Living in the UK I got used to speaking weather to people. As a rule, everybody is of the same opinion: they keep complaining about it. 20 minutes at the platform waiting for a train under never-ending drizzle, and strangers become friends.
Yesterday, passengers at Heathrow, Gatwick and other airports had even more reasons to be unhappy about the weather. Unexpectedly large amount of snow had caused delays and cancellations of flights. Because of the unpredictability of the weather passengers were informed about cancellation of their flights at an extremely short notice, often after they had already completed the registration process, sometimes even after they had boarded their planes.
During an hour that we spent queuing at the registration (yes, I was lucky enough to spend only one hour in the queue!), an Italian lady standing next to me shared with me her sad story. "This is my fifth attempt to fly to Milan", she said with a sigh. "I've been trying since Sunday. On one of the flights we had even boarded the plane and had waited there for four hours when they announced that we're not flying anywhere". A young guy standing ahead of us turned and nodded sympathetically. "I undestand you so well! I've only spent 20 hours at the airport trying to leave this country. I hate planes, airports, snow. Hell, I hate everything by now!" he exclaims. A German girl joined in the heated discussion on such a (seemingly!) neutral subject as weather. "My flight wasn't cancelled but I still wasn't able to board the plane", she said in a resigned way. Quizzical expressions on our faces prompt her to elaborate. "Well, the registration queue took so long that I actually was late for my own plane although I was on time - precisely two hours before the flight. Just as they recommend us", she explained.
After hearing all this, I experienced a slight panic attack. I looked around. The queue ahead of me seemed endless, passengers from all the cancelled flights accumulated, and it took a long time to deal with each passenger's query since most of them had already rebooked at least once. People were understandably nervous and angry, the airport staff did their best to help but there was little they could do. I felt that the British weather that we so often complain of had decided to take its cruel revenge on us, and, just as the BA strikers, had chosen the least appropriate moment for its display of character. Right before Christmas when so many people can't wait to join their loved ones - what could be worse?
I was really fortunate to be able to make it on time: with lots of running and rushing, and sweating, and being dangerously close to a nervous break-down. But I finally got on my plane and arrived in the cold snowy Moscow. And for the first time I thought just how lucky we Russians are to have our snowstorms and snowdrifts as an everyday phenomenon in winter. Being used to this kind of weather, Moscow airports worked in their usual regime, and I even didn't mind gloomy faces of the airport staff and was almost happy to see too insistent cabbies outside the Domodedovo airport.
Yesterday, passengers at Heathrow, Gatwick and other airports had even more reasons to be unhappy about the weather. Unexpectedly large amount of snow had caused delays and cancellations of flights. Because of the unpredictability of the weather passengers were informed about cancellation of their flights at an extremely short notice, often after they had already completed the registration process, sometimes even after they had boarded their planes.
During an hour that we spent queuing at the registration (yes, I was lucky enough to spend only one hour in the queue!), an Italian lady standing next to me shared with me her sad story. "This is my fifth attempt to fly to Milan", she said with a sigh. "I've been trying since Sunday. On one of the flights we had even boarded the plane and had waited there for four hours when they announced that we're not flying anywhere". A young guy standing ahead of us turned and nodded sympathetically. "I undestand you so well! I've only spent 20 hours at the airport trying to leave this country. I hate planes, airports, snow. Hell, I hate everything by now!" he exclaims. A German girl joined in the heated discussion on such a (seemingly!) neutral subject as weather. "My flight wasn't cancelled but I still wasn't able to board the plane", she said in a resigned way. Quizzical expressions on our faces prompt her to elaborate. "Well, the registration queue took so long that I actually was late for my own plane although I was on time - precisely two hours before the flight. Just as they recommend us", she explained.
After hearing all this, I experienced a slight panic attack. I looked around. The queue ahead of me seemed endless, passengers from all the cancelled flights accumulated, and it took a long time to deal with each passenger's query since most of them had already rebooked at least once. People were understandably nervous and angry, the airport staff did their best to help but there was little they could do. I felt that the British weather that we so often complain of had decided to take its cruel revenge on us, and, just as the BA strikers, had chosen the least appropriate moment for its display of character. Right before Christmas when so many people can't wait to join their loved ones - what could be worse?
I was really fortunate to be able to make it on time: with lots of running and rushing, and sweating, and being dangerously close to a nervous break-down. But I finally got on my plane and arrived in the cold snowy Moscow. And for the first time I thought just how lucky we Russians are to have our snowstorms and snowdrifts as an everyday phenomenon in winter. Being used to this kind of weather, Moscow airports worked in their usual regime, and I even didn't mind gloomy faces of the airport staff and was almost happy to see too insistent cabbies outside the Domodedovo airport.
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