Following the shocking news of an accidental death in the family, I needed to get myself to Leyland, England as quickly and as cheaply as I could. My Travel Agent came up with a few different flights to Manchester, but predictably the terms "quickly" and "cheaply" didn't generate a match. Earlier flights were considerably more expensive, and the cheapest option came with a catch: it was Friday, and this flight didn't leave until Tuesday. Also, it was a lengthy trip, with quite long connection times, and the return trip would be even worse. Being, as always, tight for cash, I took the cheaper fare.
Paris Charles De Gaulle Airport is probably the most impressive of the airports I've seen in my travels. It is massive, very busy, and structurally spectacular (though it has had its share of structural problems). The sheer size of this airport is mind-blowing, not to mention a little bit daunting to the unprepared. This was my fifth time at CDG, so I had a fair idea what I was in for. Although there is a lot of signage to point you in the right direction, even the amount of signage can itself be confusing. This airport doesn't just have multiple terminals, it has terminals within terminals. Terminals 1 and 3 are pretty much like most airports, but Terminal 2 consists of 2A, 2B, 2C, 2D, 2E, 2Fand 2G, and more recently, Hall L and Hall M which are parts of the revamped Terminal 2E. In reality, CDG is a 9 terminal airport. In 2007 CDG was the world's 6th busiest airport (by passenger numbers) handling just under 60 million passengers, and 8th busiest in flight movements with 552,721 movements recorded. Having arrived at Terminal 2C, I had to find my way over to 2F for my flight to Manchester. With six hours up my sleeve I did contemplate going to visit some of my wife's family in Paris, but didn't want to take a chance on being held up and missing my flight. So I simply made my way to 2F with no rush, soaking up the atmosphere as I went.
My flight was with Vietnam Airlines, which I knew nothing about, so it came down to blind faith as I had to get to England and was out of options. The outward trip was Melbourne - Hanoi - Paris - Manchester, with a three and a half hour connect time at Hanoi, six and a half hours at Paris. The return trip was Manchester - Paris - Ho Chi Minh - Melbourne, but with four hours connect time in Paris and fourteen hours in Ho Chi Minh. Because of the very long connect time at Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam Airlines included a choice between a tour of the city, or a hotel room with a shuttle bus from and back to the airport.
Another little catch with this ticket was that I had to obtain a visa to enter Hanoi, even though I was only passing through the transit area of the airport, and not leaving the airport. The visa was AU$220, but the biggest problem was getting hold of one in time for the flight. Oddly, the visa was only required for Hanoi, and not for Ho Chi Minh coming back. My travel agent worked her magic and found another agent in a distant suburb who must have had connections at the Vietnamese Embassy or something, and who happened to be flying to Vietnam on my flight. She organised for him to meet me at Melbourne Airport at 8:00 am, with a recent passport type photo and $220 cash. I didn't like the sound of all this very much, but given the lack of choices I put my faith in Marianne as she had done extremely well for me in the past ( a couple of years earlier, in another emergency dash to Manchester, I rang her at home at 7:30pm. She went and unlocked her shop, fired up her computer, and called me back at 9:00pm to tell me I was booked on a Malaysia Airlines flight at midnight! )
This was the first time I'd driven myself to the airport and left my car in the long term parking. I decided to do it that way because it's relatively cheap, you don't put anyone else out taking three hours of their time each way, and there's no issue trying to coordinate someone to pick you up when you come back. I was able to park very close to one of the bus stops, and a few minutes later I was inside, looking for my agent. Marianne had given me his phone number, so when nobody had come up to me at the rendez-vous point a few minutes after the agreed time, I began to feel a little nervous and rang the number. In hard to understand English, Christopher told me he was en route but running late. About twenty minutes later we somehow found each other amongst the madding crowd that an international airport can often be. I gave Christopher my passport photo and my hard-earned $220, and with a bit of glue and thumb pressure he produced, on the spot, my visa to enter Hanoi. I felt more than a little uncomfortable about this rather home-made looking visa, but it did have some sort of official looking printing on it, and I really didn't have any option at this point.
