The uneventful KLM/Air France flight from Doha suddenly sprang to life on the descent to Schipol airport. The calm of the rarified air up top was replaced by the far more exciting blowy stuff down below. Five & half hours of the proverbial ‘perfect flight’ was replaced in seconds by a flight utterly different. The plane bobbled and wobbled at a fearsome rate as the runway approached. As if the plane was floating on very choppy seas. A child by the window squawked a scary squawk as the lights below appeared and disappeared with the sideways ‘up and down’ of the air ship. Mommy-of-child did her brave frightened best to cope with the fears of daughter and self. It’ll be all right a stór, she said; but in Dutch, vomit bag in hand.
MB is homeward bound.
Touchdown did not bring the calamity many white-knuckled passengers feared. Franz Pilot demonstrated why he earns the big pilot bucks, using pilot magic to stop the tipping motion of the wings with only seconds to spare. All aboard exhaled the happiest of exhalations, as Franz taxied the ship towards the terminal. On terra firma. Hurrah for Franz Pilot!
A short walk brings all to the transit area. High tech scanners resembling MRI machines (maybe they are MRI machines) scan every orifice and crevice as we stand within with hands raised. A quick body frisk follows, lest MB is hiding some non-metalic weapon of mass destruction on his person. No such weapon is found and MB is waved on. Such is the way of things at the modern airport. Hurrah for the MRI machines!
It’s 5am local time and only McDonald’s is open. The passengers awaiting connecting flights like MB are all just lovin’ it. “Small fries and a medium coffee please” says MB to the light chocolate-skinned Jenifer. “Euro 5.55 please Sir”. “Thanks Jenifer”. Smiles.
Lots of happy smily faces about, despite the early hour. Most thinking of getting home for the holiday and not long now. Freedom from the daily grind for all, for the next week or so, at ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Hurrah for the ‘most wonderful time’!
Two Tans sit at the next table. Northern lads. Bit loud for the hour that’s in it. They’ll be shortly calling for Newcastle Brown Ales at the bar. “Sorry Sir, we no not sell Newcastle Brown. How about 2 cans of Royal Dutch?”. “A’ right”.
There are a few hours to kill before EI 605 to Dublin. Time for MB to go for a wander. No telling what’s round the corner.