passengers, scanning computer screens and exchanging worried looks. 'Just a second', I was told. I glanced up at the DEPARTURES screen above my head. Still no change on my flight, but something was happening up there: behind one flight after the other the CANCELLED call was given. Within a blink of the eye almost every flight was cancelled! What was happening? Mine still seemed alright, though, when the girl behind the counter addressed me, still with a phone to her ear. She was impressively controlled and even managed to be polite and friendly. To answer my question she consulted her phone, and the news was not good.
'I'm very sorry, Sir, but your flight has just been cancelled too.' She apologized for not being able to help, and told me I had to get up on the next floor to reschedule my ticket myself.
This is what I had feared. My itinerary had prepared me for an hour and a half's transit at Heathrow on my way from Stockholm to New York, but when a number of terrorists were arrested in London on the 10th - they had planned some activity on BA's London - New York flights (!) - I started to worry. The news reported on the strictest security measures - graded 'critical' - causing delays all over Europe and the world, but particularly at Heathrow. As a good Samaritan I had called BA the day before and, when I finally got through, offered to take anther route if they wanted me to. They assured me, however, that everything would be fine the next day. I was a bit relieved, but not fully convinced.
BA severely miscalculated the repercussions of the security alert, so there I was, witnessing a total breakdown of Heathrow logistics. The whole table of dominoes had fallen and everyone had to make the best out of the chaos and anarchy that followed. First of all I needed to get my luggage - that's downstairs. The whole ground floor was packed with people waiting for their belongings, and from the frustration and despair in hundreds of faces I picked up that many had already waited for hours. I was lucky. After only half an hour both my backpack and my smaller bag appeared on the carousel, and I could make my way upstairs for the rebooking.
First the escalator up one floor, and then the elevator, but no: 'Sorry, Sir, but you can't take this. You'll have to go out in the parking area - can you see the stairs and elevators out there?' The uniformed woman pointed through the glass doors and a hundred meters past them I could see the stairs. I got up and out on the parking deck above, and in front of me there was a sea of people. An ocean. An anthill. There must have been more than a thousand. My God! There were people from all over the world: Indians, Japanese, Africans, Arabs and, of course, Europeans and Americans. There were women in scarves and burkas, grandmothers in saris, an old, white haired Chinese man bent over his cane, and kids of all colours and ages. I wondered if they all could speak English!
By instinct, or maybe by a lucky roll of the dice, I stumbled upon a BA representative who was doing her best to help as many as she could. 'You must go into town and find a place to stay for the night, and we are very sorry that we can't assist you,' she said and handed me a sheet saying that they would refund £100 for the night.