My itinerary said Melbourne - Hanoi, Hanoi - Paris, Paris - Manchester, but just as I was about to board at Melbourne, Marianne rang me to check that everything had worked out OK, and told me there would be a stop in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) before Hanoi. That didn't phase me at that point, apart from the fact that it was a delay in an already very long itinerary, and I just wanted to get to England as soon as possible.
Along with a couple of hundred Asians and a dozen or so Caucasians I boarded the Vietnam Airlines Boeing 777-26KER. This B777 was VN-A146, built in 2004 and delivered to Vietnam Airlines in July of that year, with a 3-3-3 configuration in Economy. My seat was 44C, about fourth from the back, portside, aisle seat. Between me and the window were two young Australian girls, who looked somehow relieved when I took the vacant seat next to them. We all said hello, but they quickly resumed their own chatter and we didn't actually make eye contact after that, so I didn't impose my conversation on them. With a sore neck giving me a headache, I wasn't really feeling much like conversation anyway.
Another little catch with this ticket was that I had to obtain a visa to enter Hanoi, even though I was only passing through the transit area of the airport, and not leaving the airport. The visa was AU$220, but the biggest problem was getting hold of one in time for the flight. Oddly, the visa was only required for Hanoi, and not for Ho Chi Minh coming back. My travel agent worked her magic and found another agent in a distant suburb who must have had connections at the Vietnamese Embassy or something, and who happened to be flying to Vietnam on my flight. She organised for him to meet me at Melbourne Airport at 8:00 am, with a recent passport type photo and $220 cash. I didn't like the sound of all this very much, but given the lack of choices I put my faith in Marianne as she had done extremely well for me in the past ( a couple of years earlier, in another emergency dash to Manchester, I rang her at home at 7:30pm. She went and unlocked her shop, fired up her computer, and called me back at 9:00pm to tell me I was booked on a Malaysia Airlines flight at midnight! )
This was the first time I'd driven myself to the airport and left my car in the long term parking. I decided to do it that way because it's relatively cheap, you don't put anyone else out taking three hours of their time each way, and there's no issue trying to coordinate someone to pick you up when you come back. I was able to park very close to one of the bus stops, and a few minutes later I was inside, looking for my agent. Marianne had given me his phone number, so when nobody had come up to me at the rendez-vous point a few minutes after the agreed time, I began to feel a little nervous and rang the number. In hard to understand English, Christopher told me he was en route but running late. About twenty minutes later we somehow found each other amongst the madding crowd that an international airport can often be. I gave Christopher my passport photo and my hard-earned $220, and with a bit of glue and thumb pressure he produced, on the spot, my visa to enter Hanoi. I felt more than a little uncomfortable about this rather home-made looking visa, but it did have some sort of official looking printing on it, and I really didn't have any option at this point.
My itinerary said Melbourne - Hanoi, Hanoi - Paris, Paris - Manchester, but just as I was about to board at Melbourne, Marianne rang me to check that everything had worked out OK, and told me there would be a stop in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) before Hanoi. That didn't phase me at that point, apart from the fact that it was a delay in an already very long itinerary, and I just wanted to get to England as soon as possible.
Along with a couple of hundred Asians and a dozen or so Caucasians I boarded the Vietnam Airlines Boeing 777-26KER. This B777 was VN-A146, built in 2004 and delivered to Vietnam Airlines in July of that year, with a 3-3-3 configuration in Economy. My seat was 44C, about fourth from the back, portside, aisle seat. Between me and the window were two young Australian girls, who looked somehow relieved when I took the vacant seat next to them. We all said hello, but they quickly resumed their own chatter and we didn't actually make eye contact after that, so I didn't impose my conversation on them. With a sore neck giving me a headache, I wasn't really feeling much like conversation anyway.
