The free night

Who doesn’t like getting free stuff? No one I know of. Back in UC, the pizza parties were most notorious for the number of irrelevant people who turned up.. simply because of free food. Likewise, people turned up in un-shy numbers to any “free event”. Be it movie night, sandwich giveaways, some boring drone of a lecture (as long as there was free after-food) and what not. Other than that, attending some “fairs” or showcases where they gave free pens, notepads and the likes were also immensely popular. Coming from that well-advertised practice to this part of the world in Europe, where nothing is free, your head kinds of forgets how it feels to get free stuff. Until Germany gave us a taste of it. All thanks to France though.                          

So as everyone knows by now, I was at a conference in Berlin 2 weeks ago (though it felt more like a holiday). We’d booked a lovely hotel with a super-convenient location, awesome rate, great views and what not. And at the end of our 6 day stay we were happy to check out and try and get back home to Paris. And so there we were at the airport, unable to understand why our flight was never called and why they kept pushing back the boarding time while the flight was sitting at the tarmac just beyond the boarding gate right in front of our eyes. And we were offered no explanations either. A lot of tongue-clucking, under-the-breath cursing and one loudspeaker announcement, we were finally boarded onto the flight a whole 90 minutes late. But home’s home right? And in an hour-long journey who cared how late you got back? K and I eagerly clicked pictures of ourselves with the other Air Berlin flights in the backdrop to keep as one of the last souvenirs from the pretty awesome trip. However the flight didn’t leave. Not for an entire hour as we sat inside getting spitefully impatient. Finally there was an announcement… annoyingly in German first. And though we didn’t understand it, the audible groans around us told us it wasn’t good news. Next the announcement came in French. And to my great surprise, I understood every word that was announced and while that was wonderful news, what was announced, wasn’t. The France air traffic controllers were on strike (surprise surprise!) And they hadn’t given this plane a “slot to land”. And so they weren’t sure when (if ever) we would take off. Then came the further starling announcement. They were going to throw open the doors of the aircraft and those who wanted were free to “leave”. Leave where? To where? What next? No clue. The air hostesses were as clueless as we were and offered no further explanations. And mercifully, another long clueless hour later, the flight was officially declared as canceled.
                                                                     

And so for the first time ever, I unboarded a plane that hadn’t moved an inch from where it sat. To add to our woes, we had to await our bags at the carousel first before we went and battled with Air Berlin to see if they were giving us any accommodation, food or anything of the sort. And have you noticed? Your bags are always almost the last ones. It’s like some weird karma. Needless to say when K and I waddled out with our bags we were amongst the last in the long, snaking queue that terminated at the Air Berlin counter. And they were imploring people with friends and relatives in and around Berlin to head out there, leaving them with lesser people to accommodate.          
  

After what seemed like hours but was probably just one, our turn came. They were out of rooms in their 2 backup hotels. Could we wait a bit till they could see what they found for us? Did we have a choice? We briefly considered heading back to the hotel we’d stayed in and setting camp in a single room there. But we decided to wait good-humoredly with the rest of our gang. And noticing the poster tube in our hands and with a lot of time to kill, curiosity overcame their initial reluctance. And K and I ended up giving short impromptu presentations of our projects to the very interested folk who were fascinated that they’d finally encountered people who actually worked for nanotechnology. It was the most fun I had in recent times sharing my work. Far more the conference anyways. And finally they’d found us a hotel. The staff guy who told us that said it was a goood hotel. And my curiosity got the better of me. How good could it be?                                          

We got a taxi to the place. And the moment the taxi pulled up into the driveway, I knew something goood had happened. It was larger than the airport waiting lounge. It was a top-end 4-star hotel. And aptly named “Berlin Berlin”. And at that instant the really decent hotel we’d stayed at earlier seemed like a less-well-to-do cousin. And? They had only the executive suites available for us. All paid for of course. And that’s how France gave us the gift of one extra night in the lap of Berlin’s luxury. Free food? Of course. Their entire 12-course breakfast menu was ours to feast on. The experience? Priceless.                                                     

Bonne Vacances everyone! We’re headed to the Homeland. Which means… more things to blog about right? Absolutely! Happy Holidays everyone!

Ready? Jet... Go!

I flew Jet Airways to India when I came here this time. Of course that meant I was prepared for the sheer volume of our junta in the plane, outnumbering any other nationality by many-many to one. And it was a pleasant change to note that they carried more vegetarian meals than any other. Having flown other intercontinental flights in the past, I was used to being served the meal ahead of anyone else as it was earmarkedly special for me, being vegetarian. I noted in amused delight that on Jet, the 'non-vegetarian-non-Indian' meals were served first up while the vegetarians were the bulk of those being served. And since the flight was headed to Chennai, there was instant recognition in the Tamil chatter in the flight as soon as I entered panting and puffing from running at least 2km, I am sure from the previously delayed connecting flight (this warrants a post by itself). After making sure that my unceremoniously small carry-on (because of French regulations) wouldn't fit anywhere in the cabin space near my seat (big fat surprise considering a zillion Indians were travelling, more than half from the US with kids meaning they each had overstuffed bags splitting on the sides all dumped into the cabin without an inch space to spare), I went on to put it in the first class cabin someplace and settled into my economy class seat next to an Indian lady with 2 small children. While we started gabbing away in Tamil as to our whereabouts and origins in rapid Tamil, I heard the shrill cry of an attention-demanding toddler. It wasn't till then that I looked around. I visibly counted 12 kutti children in the seats around me, many of them probably born abroad and going to visit thatha-pattis (grandparents) in India for the first time. What a sight! As much as I like children, I did dread the prospect of incessant crying from one baby or the other, one of the common pet peeves among travellers till they have children of their own, I suppose. I wasn't wrong. For the 9 hours that the flight travelled from Brussels to Chennai there was one unhappy child after another, wailing about something or the other. The parents tried in vain to get their over-enthusiastic kids to sleep... some tried getting the older ones glued to a cartoon or two on the excellent in-flight personal entertainment system, some tried walking the bored toddlers up and down the narrow aisles, often running into the air hostesses who kept coming with one service or the other. Some others tried cooing softly, singing, yelling, threatening and what not. There was this little boy in the seat in front of me. He must've been a little less than 2 and I don't know his name, but he looked like a Rishi. He spoke in this delightful baby Tamil with broken sentences in a Junoon-like fashion (those who've seen Junoon in Tamil for sure understand what I mean). It was very cute.... but halfway I think he got pissed with being strapped to a single place and became highly cranky. But he would angle across his seat and sometimes catch my eye. For that one instant, through his tear-filled eyes, his crying would stop for half a second and a reluctant smile would spread across his tiny face. I guess it was the fact that someone was watching him that made him self-conscious at such a small age and briefly his babyness vanished. Kids!!

That apart, of course as soon as the flight landed practically everyone rose to grab their bags and rush out the exit... sure, we could all fly more than 9 hours but these last 9 minutes is where we 'gain' time. I've never understood people in this aspect. I had to wait till the flight had all but emptied to retrieve my bag from the first-class cabin.. And last out, I was the last on the bus that awaited to take us to the terminal and consequently first out of the bus and first on the immigration queue. :D. Simple LIFO (Last-In-First-Out). Not just that, considering that my bag had possibly just made it because of the excessively delayed Paris-Brussels leg, my checked-in bag was among the first out too.

Well, that proves it... where there's Murphy lurking, there's also Lady Luck around to show her pretty face. Go Jet!