LIVING UNDER A CLOUD
By Ranee Barr
It was a grey sunless morning: nothing unusual about that for a typical start to a day in London. I wasn’t paying much attention to the Radio 4 in the background announcing the usual doom and gloom around the world; or, these days nearer to home gloomier news of the oncoming elections. Will it be the Labour Party or the Tory, or indeed the Liberal Democrats? As for me, they all seem to be saying the same things. But something did make me stop and listen, eyeliner poised in the air, to listen to news of a volcano erupting in Iceland. My friend Ilona will be happy I thought, she loves geology, and is passionate about all natural disasters.
Every morning after that, party political news was vying for precedence with airline disruption announcements; not just in Britain, but most parts of Europe. Apparently the ash from the volcano was blowing across the UK and northern Europe so terribly that planes were grounded, for fear it might clog the engines and make the plane to crash. As the news was unraveling, I realized how fortunate I have been to be back at base after my travels in the US. I had arrived back only two days earlier. When I arrived at Heathrow I couldn’t have known that it would be deserted in less than 48 hours.
Next day someone asked me ‘do you think the sky looks a bit strange today, I mean more grey?’ As Brits we are all obsessed with the weather; but this has taken on another dimension. It was difficult to say if it was the usual colour, like a pigeon’s coat, or something more sinister was lurking up in the skies ready to engulf us any minute, even Pompeii style.
Very noticeable were the skies, without the plumes of jets crisscrossing the expanse. And it was eerily silent. Some said it might be an act of God to clean the air of air traffic pollution. Whatever it was, the act of God was causing hundred and thousands travel chaos, and worst perhaps for many, thousands of dollars to get home. Two of my bosses at work were ‘stuck’ elsewhere; one in Africa on a Safari with his family, and the other in Cyprus on a business trip. It cost the one in South Africa to fly his family of five on a private jet all the way to Europe. But the business colleague who was in Cyprus made an epic journey back to London over two days, like some ancient traveler he arrived back exhausted dusty and dirty. But unlike the medieval traveler he had the use of several buses and trains.
Though safely in our own beds, we were all affected one way or another. Last Friday there was a frantic call from a work colleague from the Budapest office to say his friend is stranded in London and unable to get back home, and could I assist with getting Simon safe passage on Eurostar, perhaps? He also said could I find him another hotel as the one he is staying at in Piccadilly was about to throw him out as his booking had run out. Hotels in London were overflowing with stranded passengers wanting a bed for the night. People were paying hundreds of pounds to get a bed. Simon was lucky that a kind friend in the end let him stay at his apartment in St John’s Wood. No extra cost for him in that respect at least.
Simon gave me specific instructions over the phone: I could sense his frustration, or was it panic, to get him home. No, he didn’t want a late train he wanted to leave soon, if possible the same day. Impossible. It was like looking for water in a desert. With everyone desperate to get to their homes, every single train, every single seat however expensive, was sold out. Money suddenly seemed to not matter. People interviewed on Radio 4 said they were paying literally thousands of pounds to get across Europe; some by taxi through several countries to reach home.
Simon’s destination was Brussels, from where he was going to hire a car and drive all the way to Budapest. If it was the US perhaps it would be seen as not a big deal, but here in Europe no one ever drives hundreds of miles unless out of necessity.
Finally, I managed to get Simon on the first Eurostar train leaving St Pancras on Sunday morning at 8.57 a.m. He was thrilled to see me waiting outside with the printed ticket in my hand. It was like I had found him gold. He gave me a huge box of expensive chocolates and departed on his grueling journey which would take him two days to reach Budapest. I bid Simon farewell and safe journey home. I realized then how it must have been for people before we started taking travel for granted as we do now. Journeys were made over days.
People on the radio were likening this chaos to wartime evacuation. Lots of opportunity for nostalgic recounting of another type of travel trauma.
In the meantime, the sun shines gaily over London. Whatever happened to April showers? And especially when we needed it most? People said, ‘Oh, the rain will come soon and wash away all the ash, and we will be ok then’. There has been no rain to speak of even as I write: only clear blue skies. It has been a very dry April so far, and we are possibly still under a cloud of ash not visible to the naked eye.
My raincoat is still hanging on the back of the door waiting for an airing. People are saying if this is what a volcano does to British weather, bring it on!
Ranee lives in London, but makes frequent trips to the U.S. to visit family and friends.
E-mail this article to a friend