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| VN-A146 at Melbourne Airport |
The weather in Melbourne that morning was dry but very windy, and once we were airborne we had strong turbulence across the whole Australian continent, so much so that I actually felt quite sick for most of the trip, despite the over-priced travel sickness tablets I'd bought at the airport. Unable to look out the window, and being shaken constantly from side to side, I closed my eyes, reclined my seat, and zoned out, hoping that a bit of sleep would get rid of my headache and nausea. When the meal came around, although I was still feeling sick, I realised I hadn't eaten anything all day and thought it would probably be a good idea, and may even settle my stomach a little. As we cleared the Australian coast the turbulence seemed to settle considerably, and between the smoother ride, several panadol, a couple of travel-tabs and a feed, I was steadily starting to feel better. After eight hours or so we touched down in Ho Chi Minh City's Tan Son Nhat International Airport, and exited the aircraft via steps down to the tarmac and an awaiting bus. The first thing I noticed was the humid, sub-tropical heat. My two young companions sat near the front of the bus, while I went towards the back, and that was the last time I saw them.
Inside the terminal I followed a sign that said "Transit", which led up some stairs to a counter, sitting behind which was a not very smiley man who asked for my passport. I handed him my passport, visa and boarding pass all together, and after shuffling them around a couple of times he handed it back to me and indicated that I go across a very large, empty hall to my right where I could see several other similar looking counters. Several of the other passengers were already there. The terminal building was not what I'm accustomed to in international airports (although I was pretty sure this was the domestic terminal ) and reminded me of Spencer Street Station in Melbourne before they pulled it down and started again. This place looked like it hadn't had a coat of paint since the US pulled their military out of Saigon, which leant an uneasy feeling about just being there.
Across the hall I found a French family that I'd seen on the plane in front of me at the second counter. When my turn came around a rather unfriendly military looking woman took my papers, shuffled through them, and asked for my visa. I told her it was in with the passport, upon which she stood up, came out of her kiosk waving my papers in the air, saying "Come wit me, come wit me". As we headed over to a bunch of men in khaki uniforms with revolvers on their hips I started to feel a little anxious. G.I.Jane handed what was left of my papers to one of the unamiable looking officers who just looked at me. I could feel my body temperature rising as I started to have visions of being taken into a room out the back to be tortured. What would I do if they did that? Who would I call? Would they let me make a call?
The khaki uniforms talked amongst each other in their own language, looking towards me every few seconds. I was tired, hot, confused, and now a little afraid. Suddenly I heard my name being called out from behind me. It was the guy from the first desk, and to my delight, he was running over to save me from execution, frantically waving my visa around, saying that I'd dropped it. Yeah right! But I wasn't about to call him a liar in the presence of revolvers. It didn't matter which one of us actually dropped it, the batallion of troops were satisfied that I wasn't an illegal alien attempting to settle unlawfully in Vietnam, and they allowed me to proceed to the next kiosk where my papers, now complete, were checked again.
I followed the yellow brick road as directed, now a long way behind my fellow travellers, until I was accosted by a non-uniformed official who was pointing to my suitcase, all on its own on the floor, and he asked if it was mine. I confessed, hoping the zany floral Hawaiian pattern wasn't illegal in Vietnam. Following his instructions I picked up the suitcase, and placed it on a conveyor then walked through a screen and picked up my case on the other side. The man led me to another couple of soldiers who again checked my papers, and took my suitcase. One of them asked if I'd found the visa, pointing to the crooked corners and probably referring to the home-made look of the thing. I assured him I'd paid for it through a travel agency, and with a sideways look, he let me through.
I was led through another security check and found I'd somehow caught up with some people I recognised from the flight. Perhaps they'd been arrested too. There was a couple in their twenties, and a tall guy in his fifties who appeared to be travelling alone. We were led down some stairs past more very serious looking green uniforms, and out to the tarmac again. A bus took us back to what I was sure was the same plane, but this time I had seat 25B. Finally we took off for about a ninety minute flight to Hanoi. Another meal helped to ensure that I gain weight, despite my anxiety attacks.
At Hanoi we disembarked the more modern way, via an air-bridge. Inside the terminal building I spotted a smiling lady who was holding a sign saying "Transit To Paris", and she showed me which way to go. I followed her directions to a security/immigration check, where they asked for my boarding pass. At Melbourne, I was only given a boarding pass to Hanoi. I didn't have a boarding pass. Great! Here we go again! The rather grumpy woman at this checkpoint indicated that I had to go back the way I came and get one. I found the smiley Paris sign lady who smiled and said "Oh yeah.....go to check-ins 1 to 5" - could have told me that in the first place, I thought.
