And so, after two weeks in Sao Paulo, it was time to come home. Too much time in the hotel, the office, taxis and places where meat was the only thing on the menu mean that I was really, really looking forward to that moment of lifting off the runway.
Not that everything had been bad, though the view from my room was the standard consultant view of the dual carriageway.
I did manage an arty snap.
And wondered what the obsession was with German sailors. I was determined not to have to go to the dentist.
There were also some astonishing storms, which I never managed to capture. The one that turned the dual carriageway below the office into a river in 20 minutes was quite something.
Anyhow, after dire warnings about the 2 hours plus it would take to get to the airport we made it in 40 minutes. Luckily Priority Pass came to the rescue and we whiled away the time here, missing the cheese balls and the hotel’s juicer.
Boarding was on time and well organised, and I had taken the BA offer to upgrade (and pay for seat choice) to WT+ so had 29K which has no seat in front of it. Again, the aircraft was quite tatty, and the yellowing 1970’s lightshades in CW did not help.
Despite upgrading, I slept less well on this leg than on the outbound and am far from convinced it was worth the money. My relaxation was not helped by waking up from my slumber to find my neighbour had stowed my IFE screen and plonked his sweaty size 10’s on the table in front of me (per the picture). Lacking the confidence that comes naturally to others, I did what any right thinking Guardian reader would so instead of pointing out the error of his ways and asking him to mend them, I put my reading light to wake him on and pretended to go to sleep. Passive aggressive, is I think the term.
Food was dreadful this time around. A slab of something approaching meat but without any flavour at all was the main, and I really wished I hadn’t bothered. Breakfast was a molten cheese and ham panini which was so stuck to its contained I may have feasted on ham, cheese and polystyrene.
Into London on time, to be greeted by “Border Force” personnel who were clearly looking for someone (my sweaty footed next door neighbours was being grilled as I passed by) and then to passport control. Egates rammed, boring old manual inspection empty so I forsook the modern and went for the shorter queue. Bags off in random order, and then through to find my driver just arriving. A record hour and a quarter back home (of which I slept an hour) and then to the pub for lunch..
Edited to add...is it childish to snigger at a sign in the airport than says "Brazilians this way"?
Not that everything had been bad, though the view from my room was the standard consultant view of the dual carriageway.
I did manage an arty snap.
And wondered what the obsession was with German sailors. I was determined not to have to go to the dentist.
There were also some astonishing storms, which I never managed to capture. The one that turned the dual carriageway below the office into a river in 20 minutes was quite something.
Anyhow, after dire warnings about the 2 hours plus it would take to get to the airport we made it in 40 minutes. Luckily Priority Pass came to the rescue and we whiled away the time here, missing the cheese balls and the hotel’s juicer.
Boarding was on time and well organised, and I had taken the BA offer to upgrade (and pay for seat choice) to WT+ so had 29K which has no seat in front of it. Again, the aircraft was quite tatty, and the yellowing 1970’s lightshades in CW did not help.
Despite upgrading, I slept less well on this leg than on the outbound and am far from convinced it was worth the money. My relaxation was not helped by waking up from my slumber to find my neighbour had stowed my IFE screen and plonked his sweaty size 10’s on the table in front of me (per the picture). Lacking the confidence that comes naturally to others, I did what any right thinking Guardian reader would so instead of pointing out the error of his ways and asking him to mend them, I put my reading light to wake him on and pretended to go to sleep. Passive aggressive, is I think the term.
Food was dreadful this time around. A slab of something approaching meat but without any flavour at all was the main, and I really wished I hadn’t bothered. Breakfast was a molten cheese and ham panini which was so stuck to its contained I may have feasted on ham, cheese and polystyrene.
Into London on time, to be greeted by “Border Force” personnel who were clearly looking for someone (my sweaty footed next door neighbours was being grilled as I passed by) and then to passport control. Egates rammed, boring old manual inspection empty so I forsook the modern and went for the shorter queue. Bags off in random order, and then through to find my driver just arriving. A record hour and a quarter back home (of which I slept an hour) and then to the pub for lunch..
Edited to add...is it childish to snigger at a sign in the airport than says "Brazilians this way"?
Last edited by pjh on 30 Jan 2015, 21:38, edited 2 times in total.
We can get better, because we're not dead yet