Day 2 -Doha to Male : The Trouble with Travel continued....

So, at the end of the last post, I was getting some much needed sleep, aboard a large jet ( I'm not going to bestow the title of "Jumbo" on it - because it was far too cramped), bound for Doha Airport in Qatar.

My plane had been delayed in Barcelona, so at this stage of the proceedings, I had no idea whether I was going to make my connection to the Maldives.  The flight was at 2.10am with the gate closing at 1.50 and we weren't due to land until 1.30!

Most of the proper grown up aeroplanes (unlike the toy ones used by Ryanair) have helpful little maps and information screens available, so you can check the progress of the flight. So with one hour to go, I was glued to mine, urging the little plane on the map to fly faster and for the arrival time to become a little sooner.

Unfortunately, neither of these things happened and the arrival time stayed fixed on 1.30am. 

About half an hour from Doha, it became crystal clear, that my only hope of catching the flight, relied on all of the following :-

• The Captain getting the plane on to it's stand in record time.

• The airport agents being uber-efficient  at doing the paperwork, sliding the tunnel into place and getting the door open.

• Me being one of the first people off the plane

• The gate for the Maldives flight being right next to this one.

Lottie and I had a similar experience during one of our many connections to New Zealand.  It was nothing like as tight as this one was, but because a number of passengers were anxious, the cabin crew had called ahead to find out the gate number, which was very helpful.

So with this in mind, I went to the galley area and explained my plight to one of the crew.  She told me not to worry because I had booked the whole flight with Qatar, so they would wait for me.

Now call me an old cynic, but I found this very hard to believe.  Was she seriously suggesting they would hold up over 200 people, just for one person and even if that were so  - what about my luggage?  Even if, by some miracle, I made the flight, I felt the chances of my luggage getting on to the plane were somewhere between a long shot and not a hope in hell.

I asked her if she could find out the gate number for me, but she gave me a metaphorical pat on the head and told me not to worry - the gate information would be clearly displayed as I left the plane. 

I returned to my seat absolutely convinced I was going to be spending 24 hours in Doha airport while I waited for the next available flight - at least there would be plenty of time for a smoke!

I sat back down, buckled up for landing and planned my speedy escape from the plane.

The jumbo passenger in-front of me, either didn't understand the announcement or chose to ignore it, so once again I was literally face to face with the back of his seat, but now my mind was occupied elsewhere.

I had worked out that the exit door was situated at the back of Business and as I was in the second row of economy, I was really close.

My plan (and it was a good one) was to very quietly undo my seat belt as we were taxiing in and then leap up the minute the seat belt signs went off, whisk my backpack from the overhead locker, nip through the dividing curtain and mingle with the business people who were always allowed off first.  I reasoned that as the only passengers who could impede my progress, were fatty ignoramus and his wife or the poor woman with the screaming kids,  I should be ok.

All went according to plan, until one of the cabin crew spotted me and tried to shoo me back behind the curtain.  I waved my Business class boarding ticket at her, told her I had less than 20 minutes before my gate closed and looked a bit tearful.  That did the trick, because not only did she let me stay, but the "Business" passengers waiting to get off, took pity on me and waved me to the front.

The airport officials clearly didn't realise that time was of the essence and took ages to open the door, but as soon as it was  - I was off and running.

When I travel in the future - if ever Qatar Airways offer a flight to my chosen destination ( at an affordable price of course) I will book with them without hesitation - simply because of what happened next!

As I power walked up the ramp towards the airport concourse, I could see 4 Qatar staff waiting at the end, each holding a sign with a destination and a name.  I never dreamed one of them would be for me - and I was right, a quick scan told me I was on my own. 

One of them clearly clocked my distraught features and asked where I was going.  "Male - in the Maldives", I replied.  Why I felt the need to clarify where Male was to someone who does "travel" for a living, I will never know, but he nodded, pointed down the ramp to the right, where I could see 4 more uniformed individuals running full pelt towards me waving signs.  Still a long way off and still running - one of them called out - "where are you going" - "Male" I shouted back.  At which point, the petite lady on the edge of the pack, stopped dead in her tracks, waved her sign and shouted "we need to go this way" pointing back the way she had just come.  I started running (going down a ramp is so much easier than up) and as I caught up with her she told me I didn't need to run, but we were going to have to go very quickly.

The next minute, she was shouting into her walkie talkie,  letting security know that we were on our way and I would need to be fast tracked through.  We power walked down one long corridor, then along 3 more, we went up some escalators, down some others, then along 2 of those moving walkways and still we hadn't reached security. 

"Is it much further",   I managed to squeak ( I was rapidly running out of breath), "not far now", she said "and once we're through security, I'll see if I can find us a buggy to take us the rest of the way".  The rest of the way - was she kidding.