I decided that the air conditioning in the airport was a reverse cycle unit that was stuck in reverse. It felt like about 45 degrees and so humid it was about to rain inside. A crowd was forming around check-ins 1 to 5, and I noticed a roadway with cars and taxis outside to my left, and only then realised I was now on the land side of the airport. Between the circumstances of the journey, the brush with the law at Saigon, and general fatigue, I think I was a bit out of sorts at that time. It was now already eighteen hours since I left home, and I didn't feel like standing in a queue so I went outside for a smoke, where the air was even hotter, and smellier, than inside. Perhaps the air-con wasn't stuck in reverse after all. Just as I was taking my first photo I heard someone yelling "No Photograph!" I looked around and a man in civilian clothing was pointing to a sign which said NO CAMERAS OR VIDEOS. Not wanting to get arrested for real, I put my camera away.
Across the hall I found a French family that I'd seen on the plane in front of me at the second counter. When my turn came around a rather unfriendly military looking woman took my papers, shuffled through them, and asked for my visa. I told her it was in with the passport, upon which she stood up, came out of her kiosk waving my papers in the air, saying "Come wit me, come wit me". As we headed over to a bunch of men in khaki uniforms with revolvers on their hips I started to feel a little anxious. G.I.Jane handed what was left of my papers to one of the unamiable looking officers who just looked at me. I could feel my body temperature rising as I started to have visions of being taken into a room out the back to be tortured. What would I do if they did that? Who would I call? Would they let me make a call?
The khaki uniforms talked amongst each other in their own language, looking towards me every few seconds. I was tired, hot, confused, and now a little afraid. Suddenly I heard my name being called out from behind me. It was the guy from the first desk, and to my delight, he was running over to save me from execution, frantically waving my visa around, saying that I'd dropped it. Yeah right! But I wasn't about to call him a liar in the presence of revolvers. It didn't matter which one of us actually dropped it, the batallion of troops were satisfied that I wasn't an illegal alien attempting to settle unlawfully in Vietnam, and they allowed me to proceed to the next kiosk where my papers, now complete, were checked again.
I followed the yellow brick road as directed, now a long way behind my fellow travellers, until I was accosted by a non-uniformed official who was pointing to my suitcase, all on its own on the floor, and he asked if it was mine. I confessed, hoping the zany floral Hawaiian pattern wasn't illegal in Vietnam. Following his instructions I picked up the suitcase, and placed it on a conveyor then walked through a screen and picked up my case on the other side. The man led me to another couple of soldiers who again checked my papers, and took my suitcase. One of them asked if I'd found the visa, pointing to the crooked corners and probably referring to the home-made look of the thing. I assured him I'd paid for it through a travel agency, and with a sideways look, he let me through.
I was led through another security check and found I'd somehow caught up with some people I recognised from the flight. Perhaps they'd been arrested too. There was a couple in their twenties, and a tall guy in his fifties who appeared to be travelling alone. We were led down some stairs past more very serious looking green uniforms, and out to the tarmac again. A bus took us back to what I was sure was the same plane, but this time I had seat 25B. Finally we took off for about a ninety minute flight to Hanoi. Another meal helped to ensure that I gain weight, despite my anxiety attacks.
At Hanoi we disembarked the more modern way, via an air-bridge. Inside the terminal building I spotted a smiling lady who was holding a sign saying "Transit To Paris", and she showed me which way to go. I followed her directions to a security/immigration check, where they asked for my boarding pass. At Melbourne, I was only given a boarding pass to Hanoi. I didn't have a boarding pass. Great! Here we go again! The rather grumpy woman at this checkpoint indicated that I had to go back the way I came and get one. I found the smiley Paris sign lady who smiled and said "Oh yeah.....go to check-ins 1 to 5" - could have told me that in the first place, I thought.
