Jack and Katrina's Place

Katrina and I both enjoy travel, for a great many reasons. Mind you sometimes these are hard to recall in the midst of a day like one we had getting from Harringey to Stockholm.

I woke up that morning with a little hit of adrenaline as I contemplated the day ahead. Today's mission was to get our little family from Diane's house in North London to Andrej's apartment in the inner city suburb of Stockholm. Most of the miles across the North Sea would be covered in a 737 by budget airline. Before we could board the plane we had to get to Stanstead Airport, 60 miles north of where we were now, all by public transport. On arrival in Sweden, we had to figure out how to catch a shuttle bus to Stockholm central station and from there via underground to Andrejs apartment. On the way we had to post a heavy parcel to Andrea in France, from a post office whose location we did not know.

Points would also be awarded for leaving Diane's place clean and tidy. Points would be deducted for overweight luggage (5 pounds per kilo in excess of 20). Failure to meet the checkin 45minute deadline would result in loss of all points. In addition, the usual requirements of a 5 month old baby must be met at all times, feed,change and love at regular intervals, while not neglecting Katrina's similar needs for regular food, rest and to not be shouted at.

Having considered all the above, I took a deep breath, let the adrenaline tingle through my body and sprang out of bed. By 09:30 the bags were packed, hovering just over 20 kg, with every expendable item thrown away. After contemplating the 20 min walk to the commuter train station to get us to Liverpool street to catch the Stanstead express, we had decided to book an el cheapo cab. Of course they forgot and at 09:55 we had to ring them, too late now to make the 10:o6 but we had built in some contingrncy time. When the taxi arrived the East African driver had just enough English and more than enough sense to take us to a post office on the way, and it was the only one in England without a que! With the parcel away to France, we had points on the board but still a long way to go.

At Seven Sistesr station we discovered our Oyster cards were not valid on the surface trains, we bought them to use on London transport, underground and buses. I had used the last of our pounds for postage, assuming the remaining credits on Oyster card would get us to Liverpool street where our Internet booking for the Stanstead express tickets were waiting. We could take the tube from Seven Sisters to Liverpool street but it would require a change, up stairs with bags, and we were now 20 mins behind schedule. At that moment the train squealed into the station and promising to buy a ticket on the train, we got let through the gate.

Unfortunately the train was unmanned and there was no way to buy a ticket before arriving at Liverpool St. To pick up the tickets we had to pass through the turnstiles into the main concourse, find the e-ticket kiosk, enter the code from the booking slip and then return through the gates to the platform.Without a ticket for the commuter train we were already potential fare evaders, with only about 60p in currency on us. At that point the burly lady guard on the turnstiles read the looks of quiet desperation on our faces. Fortunately she slightly misread them and suggested instead of wrestling baby and bags through the concourse and back we should just get straight on the Stanstead Express waiting on the next platform. Katrina hesitated and pointed out that the booking receipt she carried clearly said NOT VALID FOR TRAVEL, you must pick up tickets. The guard assured us it would be fine, and not wanting to let a chance go buy we hurried off to the Stanstead Express. 1st two stages and bonus stage complete we now waited for the inevitable discussion with the guard whon annouced he was moving down the train to check tickets. By Bishops Stopford I relaxed a little, if we were going to get thrown off the train at least we would get thrown off at Stanstead, but fate smiled again and we got off without a ticket check.

Stanstead was another whole experience, so many people milling around to get on so many budget airlines. Checkin opens 2 hours before departure and closes with a bang 45 minutes before departure. We were aiming for 2 hours prior, but lost some time getting to Seven Sisters, then made some up with the sneaky transfer at Liverpool street to arrive 90 minutes prior to departure, perfect?! No the que was so long I couldn't make out the flight number over the desk and Katrina had to go halfway up the que to verify we were even in the right one. We qued for 75 minutes Guy in the backpack on my back, poor wee chap after that length of time we were within about 5 parties from the desk when he let out a deep heart felt wail of dismay and discontent. No more funny faces or songs from Katrina, he raised his little arms in appeal and threw back his head with tears spurting from his eyes. Nearby passengers sympathized that he was just expressing how they all felt, Katrina plucked him from the backpack and ushered him away for a cuddle, but just close enough that I could summon her back as I reached the desk. Despite our efforts we had 47 kilos of luggage, 7 in excess. However Guy's wails echoing through the terminal had melted the hearts of even the budget airline checkin staff and she quietly told us that was just fine this time.

Now just in time to board a 2.5 hour flight with no in flight meals, Katrina grabbed two sandwiches and a packet of McVitties biscuits to take on board. Beautiful flight over the North Sea, Netherlands and Denmark, (yes Rob I saw the wind farms) while Guy slept in Katrina's arms.

Landing in Skavsta we were met by the very efficient Swedish customs, who actaully read the passports. Meanwhile Ryanair turned the B737-800 around and were taxiing away before we had even cleared customs, that's how to run an airline, no frills, no mucking around.

As Andrejs had warned us Skavsta isn't really near Stockholm at all, more like landing in Hamilton for a trip to the North Shore. Due to the fool at Auckland airport who gave us Danish Kronos instead of Swedish Kronos we had no currency. While Katrina went to cash some travellers cheques she was keeping for such contingency I went with Guy to find out the shuttle buses left 'about' 30 minutes after the arrival of each budget flight. The last one for the evening was about to leave. The driver was exhorting me to buy a ticket from the hole in the wall machine with my credit card (bugger the charges) but Katrina had handed over her travellers cheques to a trainee operator who was now going painstakingly through the process with her supervisor. I drove the luggage trolley around in small circles in an attempt to stay calm and to assure Guy that everything was just peachy. The little hits of adrenalin of this morning were forgotten in the flood now sluicing through my veins.

As the bus released his airbrakes Katrina emerged from the terminal and we fell onto the bus as the cool showers of rain beat on the windows. After his big sleep on the plane, Guy was full of smiles and giggles, and wanted to bounce, and bounce and keep bouncing in my lap all 90 kms to Stockholm. Except as we pulled into a railway station (built on a viaduct) to drop off some passengers when he suddenly stopped smiling, assumed the stance of a very small Sumo wrestler and with his bottom lip pushed out and face screwed up proceeded to fill his nappy. We dealt with that like a formula one pit crew, most of the bus never even knew. Finally we reached Stockholm, on schedule at 7:30 despite the hurdles of the day. Although it was only two stops by tube, we caved in and gave the battered slip of paper with Andrejs address to the first cab driver we met. Even he suggested it was a quick tube ride, but with Guy at the end of his very flexible little tether, we realised that time=money and it was worth the fare to find ourselves suddenly in Andrejs apartment, with Guy sleeping soundly and hot salmon for dinner.

And maybe that is why we both love travel, that surreal feeling when you find yourself back in comfortable surroundings after so long out of your comfort zone, the endorphine rush after the prolonged adrenaline bout.

There was of course no time to take pictures and nothing but the interminable insides of train stations and airport terminals to take pictures off but here is in one at the very end of a long day, 11:15 pm and some Swedish folk taking a balloon ride. Surreal for sure.