for six hours and eaten nothing. It's not cheap: a bocadillo of jamón, little bottle of water, little bottle of Rioja (Antaño - very good) and a large one to finish came out at just over €16, but it filled a hole. Afterwards I made my way back to row 4 - near the front, no-one in club, first off the 'plane!
Or not. The pilot overshot the stand by about 3 metres and so we had to wait until one of those 'shunter' trucks could come and move us back, and the tube thing could be attached. This took about 20 minutes and impatient fellow-passengers were pushing forward towards the doors. I eventually escaped only to discover that we were somewhere near the outer spiral arm of the galaxy, not only with two flights of stairs up and a further two down (no lifts, no escalators) but also endless, featureless corridors which were as bad as, or even worse than, LGW. There were, at least, strategically placed air-conditioning units at just the right height to perch on for long enough to get the breath back and assuage the aching limbs. Nevertheless, it took the better part of an hour before I was in a taxi and heading for Atocha.
Once there I found that I had an hour to spare, and had a cold beer and a plate of salad in the station buffet, which was very pleasant. The train departed and arrived immaculately on time, of course (about 200 km in 53 minutes - that's an average speed of just over 140 mph) and there was a bus waiting for us at the station to take us to our various hotels.
I am lodged the Hotel Guadiana which is very pleasant indeed, with a comfortable bed, big armchair, spotless bathroom and good air conditioning as well as free wifi (which didn't work for me) and the alternative of a free ethernet cable connection (which did)!
There were several delegates staying at the hotel and some of us decided that, after (in my case) nine hours of travelling we didn't want to go out for dinner. The beauty of so many hotels in Spain is that, as well as a full restaurant, they have an excellent cafetería where (in my case) you can get a very acceptable steak and chips for about €15. Sadly, the 1993 Señorío de Los Llanos was corky but the 2005 Corcovo hit the spot. Then it was cafe con leche and a large Carlos I and zonko. Good? Yes.
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posted by John Radford at
08:13
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