I was banging on about airport check in my last post and it harked me back to my last major intercontinental haul. (This Dortmund-to-Budapest lark is a piddly little business in comparison.)

6:15 am

Wilken and I arrived at Gatwick bleary eyed having made the nerve-racking-cheap-Asian-airlines overnight haul from China back to Europe. Destination: Maastricht. Because this bit of the Netherlands is too piddly (useful word, that one) to have its own aiport (not one that flies anywhere useful, anyway), we’re scheduled on a flight to Cologne – but it doesn’t leave till late in the evening.

We drag ourselves wearily to the EasyJet counters, hoping against hope there’s an earlier flight we can transfer to without have to fork out too much of a hefty fee. But – Sorry love. Eight o’clock tonight’s the earliest flight there is to Cologne. What about another airport then, we ask. Düsseldorf? Dortmund? Aachen? Eindhoven? Amsterdam, even? We are met with blank stares. No planes from Gatwick flying to any of those places. It’s as if Germany and a significant portion of the Low Countries don’t exist.

8:30 am

A spark of excitement as Wilken jumps up, sprints over to a man dozing in the corner and wakes him excitedly. He’s just seen a strange woman pick up his suitcase and walk off with it. I rouse myself, keen for a diversion. But the man is shaking his head, chuckling a bit. It’s just me wife, he says in a thick northern accent.

10:45 – 12 noon

Scavenger Hunt

one sachet of sugar
something red
a photograph of a morbidly obese person
something shiny
any form of advertisement or brochure
a receipt (but purchases of any kind are prohibited)
one flower (real or otherwise; or picture thereof)
an empty bottle or can

It’s a tie. Wilken gets stuck on the flower and I fail to procure the elusive receipt. Can’t bring myself to sift through the bins.