9 Hours In The Travel Cave
I’m not sure what I was thinking when I booked my flight. I knew I had to fly into Geneva and fly out of London. But finding something affordable was the kicker. So I booked with SAS and oddly agreed to a 3-way flight in and a 9-hour layover out - through Stockholm between Heathrow and LAX. And it wasn’t any normal layover. My flight would land at 12:15 am and my connecting flight would depart at 945 am. Call me nuts. As an experienced traveler, I should have known better. But I digress...
I would be on the road for 24 days in July but as the days went on I realized that that 9-hour layover was hanging over my head like a fat cloud. Let’s call it a premonition.
I tried to change my flight but SAS offered zero direct flights from London to LA. Who doesn’t offer that? I considered contacting a couple of people I knew but realized pretty quickly that only one of them would be up for the task of entertaining me at those ungodly hours. But he was busy. He looked for things for me to do in Stockholm, but for those of you who don’t know Sweden or the Swedes, this was obviously a gesture of pure kindness and an absolute waste of time. It was a Sunday night in the middle of summer. Most respectable Swedes would be at their summer stuga, as I should be. So I was informed about Arlanda’s Sky City, which boasts multiple restaurants, two hotels with conference facilities, pubs, cafes and artistically designed wooden benches placed throughout. Remember this detail because it’s important later.
When I booked the trip, I included meals during the flights and also paid for access at the SAS Lounge, with the intent, obviously, to take care of those hours so I could nap, recharge and relax. I’m a grown up these days and not a 20-something vagabond who can sleep wherever and whenever. At my age it feels a bit unseemly. Another important detail.
We all wandered groggily off the plane from Heathrow. It was late and most everyone had slept on the flight in, or they were ready to call it a night. I knew that my night was just beginning. I blindly followed the herd out the doors and realized that I had no idea where I was, where the SAS lounge was, or where I was even going. Shocking I know.
As I walked past the closed gates I was in a new Sweden, a Sweden of perfect symmetry and modern Ikea-accented furniture, where every gate was made of tinted glass and light wood framing, and every seat was an artistic shape covered in teal or green or gray. My head swiveled. As the roaming herd got closer to the terminal exit, I saw one or two people rising off the benches, where they had obviously been sleeping. I realized later that they were the lucky ones.
I trudged endlessly from Terminal 1 through Terminal 5 and back again, walking through Sky City multiple times. I consulted four different maps and still I was lost. The fabled City was mostly closed, with one little cafe open, and those benches I mentioned. I saw people sprawled out in various places, and one man whose eyes kept following me as I dragged my carry-on from one end to the other, searching endlessly for the oasis, the paid-for LOUNGE.
And there I was. No phone. No lounge. Surrounded with zombies roaming the terminals.
I finally discovered two police officers around 2am. They informed me that the SAS Lounge closes at 10pm and opens at 5am. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who's made that mistake. So many people buy the lounge entry thinking it'll be available for them at night. Sorry."
And with that, I trudged pathetically back to the cafe area of Sky City, where the remaining zombies had found spots - some on tables, others at the cafe, and others rolling around on the wooden benches. That's where I laid myself down until 4:30 am, when the zombies began to get restless and the outside world began to enter our inside world.
It took me another 40 minutes to find the Lounge, which was hidden in a side hallway up a secret flight of stairs. It was pretty sweet though, and had loads of Swedish foods and snacks, and mighty strong coffee. After an hour there, I had to leave or risk appearing even more like a homeless person who had spent 14+ hours in the same clothes. At the gate I sat and waited, watching the zombies and ghosts and other multinationals spread their wings.
I had purchased an upgrade, one of my smartest decisions, so as I settled into my seat, I stretched out, welcomed the 10 am glass of wine, and gave thanks to the travel gods, who sat me next to a Swedish guy who built motion-capture technology for films. Tack
I would be on the road for 24 days in July but as the days went on I realized that that 9-hour layover was hanging over my head like a fat cloud. Let’s call it a premonition.
I tried to change my flight but SAS offered zero direct flights from London to LA. Who doesn’t offer that? I considered contacting a couple of people I knew but realized pretty quickly that only one of them would be up for the task of entertaining me at those ungodly hours. But he was busy. He looked for things for me to do in Stockholm, but for those of you who don’t know Sweden or the Swedes, this was obviously a gesture of pure kindness and an absolute waste of time. It was a Sunday night in the middle of summer. Most respectable Swedes would be at their summer stuga, as I should be. So I was informed about Arlanda’s Sky City, which boasts multiple restaurants, two hotels with conference facilities, pubs, cafes and artistically designed wooden benches placed throughout. Remember this detail because it’s important later.When I booked the trip, I included meals during the flights and also paid for access at the SAS Lounge, with the intent, obviously, to take care of those hours so I could nap, recharge and relax. I’m a grown up these days and not a 20-something vagabond who can sleep wherever and whenever. At my age it feels a bit unseemly. Another important detail.
We all wandered groggily off the plane from Heathrow. It was late and most everyone had slept on the flight in, or they were ready to call it a night. I knew that my night was just beginning. I blindly followed the herd out the doors and realized that I had no idea where I was, where the SAS lounge was, or where I was even going. Shocking I know.
As I walked past the closed gates I was in a new Sweden, a Sweden of perfect symmetry and modern Ikea-accented furniture, where every gate was made of tinted glass and light wood framing, and every seat was an artistic shape covered in teal or green or gray. My head swiveled. As the roaming herd got closer to the terminal exit, I saw one or two people rising off the benches, where they had obviously been sleeping. I realized later that they were the lucky ones.
I trudged endlessly from Terminal 1 through Terminal 5 and back again, walking through Sky City multiple times. I consulted four different maps and still I was lost. The fabled City was mostly closed, with one little cafe open, and those benches I mentioned. I saw people sprawled out in various places, and one man whose eyes kept following me as I dragged my carry-on from one end to the other, searching endlessly for the oasis, the paid-for LOUNGE.
My favorite discovery was the train station. I descended down a long, steep escalator. It was running but the trains weren't. I liked it in there. It was cool and the walls were bumpy and gray, very cave-like. But after a brief tour up and down the platforms I realized relatively quickly that I was alone and it was the middle of the night and no one would hear my screams. So I hustled back. I wanted a video of the long, steep escalator but by this time my phone had died.
And there I was. No phone. No lounge. Surrounded with zombies roaming the terminals.
I finally discovered two police officers around 2am. They informed me that the SAS Lounge closes at 10pm and opens at 5am. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who's made that mistake. So many people buy the lounge entry thinking it'll be available for them at night. Sorry."
And with that, I trudged pathetically back to the cafe area of Sky City, where the remaining zombies had found spots - some on tables, others at the cafe, and others rolling around on the wooden benches. That's where I laid myself down until 4:30 am, when the zombies began to get restless and the outside world began to enter our inside world.
It took me another 40 minutes to find the Lounge, which was hidden in a side hallway up a secret flight of stairs. It was pretty sweet though, and had loads of Swedish foods and snacks, and mighty strong coffee. After an hour there, I had to leave or risk appearing even more like a homeless person who had spent 14+ hours in the same clothes. At the gate I sat and waited, watching the zombies and ghosts and other multinationals spread their wings.
I had purchased an upgrade, one of my smartest decisions, so as I settled into my seat, I stretched out, welcomed the 10 am glass of wine, and gave thanks to the travel gods, who sat me next to a Swedish guy who built motion-capture technology for films. Tack
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