I decided that the air conditioning in the airport was a reverse cycle unit that was stuck in reverse. It felt like about 45 degrees and so humid it was about to rain inside. A crowd was forming around check-ins 1 to 5, and I noticed a roadway with cars and taxis outside to my left, and only then realised I was now on the land side of the airport. Between the circumstances of the journey, the brush with the law at Saigon, and general fatigue, I think I was a bit out of sorts at that time. It was now already eighteen hours since I left home, and I didn't feel like standing in a queue so I went outside for a smoke, where the air was even hotter, and smellier, than inside. Perhaps the air-con wasn't stuck in reverse after all. Just as I was taking my first photo I heard someone yelling "No Photograph!" I looked around and a man in civilian clothing was pointing to a sign which said NO CAMERAS OR VIDEOS. Not wanting to get arrested for real, I put my camera away.
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| My first and only photo at Hanoi Airport. Not the best quality, but I didn't want to attempt another! |
Back inside after a couple of cigarettes I found the young couple I'd seen earlier looking somewhat confused. I asked them if they knew what they were doing, and they didn't, so we muddled through together. After a good hour of standing in the queue the check-ins finally opened, but it was still another hour before my turn came up. At this point I met the nicest Vietnamese person I had come across in Vietnam. The check-in attendant was pretty, petite, with a welcoming smile and a friendly, helpful manner. She asked me if I had any seating preference, so I asked if there was a window seat either next to a door or behind a toilet, so as to give a little more legroom and not have someone else's seatback in my face. The young lady very obligingly gave me a window seat just behind a door.
Now checked in, I made my way wearily across to the departure lounges via the usual security checks. Having been a little on edge since the episode with my visa in Ho Chi Minh, I now started to relax a little as I wandered around and spotted a few Aussies that I'd encounterd on the way. One more take-off, and I'm out of Vietnam. The departure area had quite an international airport feel about it, something that had been missing so far and perhaps contributed to my easing nerves. And it had a smoking room. I went into one of the member lounges, expecting to be rejected because I wasn't a member of anything, and asked for a coffee. The lady was quite happy to serve me, but when I handed her my credit card to pay, she came out from behind the counter, and started walking out of the cafe, holding my credit card. Not sure what she was doing, I followed, and she walked a few metres down to a duty free shop, and used the card machine there. A bit strange, but I'm guessing her machine wasn't working, so she had to do it that way. Finally I took my coffee, and my credit card, and went into the smoking room.
At 11:25 pm Hanoi time our 777 was reaching for the stars as I said a thankful goodbye to Vietnam - for now anyway. My seat was 45K just aft of door 3R, and while this seat achieved some of what I'd hoped for, there were a couple of disappointments. I'd never really paid attention before, but the doors are actually quite bulky, and protrude considerably into the space immediately in front of the seat. Therefore, you can stretch your legs out as far as you like, but not straight out, they have to skew to the left a bit. Having no seat in front of you is great, except that that is where the little table is normally kept, so in this seat the table is fixed to the arm rest, which makes it a little awkward to get in and out (but really no more so than if you have to climb over two passengers). You can't put any carry-on baggage such as a laptop under the seat in front of you, because there isn't one, so everything has to go in the overhead bin. Finally, the seat is between the door and the window, so the window ends up pretty much in line with the back of the seat, making viewing and photography rather awkward. That wasn't a huge issue for me on this flight as most of it took place in the dark anyway.
While I had felt little that I could call positive on the ground in Vietnam, I was more than happy with the flights themselves. There was no AVOD entertainment in the seats on either of these flights, but that's never been a big issue for me anyway. There were shared overhead screens, and one thing I did enjoy, which I've so far only seen with Vietnam Airlines, was the nose cam that was shown as we approached to land - not something you see every day if you're not a pilot. I found the food to be tasty and plentiful, and the FA's service very friendly. The tall guy in his fifties that I'd encountered in Ho Chi Minh drew the seat next to me on this Hanoi to Paris run. He was going on to Rome from Paris, and while he didn't elaborate on his experiences on the ground, he did say that he wasn't sure he'd do the Vietnam thing again.