"Exactly where is this gate?",  I asked - her reply was a classic - "unfortunately you landed at one end of the airport and your gate is at the other, but don't worry, we'll make it". 

Well she might make it, with her youthful, boundless, energy and knees that work properly.  I, on the other hand, had visions of me collapsing in a heap, begging  to be left alone so that I could find my asthma pump, let my heart rate return to normal and allow my "hurty" knees to recover a bit.

When we finally reached security, we shot past the line of people waiting to go through and arrived at my own private personal security area.  If I hadn't been so knackered and out of breath, I could have quite enjoyed all this attention, but there was going to be no hanging about.  The officials knew we were in a hurry ( my lovely little helper - kept reminding them every 5 seconds), but they obviously took their job very seriously and were not going to be rushed. 

Funnily enough, by now I was feeling quite calm -  which is more than can be said for my companion, (who had completely taken over the responsibility of getting me on my flight).  In between yelling into her walkie talkie - presumably at the gate staff, she was hopping up and down and waving her arms in a very agitated fashion.

Fortunately, my backpack required no extra examination and my jewellery didn't set off the alarm, so we were on our way again.  My goodness that girl could walk fast  and due to the fact that whenever I'm out with my tall sister and her extremely tall partner, I struggle to keep up, I have mastered the art of a little walk/trot combination that served me very well on this occasion.

When you don't need one of those buggies that whizz around airports hooting at everyone, you can bet they will be everywhere.  But sods law says that as soon as you are desperate for one - they all vanish - so we continued on foot.

As we finally entered section A, she told me that it wouldn't be long now because my flight was at gate 7.  I spotted gate 1.  and felt a wave of relief.  Too soon Maz - too soon! 

Between each of the gates there were those very very long moving walkways,  designed to make your walk to the gate much quicker.  This is a concept that many people don't seem to understand - the clue is in the name people - moving WALKways. 

So why everyone just stands perfectly still, usually 2 or 3 abreast, blocking those of us who understand how they are supposed to be used, is a mystery to me.

The 3 walkways between us and gate 7 were chock full of such people - but my little pocket rocket  companion, wasn't going to let that small problem stop us from reaching our goal.  So as we thundered along, she bellowed out instructions.

"Get out of the way please", "Coming through", "Move over please". "We need to get by" "Sorry but you need to move".

People were staring, grumbling and giving us really dirty looks - but it worked - they all shuffled out of the way.

Finally gate 7 was in sight. "ooooo good", my companion said, "they are still on final call". 

I have no idea how she knew this.  There were no signs that I could see ( but everything was a bit of blurr) and her walkie talkie hadn't squawked at her, so I can only assume she had one of those hidden earpieces in or she was psychic.

As we neared the gate the subject of my suitcase came up.  I told her I had checked a bag  ( would anyone really go the Maldives with just hand luggage?) and she promised me they would do their best to get it onto this flight.  However, she said she couldn't guarantee it because it had to be unloaded, transported to the other end of the airport and loaded again.  What she didn't say, but we both knew, was that there was absolutely zero chance of the ground staff treating the situation with the same level of dedication and urgency, she had shown. 

At least she was honest and she did promise that if the inevitable happened, it would be on the next flight, later that day.  She told me not to worry (Ha - fat chance) and the staff in Male would be able to tell me if my case made it or not. Telling me not to worry is a bit of waste of breath; I was convinced I would arrive in Male while my suitcase had a nice gentle stopover in Doha.

I have been the last man standing at an empty carousel, on at least 3 other occasions, so you would have thought that by now, I would have learned my lesson and packed some essential emergency items in my hand luggage.

As it was, once I'd packed my cameras with all their kit, my laptop, my kindle, my snorkel and mask (it has prescription lenses so I can actually see something), a small hand towel,  my make up and some deodorant - there wasn't any room for anything else.  I had thrown in a spare pair of knickers at the last minute on the advice of a friend, but that was it!

Also, I was wearing "comfy travelling clothes", none of which would be suitable for the extreme heat of the Maldives, but there as there was nothing I could do about it now, I resolved to do better next time!

When we finally arrived at the gate, there was not one single passenger still in the boarding area.  I had been first off the last plane and was going to be the last person  to board this one.

I thanked my little helper profusely - I would definitely have never have made it without her and Qatar Airways should be very proud of her.

I handed over my boarding card with business class stamped on it in big, shiny, sparkly letters (I'm kidding) to the visibly relieved gate staff and made my way down the special entrance to my lovely, spacious, massive, endlessly variable seat/bed.

Business class isn't huge - about 60 seats in total but it was completely full.   I was sitting next to a teenage girl, her 2 sisters were in the middle 2 seats and mum and Dad were behind them. 

