“Well that’s quite a mission in’nit?”
My connection to Amsterdam left one hour and twenty minutes after I was scheduled to land at Gatwick airport outside of London. It was a tight window, but if my flight was on time I should be able to make it. So of course, my plane was not on time. (So many things have gone wrong with my flights out of JFK they should rename the place after junior) I clear customs exactly at the time my plane was scheduled to leave, and find there wouldn’t be another flight out for seven and a half hours. And its full. They suggest I try Heathrow, which in nowhere near Gatwick. So the first adventure on the trip is two and a half hours in the London underground, trying to figure out how to get from one gritty outskirt of London to another. At one point I was joined in the train by a group of soccer fans, or “hooligans” if you will, on their way to a match. They were hammered. It was eleven fifteen in the morning. When I finally make it to Heathrow, I have no idea what terminal to go to, as I don’t exactly have a flight. I pick terminal 2. There’s a plane leaving for Amsterdam in 45 minutes. From terminal 4. I strap on my man purse and run like hell.
“And what is your relation to Mr. Eckenroth?”
Six hours behind original schedule, I check into the Marriott in Leidseplein. Mad props to Eck for hooking me up with an awesome room for crazy cheap. They did actually make me fill out the part the read “associate spouse or domestic partner” to get the best rates, so Mark, don’t be surprised if you start getting literature from gay vacation planners around Europe. The light drizzle has turned into a full on downpour, such being Summer in the Netherlands. I find myself a coffeeshop, and hole up for a while.
My connection to Amsterdam left one hour and twenty minutes after I was scheduled to land at Gatwick airport outside of London. It was a tight window, but if my flight was on time I should be able to make it. So of course, my plane was not on time. (So many things have gone wrong with my flights out of JFK they should rename the place after junior) I clear customs exactly at the time my plane was scheduled to leave, and find there wouldn’t be another flight out for seven and a half hours. And its full. They suggest I try Heathrow, which in nowhere near Gatwick. So the first adventure on the trip is two and a half hours in the London underground, trying to figure out how to get from one gritty outskirt of London to another. At one point I was joined in the train by a group of soccer fans, or “hooligans” if you will, on their way to a match. They were hammered. It was eleven fifteen in the morning. When I finally make it to Heathrow, I have no idea what terminal to go to, as I don’t exactly have a flight. I pick terminal 2. There’s a plane leaving for Amsterdam in 45 minutes. From terminal 4. I strap on my man purse and run like hell.
“And what is your relation to Mr. Eckenroth?”
Six hours behind original schedule, I check into the Marriott in Leidseplein. Mad props to Eck for hooking me up with an awesome room for crazy cheap. They did actually make me fill out the part the read “associate spouse or domestic partner” to get the best rates, so Mark, don’t be surprised if you start getting literature from gay vacation planners around Europe. The light drizzle has turned into a full on downpour, such being Summer in the Netherlands. I find myself a coffeeshop, and hole up for a while.
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