Bilbao tripping

Acknowledgements:

Tee-hee, for indestructible racing suitcase

The company 'Stanmark' in Krakow for their Stopper® earplugs: “They help you stay sane!” (especially as Iberia airlines play muzak throughout the flight....!!!)

Aphex Twin, you know why

10:10 am

I love the run from Sheffield to Manchester on the train, the beautiful views and the experience of this complex Peak District landscape falling into place around me. Great start to a journey.

11:03 am

It's was a nice day for travelling, but since we've left Edale and emerged on the Manchester side of the tunnel the wind has picked up, and it's started to rain. By the time we leave Manchester Piccadilly it is raining so hard the window is one big sheet of water, and I can feel the carriage wobble in the gusty wind. This is not good.

12:15

Still not found my way to the departure gate at Manchester, and I think I'm running in circles. Terminal 3 is not only a maize, but a maize under construction, plywood tunnels and confusing information boards everywhere. If I hear one more 'please don't leave your luggage unattended' message I may just turn around and go home.

13:25

We board on time. It's an Airbus 320, and it's two-thirds full! Between Manchester and Heathrow! There must be 150 people on board who have decided that a flight makes more sense than 4 h on the train – can't be judgemental, being one of them.. The idiocy of the situation is that flying with 2 changes from Manchester was cheaper than taking the same flights, but starting from Heathrow. Huh.

A Japanese guy in the row in front of me is reading manga on a Kindle, the first one I've seen in use. It has stopped raining and the sky is freshly washed, but the wind is still there.

13:45

We're 'experiencing a bit of a delay' because of the winds, both here and at Heathrow. We've missed our take off opportunity and have to wait for the next one. The three cabin staff are all male and smiling reassuringly, and are much less formal than the terrorised budget airlines employees, joking over the speakers, announcements creative and personal. I really appreciate that, actually!

14:10

Still stuck. They are trying to arrange our departure with the landing spot in Heathrow so that we save fuel, are environmentally friendly and all that. All great news I'd be embracing wholeheartedly if I weren't busy worrying about losing my connection. The relaxed staff starts to serve drinks, and the plane smells of wine now. I'm resisting temptation for now.

14:30

Taxiyng out agonisingly slowly.

15:45

The small screens above our heads show our route, progress, distance from destination and all other fascinating information designed to make us feel in control of our destiny. With overwhelming frustration I see we are actually circling, and the distance from my connecting flight has just increased to 15 miles! Blast the information fix!

16:01

Heathrow, terminal five. It looked ok from the outside, but right now I am hating it with every fibre of my body, as I'm thundering through bloody long corridors with no automatic walkways! I have exactly 24 minutes to get to my gate – in terminal three. The suitcase performs amazingly on tight corners of the passenger slalom. We'll see how it handles the stairs.

16:08

The bus left immediately after I jumped on it, and I find myself staring at another 'helpful' information screen now. A purple strip at the bottom indicates our progress, and with horror I notice we're only one fifth of the way there! The bus takes us deep into the dark cluttered bowels of Heathrow, and we work our way between piles of discarded trolleys, constant roadworks, and hundreds of incomprehensible and moving machines. Great.

16:20

I've got five minutes before the gate closes, and I'm breaking the world record for 500 Metre Mad Dash With Pull-along. At least there are walkways, but I'm breathing hard and sweating like mad. I've pleaded my way to the front of the security check queue, but even though I had not even a pin on me the infernal door beeped – 'a random check', the officer informed me. Another minute wasted. I take off, through the – fortunately uncrowded – shopping area, and this is my last long stretch now, gates 25-40. People scatter as they hear the mad wheeezeee of the suitcase wheels as I approach. The corridor goes on forever, I'm at the end of the walkways and it's only gate 30, and mine is number 40! I try to convince myself this is just like jogging in the park – but it's not. Oh great, an uphill ramp.... oh thank goodness, gate 40. Collapse.

16:45

Well, that was close, and I am now both sweaty and tired, with two more flights to go. I only made it because this flight is late as well – so I'm mentally preparing for a repeat of the Mad Dash in Madrid. I'm quite a sight, panting and red amongst suited businessmen and smart tourists. Oh well. I made it. Wine time.

Wine time.

19:40

The planet has spun further into darkness, and the mountains are casting long shadows. I want to take a picture, but there is a dense, purplish haze hanging over the landscape, just like the one I remember from the Pianura Padana, North Italy. Could Spain be similarly polluted? Ironically, I was just trying to take a picture of a massive windmill farm.

20:40

Well, this time it took me ten minutes between emerging from one plane and being seated on another. I ran anyway, just in case, but all Iberia gates are grouped in one area, so my sprinting was rather unnecessary. It's a lovely airport, too, but I'll have more of a chance to explore it's architecture on the way back.

Madrid airport.

22:16

On the bus to town centre I overhear the boy sitting in front of me chat in Polish on the phone, and can't help myself. He's just starting his Erasmus year... ooh, lucky guy..! I give him some tips based on my Italian experience, and concentrate on being jealous. But then we cross the river and pass the Guggenheim museum, and I'm, happy to be where I am too.

I slowly walk down a pedestrianised street in search of my hotel. It seems a nice city, Bilbao. But all I can think of is food, shower and sleep. Preferably in this order.

Epilogue

The trip back was fortunately less eventful, although I did manage to break a bottle of wine just before boarding in Madrid, and then got assaulted at the baggage reclaim at Manchester. 53 hours later and I'm nearly home, the sun is setting over the Peak District, sheep are sheepish and I have multiple bottles of Rioja about my person. Life is good.