Given the late hour and the length and nature of travel to this point, our conversation was predictably sparse as we were both quite tired. I did manage to sleep a little, though intermittently. I seemed to sleep for what felt like quite a while, but every time I woke up there was nearly as much time to our destination as the previous time, suggesting I'd hardly slept at all. But eventually, of course, this leg of the journey came to an end as the morning sun carried us into Charles de Gaulle Airport at Roissy, at 6:45 am.
As a British Citizen entering a Euro-Zone country, the only delay with Immigration at the airport was the simple queue factor we all face at just about any airport, and this time it moved along pretty quickly. My checked luggage was booked through to Manchester, so I didn't have to worry about that, and nobody wanted to check my carry-on bags, so in no time I was land side at Charles De Gaulle Airport, France. With still over six hours to kill, I bought a coffee and took it outside, found somewhere to sit and called home. After the somewhat scary introduction to Vietnam, I felt an enormous relief to now be sitting in the cloud-filtered morning sunshine in Paris. Here I felt a lot safer, knowing that the rules are similar to our own, that I spoke the language, and that I had family close by that I could fall back on in an emergency. Although I didn't like the idea of sitting around for six hours, I was suddenly feeling a lot happier than I'd been since leaving Melbourne. Now checked in, I made my way wearily across to the departure lounges via the usual security checks. Having been a little on edge since the episode with my visa in Ho Chi Minh, I now started to relax a little as I wandered around and spotted a few Aussies that I'd encounterd on the way. One more take-off, and I'm out of Vietnam. The departure area had quite an international airport feel about it, something that had been missing so far and perhaps contributed to my easing nerves. And it had a smoking room. I went into one of the member lounges, expecting to be rejected because I wasn't a member of anything, and asked for a coffee. The lady was quite happy to serve me, but when I handed her my credit card to pay, she came out from behind the counter, and started walking out of the cafe, holding my credit card. Not sure what she was doing, I followed, and she walked a few metres down to a duty free shop, and used the card machine there. A bit strange, but I'm guessing her machine wasn't working, so she had to do it that way. Finally I took my coffee, and my credit card, and went into the smoking room.
At 11:25 pm Hanoi time our 777 was reaching for the stars as I said a thankful goodbye to Vietnam - for now anyway. My seat was 45K just aft of door 3R, and while this seat achieved some of what I'd hoped for, there were a couple of disappointments. I'd never really paid attention before, but the doors are actually quite bulky, and protrude considerably into the space immediately in front of the seat. Therefore, you can stretch your legs out as far as you like, but not straight out, they have to skew to the left a bit. Having no seat in front of you is great, except that that is where the little table is normally kept, so in this seat the table is fixed to the arm rest, which makes it a little awkward to get in and out (but really no more so than if you have to climb over two passengers). You can't put any carry-on baggage such as a laptop under the seat in front of you, because there isn't one, so everything has to go in the overhead bin. Finally, the seat is between the door and the window, so the window ends up pretty much in line with the back of the seat, making viewing and photography rather awkward. That wasn't a huge issue for me on this flight as most of it took place in the dark anyway.
While I had felt little that I could call positive on the ground in Vietnam, I was more than happy with the flights themselves. There was no AVOD entertainment in the seats on either of these flights, but that's never been a big issue for me anyway. There were shared overhead screens, and one thing I did enjoy, which I've so far only seen with Vietnam Airlines, was the nose cam that was shown as we approached to land - not something you see every day if you're not a pilot. I found the food to be tasty and plentiful, and the FA's service very friendly. The tall guy in his fifties that I'd encountered in Ho Chi Minh drew the seat next to me on this Hanoi to Paris run. He was going on to Rome from Paris, and while he didn't elaborate on his experiences on the ground, he did say that he wasn't sure he'd do the Vietnam thing again.