Frankly I was a bit taken aback - how rich do you have to be to fly your whole family of 5, business class.  None of the girls had anything to drink or eat and slept for the whole flight, so it seemed like a bit of a waste of money to me.

Anyway, I certainly wasn't going to waste the opportunity.  I'd missed out on my Business Lounge free wine and nibbles at Doha so was very happy to partake of a lovely glass of champagne with some nice mixed nuts while we waited to take off. 

There was one cabin crew member for every 10 passengers and ours was very very keen.  She was back and forth to my seat every few seconds with something else and frankly, she was making me giddy.

She offered a refreshing towel - did I want it hot or cold?

Would I like her to show me how to work my seat? 

Did I want a lovely little pouch containing socks, eye-mask and lip balm. 

She brought me a lovely menu with multiple options and a full wine list. 

She read out the vegetarian options.

She explained that I could choose to have a late dinner or breakfast or both and I should just let her know what I want and when I want it, as food is served at any time during the flight.

All this and we hadn't even taken off yet.  As soon as we were airborne she came to offer me a drink.  I opted for a glass of wine - she smiled, pointed to the wine list and asked me which one.  This decision was particularly important, because I would be staying on a local inhabited island in the Maldives ( as opposed to a resort) where the strict adherence to Islam, meant no alcohol was served anywhere on the island.

I chose a nice Sauvignon blanc and off she went, returning a few moments later with a proper wine glass ( no plastic pollution here) and the whole unopened bottle.  She whipped out her corkscrew,  pulled out the cork and poured a little for me to taste.  It was delicious and I was sorely tempted to tell her to leave the bottle, but I was "brung up proper like" and knew that would be rude and not at all appropriate in this hallowed space.

Off she went again and then was back after I'd had just 2 sips to ask if I was ready to order some food.

I don't know what it is about flying, but I always end up feeling decidedly uncomfortable and very very bloated.  So even though the dinner choices on the menu and the vegetarian list she read out, all looked and sounded wonderful, I figured breakfast would work better for me.  However, I was determined to try something and so chose the cheese and biscuits platter.

She was gone and back again in a second, this time with a dainty cloth to put on my tray table and real, full size, heavy cutlery.  (I was loving every minute of this).

Having wolfed down everything on my platter ( 3 different cheeses with an assortment of biscuits), my stressful day of travelling and the mad dash through Doha airport was starting to take it's toll.  So as much as I would have liked to take full advantage of my wide-screen media console with a choice of hundreds of films/TV programs/ music and the amazing high quality headphones - the thought of stretching out flat and getting some proper sleep was too hard to resist.

My bed slowly and gently assumed the 180 degree position, I plumped my real fluffy pillow, popped on my complimentary eye mask, snuggled under my lovely quilt (no electric shock nylon blankets here) and promptly fell asleep.  

Despite asking me if I wanted to be woken up for breakfast and me telling her definitely yes - she didn't.  Her excuse was that she didn't want to wake me (even though I'd told her too) but I think she forgot.

Fortunately there was still 45 minutes to landing, so just enough time to bolt down a bit of breakfast.

I was slightly confused, because it was only 7.45 (Maldives time) and we weren't due to land until 9.30, so why the rush?

In what must be the irony to end all ironies,  the plane was landing an hour early.

I was really put out.  Normally, I would be desperate for the flight to be over, but I wanted to milk every last second of this luxurious way to fly and I was being cheated out of 60 minutes of gorgeousness.

The early arrival was absolutely no use to me either - my boat to Bodufolhudhoo wasn't until 10.30.

When booking flights, 99.9% of the time I go for an aisle seat, (I'm a bit claustrophobic) but as I had decided to upgrade at the last minute, there were only window seats available.   I wasn't worried because of all the space etc and as we got closer to our destination I was unbelievably grateful that I had been forced into this position.  The view of the Maldives from the air is simply breathtaking.

I didn't rush off the plane, I sat in my seat while everyone crowded towards the exit, slowly gathered up my things and cool as a cucumber (until the temperature outside hit me) I sauntered off the plane, trying my hardest to look like someone who does this all the time.

Coming down the steps of the plane, the heat and humidity hit me hard. I was a sweaty mess within seconds and with the realisation that my nice cool change of clothes were probably still in Doha - I had no idea how I was going to cope.

There were fairly long queues at passport control, but no matter, I had a little card stating "Business - Fast Track" so joined the blissfully short line for "First and Business Class Passengers Only".

So far I hadn't seen anyone who would be able to tell me the whereabouts of my case, so I wandered into the luggage reclaim area, found a very nice  young man behind the Baggage Enquiries desk and asked if he knew whether my case would be joining me any time soon.  He wasn't very tall, was remarkable slight in stature and looked so young, I wondered whether he was part of a "bring your son to work day" scheme. 

