I got up at 2:30 this morning, after not quite sleeping for a few hours– more like drifting in and out of consciousness. Fortunately, the night porter opened the restaurant up for just me, brewed some coffee, and made sure I was taken care of until my ride to the airport arrived (five minutes early).
If there is a heaven, I suspect it bears more than a passing resemblance to a well-run English hotel.
The ride to the airport was interesting, as my driver lived in the United States in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Of course, at the end of the ride was Stansted, which was its usual multilingual, middle-of-the-night madhouse. With all the various languages, the slightly desperate yet all-too-often unhelpful signage, and people sleeping everywhere, the place feels like a refugee camp with duty-free shopping.
My flight was delayed an hour, though, because the pilot forgot to fill out some critical piece of paper, so we had to turn around when we were on the tarmac, go back to the gate, and have him do it all over again. And since the cabin door had been opened, we had to listen to the safely video a second time.
However, we did eventually make it back to Hamburg. I’m here until Sunday, when we all fly back to England, and head for Oxford.