I type this from Bridgetown airport in Barbados while waiting for our 8.15am flight to Martinique. Being in transit has to be one of the world’s most aggravating experiences, kind of what I’d imagine limbo to be like if I was Catholic and believed in such things.
And to make our day that bit more special, a barely intelligible voice just came over the loud speaker to tell us that our flight is delayed due to “operational issues”. We’ll be given “further updates” at 9am. We’re meant to land in Martinique at 9am. *world’s biggest sigh*
When I went to ask what was going on, the information desk lady was less than courteous. Apparently, “further updates” is sufficient information in these parts of the world. I took her cue and am now sitting and waiting in as docile a manner as possible for someone who does not want to spend their holiday in an airport.
On the upside, there was a very cute little baby girl waddling around the airport a moment ago. Yet, due to the traumatic nature of last night’s flight, I found myself eyeing her with a great deal more suspicion and mistrust than I would ordinarily show towards a child. I was convinced she’d be sitting behind me and would start kicking and screaming as soon as we took off.
‘Where’s the upside?’ you say. Well, she boarded another plane (that has actually taken off) so, unless another child comes through those doors between now and whenever the fuck we finally leave, I’m off the hook.
Small victories, right? At least I have a book. And here are some pics of my sister and the sunrise from the back of our small hotel as we were leaving for our (delayed) flight.