My flight on Virgin Atlantic was one of the best of my life. What an airline! Beautiful, huge new Airbus, audio and movies at every seat, friendly crew, acceptable food, pillows, blankets and free drinks galore. I got 3 seats together and was even able to sleep a little. I ran through audio selections of Bob Marley, Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison, and Simon and Garfunkel, watched the Sex and the City movie and part of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and bingo, we were in London. Heathrow is another story though: it's like a giant shopping mall except with lots and lots of luggage. With people everywhere, from everywhere, speaking every kind of language. Samba came in on his flight about 6 hours before mine, and then we have 6 more hrs to go before we take off for Nairobi, so we've seen quite a lot of this place. Poor Samba's exhausted, and I'm starting to feel woozy.
Note to self: avoid long layovers between connections. Fairly excruciating afternoon into evening, killing time, looking for something to eat that is not horribly overpriced, and the bodily weakness of the lack of sleep. We plod around the endless terminal and corridors looking for a quiet spot to rest, and a bench not bristling with armrests so we can lie down for a while. The appointed time finally arrives, and we shamble down yet one more winding echoing tunnel (20 minutes to gate 23!) to board our flight to Nairobi.
This aircraft is obviously something Virgin picked up on the used-airplane market: yesterday's model, all beige plastics, excruciatingly tight seats, and the seat-back entertainment system that was quite disappointing after last night's high tech features and endless selections. Finally shoehorned in, we try to relax into another voyage into the night.
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