3. Out of 10. Three out ten. Singapore Airport was a 10, Nice Airport was a THREE, runner up to none other than Oribi Airport in Pietermaritzburg, yeah well done FRANCE. I got to the wretched airport FIVE hours early as I had two trains and two busses to get from San Remo in Italy and public transport, much like a lot of things in Italy, cannot be trusted, AND because I (normally) love hanging out in airports. This time, I did NOT love...
A while back I went to Nice Airport to let some old goat stab me with a yellow fever injection and that was at Terminal 1, so, I got off the bus at Terminal 2, thinking "no way not EVER" was that horrible Terminal 1 the international departures, so I stayed on the bus 'til we got to Terminal 2, yeah, I was wrong. I had to get back on the bus and head back to el crappo terminale. There was only ONE place for me to sit down and have a coffee and read my book and play on my laptop and examine the stamps in my passport and take pictures of my shoes and all the other fun airport stuff I like to do, and only ONE place for coffee, ONE, and it was at a cruddy old table and they gave me my coffee in a polystyrene cup. There were two shops selling ugly things, it was pretty dismal. Not a great start.
So I knew my bag was pretty heavy, and by "pretty heavy" what I really mean is that it weighed, ahem, 33kgs (don't tell me I KNOW), my hand luggage weighed 12kgs and in my camera bag I had at least another 3kgs, quite ridiculous, but before you go judging me just know that I'm returning home after having lived in Europe for almost two years and these are ALL my little treasures I've been gathering on my travels. I had a few things in there that I could take out, if need be, like some cooking books, and a hubbly (not an entirely essential items that). When you're a young lady travelling with a total of 48 kilograms of luggage, what you gotta do, is you gotta make sure you get the least mean-looking check in lady, and if there's a man… you go for the man, you let people go in front of you so that you get the man and you know what to do from there; eyelash batting, smiling, tears, whatever, you go for gold. This time, there was no man. There were three lady/creature things, we had madame sour-face on the left, bitch-features on the right, and in the middle we had the devil incarnate. I was angling for madam sour-face because I thought that maybe she was actually quite a nice person and her face just never got the memo (?), but no, she was so mean. I said "bonjour", she said nothing. She said "ascvxdkahdshd", I said "sorry what was that?", she said "DFSKDJFSFJKDJFHSK!!!". Righto. Off on the wrong foot there, not to worry. She decided to speak English and said "GIVE ME YOUR BAG", and I did, when I eventually managed to lift it off the floor and onto the belt. 33.2KGS.
"TOO MUCH!" she exclaims
"Oh sorry I've been working on a boat for two years and I'm going home and etc etc and bla bla and please you horrible cow and can I put it in my hand luggage please and thank you I like your hair"
She says
OKAY. The number on the display screen miraculously changes to 29.4kg (?), she throws my ticket at me and mumbles something about Gate B and foreigners and I HATE YOU (or something like that) and I was OFF before she changed her mind.
And then, some girrrrl pushed in front of me at the forex counter and I had to shout at her so that wasn't great and now, I'm on the plane I've just realised I've left my brand new, stupidly expensive photography magazines at the the bloody forex place and ALL (probably, almost for sure) because of the girl who made me cross, I'll pull her hair I hate her SO.
So that's the bad part, the good part is that I have a coffee date at the airport in Istanbul with a miscellaneous good-looking Kiwi from the check in queue who I'm pretty sure followed me around the airport laughing at my misfortune. Oh, and Turkish Airlines, best smelling hand wipe thingies I've ever smelt. Just saying.
Oh and PS - I'm now in Kenya
