This blog post comes to you from the prayer room in Stansted airport. Not quite my usual hangout but beggars can’t be choosers! It’s not that I’m particularly religious, despite my catholic upbringing, it’s more due to the fact that the seats here are much more comfortable than the metal benches which fill the rest of the terminal.
To be quite honest, if I were religious I’m not sure this is where I’d choose to worship. It’s just a small room with bibles, prayer books and prayer mats. Oh and in the corner there’s a urinal. I guess it’s not a bad idea. Nobody wants to have to abandon their rosary beads when they’re halfway through the glorious mysteries to go in search of the nearest water closet. A ‘one stop shop,’ if you will.
I’m not here to pray or to pee but to get a few hours sleep. Once again I’ve missed my flight. And before you jump to conclusions, this time it was through no fault of my own. An overhead failure meant that all trains were cancelled. Now I face an 8 hour wait for the next flight with only a bible, a prayer mat and Bruce Springsteen to keep me company.
Despite the fact that I’m a regular traveller, it is rare that the journey ever goes smoothly. Last December I decided to surprise my family and friends by arriving home unannounced. This time there were no train delays. I arrived at gatwick with plenty of time to spare. Little did I know that an air signal failure meant that no flight could take off. Just when we thought all had been resolved and were queuing to board, we were herded back to the departure lounge as our plane had a cracked windscreen!? Thirteen hours of my life stuck in gatwick airport. Sounds horrendous right? It was!…. Until we discovered duty free gin!
Or how about my trip home at the beginning of the summer? Torn ligaments meant that I was officially a
“passenger of restricted mobility.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt as embarrassed as I was being driven through departures on the happy bus with a group of Japenese pensioners. In Dublin airport, I got a wheelchair transfer through the arrivals terminal. A young steward pushed me and I felt much more comfortable and inconspicuous. Except he wasn’t a very good driver. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when he sped through passport control sending a middle aged woman tumbling head first across my chair. Maybe the bingo bus was the safer mode of transport!!
Funnily though, airports are still a place that I enjoy. I guess that’s a good thing considering how much time I spend in them. I suppose it’s probably due to the fact that I’m usually happy to be going wherever I’m going whether it’s home to see my family and friends, somewhere new and exciting it simply the return journey to the life I’ve built in London. No matter how long the journey might take, it’s always worth it when I get there!
Update: I’ve just been informed that it’s not a urinal. It’s some sort of Muslim purification system. Apparently they have to cleanse themselves before they pray.
I’m now considering washing my hair in it. Did I pack the head n shoulders??
anitamaguire 