Queue

I flew overnight from Dar es Salaam with the only vaguely sensible ticket that could get me to Portugal being one that transited in Amsterdam. When I shook awake after one bout of head-bobbing drowsiness and realised we were milling about over the Adriatic, I was mightily relieved to be close-ish to the end of the journey from Africa to Europe.

Relief isn’t a sentiment that described the rest of the day after that point. Something very strange is going on in Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, which used to be an efficient place to transit and pick up a packet of stroopwafel. These days, not so much.

The security scanning was so slow and staff so unwilling to allow through those with boarding passes showing they were about to miss their flights, that I missed my connection. When I finally reached the scanner at the time the plane was taking off, behind me in the queue there was a tussle between passengers, due to frustration at the wait. The airport’s response was to lower the automatic shutters preventing anyone else from reaching the scanners. It felt like that scene in Titanic where the third class passengers are blocked behind that metal grille. I can’t imagine it dissipated the tension.

After missing the connection I was routed to some self-service machines to find out when I would be rebooked for. It was very hard to speak to an actual person. Eventually realising I had at least twelve hours to wait, I decided to go into Amsterdam for a mooch. Despite the pleasant and obligatory bikes-next-to-canal scenes, this was an error. Returning to the airport I hadn’t bargained for the 3+ hour queue simply to pass through security and re-enter the terminal. It was like being at Alton Towers snaking endlessly for three hours for a ride, except the surroundings were concrete barriers and hastily erected marquees within which to snake, not soothingly sculptured forest glades. And instead of an adrenaline hit from a rollercoaster, none of us knew whether our end result would be a sweaty run through the airport to find a gate in darkness and a ‘departed’ sign on the board (as I had experienced in the morning).

Schiphol Airport needs to be schipped by anyone thinking of routing through there any time soon. Overall I do not know what was happening in Amsterdam today, except that humanity may have come to the end of its useful existence. At a systems and societal level we often operate with zero sense and do things that cause raised blood pressure and generally negative experiences. Everything was so incompetently handled that it was amazing that my flight to Lisbon eventually departed in the evening, albeit three hours late. I know it’s a huge financial privilege being able to buy an air ticket to Europe from Africa, but I wouldn’t say privileged acts are always enjoyable acts. I found myself wishing I was in Africa where things are often unruly, but they don’t pretend to be anything other than that.

I eventually strode onto the runway in Lisbon at 2am, after the most frustrating journey in many a year.