He was incredibly polite and helpful, but I still thought he was an odd choice for that job.  I've seen how angry, upset and violent people get when they are in Argentina and their luggage is in Peru.  

One puff of wind and he would blow over, but maybe that was their clever strategy all along - who would actually punch someone who looks about 12, in the face.

Anyway after checking his screen and speaking to a colleague who had miraculously appeared, he said he hadn't had any messages and assured me that Qatar airways were generally very good about that sort of thing.

I wasn't convinced - my experience of lost or delayed baggage in the past had been woeful, so I made my way to the carousel, fully expecting to back at his desk, filling out endless forms very shortly.

No one was could have been more shocked than I was, when my bright Red suitcase appeared through the flaps and glided round to meet me.  I actually said "Bloody Hell" really loudly, totally forgetting that many people heading to the Maldives speak English.  I grabbed a trolley ( my bag had probably been through a traumatic experience and didn't need to be dragged around any longer) and we made our way out through customs into the arrivals area.  I was immediately confronted with a sea of faces and signs (clearly every resort, hotel and Guest House in the Maldives meets and greets it's guests at the airport), but ignored them all and once clear of the crowds, stopped to fish out the email I had received from Bary at the Holiday Village Retreat with my instructions:-

Meet Mohammed at desk 36 and he will take you to your boat.

While I was looking around trying to spot desks with numbers, I was approached by 3 different people asking if I needed a boat, a seaplane or any help.  I took the help option and the man pointed out the desks ( they were hard to spot because of all the people and signs everywhere).  There was no one actually at desk 36, but the girl at desk 35 (they were very small desks) said the guy was around somewhere and she was sure he would be back soon.  So I took the opportunity to nip outside for my first cigarette since Barcelona.

Nowadays, there are no smoking signs everywhere, but if there are 45000 cigarette buts on the floor, that's usually a good sign that you are ok to light up.  So I did and it was bliss.  However there was no-one else smoking around me and I began to get a bit nervous.  I have no idea how strict the laws are in the Maldives, and didn't want to chance being locked up or presented with a hefty fine, within  minutes of my arrival.  So the trolley and I moved across to another area where 2 women were smoking.  Within seconds a bloke in a uniform showed up, waved at a sign written in the local language (which uses squiggly symbols)  and on which, the only bit I could understand was 500 - written in Red.

Now whether that was the local currency or dollars, I have no idea, but he was clearly letting me know a big fine was coming my way, if I stayed where I was.  So I moved again - this time to a small area where a group of blokes were huddled together puffing away, in full sunshine.

I resisted the urge to have a second, because I needed to find Mohammed.  I went back to desk 36 - still no-one there and this time, the nice girl next door offered to go find him for me.  

Another friendly helpful guy showed up a few minutes later but he wasn't Mohammed.  After a hasty phone call, he let me know that Mohammed was on his way, so I took the opportunity to pop outside again for some fresh air (just kidding - I wanted another fag).  

Just as I was about to head over to what I thought was the smoking area, the same uniformed man, stopped me and mimed smoking while pointing to the very first place I'd tried ( the one with the cigarette butt carpet).  This was a much more appealing option because a) it was in the shade and b) there was a little bit of cool air seeping out from the air conditioned terminal building.

Having topped up my nicotine levels for now, I made my way back inside and found a seat to wait.  2 minutes later Mohammed showed up, full of apologies for keeping me waiting, but in fairness to him,  it was still only 9.15. and the plane wasn't due to land until 9.3o.

So with an hour to kill before my boat ride, he looked after my luggage while I popped to the loo, looked after it some more while I got myself a large coffee, showed me a nice shady seating area outside where I could drink my coffee and smoke and said he would be back at 10.30 to see me onto my boat.

Having been sat on a plane for 11 hours I was quite happy to stand and I still had the trolley, so could balance my coffee on my case while I tried to let family and friends know I had arrived safely.

Unfortunately neither my Spanish or English mobile would play ball.  No mobile data and no wifi, so I sent my sister a text instead.

While I waited,  loads of boats arrived and left with passengers and/or goods.  They were all shapes and sizes - large and small, old and new.

I was beginning to get a bit panicky, when 10.30 came and went (as did all the boats) and there was no sign of Mohammed.  Surely he couldn't have forgotten me already.  I kept doing a visual sweep of the area, hoping to spot him, and was just wondering at what point I should find a way to call Bary to let him know I was stranded, when Mohammed popped up beside me.  He had been sitting a few feet away from me all the time, but as he had his back to me, I just hadn't noticed.  My ridiculous obsession with time is going to get me into real trouble one of these days- I really need to stop being so anal and learn to go with the flow!!

I promised to keep these blog posts shorter so:-

To be continued..............