Given the late hour and the length and nature of travel to this point, our conversation was predictably sparse as we were both quite tired. I did manage to sleep a little, though intermittently. I seemed to sleep for what felt like quite a while, but every time I woke up there was nearly as much time to our destination as the previous time, suggesting I'd hardly slept at all. But eventually, of course, this leg of the journey came to an end as the morning sun carried us into Charles de Gaulle Airport at Roissy, at 6:45 am.
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| Early morning mist rising from valleys in North-Eastern France |
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| Outside Paris CDG Airport - feeling safer now! |
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| Part of the underground walkway to Terminal 2F: plenty of shops and cafes to entertain |
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| Above ground now |
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| Inside Terminal 2F |
With my legs beginning to ache from wandering around, I decided it was time to make my way in to the departure area. Once through security I found an extensive array of duty free shops, fashion boutiques and the like that would put a major shopping centre to shame. I went into a duty free shop and found a carton of my cigarettes on a shelf, and after a wander through I took it to the counter. The young man behind the counter asked to see my boarding pass, and when I showed him he rang up full price on the register. When I queried the price he told me that I couldn't have them duty free because I wasn't leaving Europe. Despite his assurance that they were still cheaper than what I would be paying in England, I told him to keep them, and walked out of the shop in a huff. I guess I should have thought of that while I was in Vietnam, but at that time duty free shopping was the last thing on my mind.
Terminal 2F consists of a long, curved front section (seen in the photo above) with two fingers that protrude from it on the "air side". Each of these two fingers, or quays you might call them, have sixteen departure gates. The quay on the western side is for flights operating in the Schengen Area, while the eastern side is for international, or non-Schengen flights. The Schengen Area is a group of twenty-two European Union countries and four European Free Trade Association countries which have abolished passport and immigration checks at their common borders. The agreement was signed on June 14th 1985 in the village of Schengen in Luxembourg, which led to the establishment of the Schengen Area on March 26th 1995.
Inside the quays the architecture changes to a cathedral-like steel framework shaped like the inside of an upside-down boat.
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| It's a busy place! |
Terminal 2F consists of a long, curved front section (seen in the photo above) with two fingers that protrude from it on the "air side". Each of these two fingers, or quays you might call them, have sixteen departure gates. The quay on the western side is for flights operating in the Schengen Area, while the eastern side is for international, or non-Schengen flights. The Schengen Area is a group of twenty-two European Union countries and four European Free Trade Association countries which have abolished passport and immigration checks at their common borders. The agreement was signed on June 14th 1985 in the village of Schengen in Luxembourg, which led to the establishment of the Schengen Area on March 26th 1995.
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| The Departure Lounges, with still more shops below |
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| Looking across to the Schengen Area "sub terminal" |
I kept myself occupied writing a few notes and taking some photos, and it didn't seem too long before it was time to board my flight to Manchester, now only a short hop away. This was an Air France flight, scheduled to take off at 1:20pm. Considering the amount of traffic at this airport, I doubt if anyone would have been surprised or disappointed with the actual take off time of 1:34. My ride was an Airbus A319, with three class seating in a single aisle 3 -3 configuration. I was in seat 10A, pretty well centre of wing on the port side.
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1:18pm - Just about ready to push back, I took the opportunity to snap this Boeing 777 while I could.
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| 1:28pm - Waiting our turn at the traffic lights |
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| 1:34pm - Airborne! |
By now the sky was overcast and once through the clouds, of course, there was little to see. So once again it was time to relax and have a little snooze. Less than an hour into the flight we began our descent into Manchester, popping gently out of the clouds somewhere over Macclesfield for a faultless landing.
Customs and Immigration were no problem at all at Manchester, and it seemed like no time before I had my suitcase in hand. All that remained was to head over to Avis Car Rentals, pick up my waiting Ford Mondeo, and head out to my family in Leyland, about an hour away. It had been a long and testing trip over, four flights and forty hours since leaving home, but I was so glad to be back on English soil that all that paled into insignificance. Now, it was time for a drive.......
Next: Back to Vietnam ( and Melbourne! ) Long connections and some interesting electrical work!
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| Out of the clouds and approaching Manchester |
Next: Back to Vietnam ( and Melbourne! ) Long connections and some interesting electrical work!
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