Although I had set the alarm on my new phone, and had done so before, I was worried I would sleep through it, or it not go off, therefore during my five hour sleep, I woke up at least three times to check the time, the last time at three, an hour before it was time to get up, and by that point my brain revved into gear, and I knew further sleep was impossible.
I got up at twenty to four, showered, packed and dressed. One final look round the room and I could leave, too early for breakfast or even anywhere to get a coffee, all I could do was check out, pay my bill and I could climb into the car ready for the drive to the airport. I can say that the rads of the city were very empty at four in the morning, but the traffic lights do all work, and I caught most of them on the way to the motorway.
My eyes itched from the lack of sleep, and the oncoming headlights made me squint, but at least there was little other cars on the road, apart from my manager who I saw overtook me just south of Arhus, I was to meet him at the airport. In my mind, this was the most dangerous part of the day; just up, tired, dark and driving on the wrong side of the road (from Britain anyways). I made it to junction 57, taking the main road to Give, then turning off to the Billund road.
By the time I got to the airport, I was in a train of cars, and my hope that only crazy business types would be up and about at this unGodly hour of half five. I was wrong, there are budget flights going too, and so after parking the car, I could walk to the terminal to find the queue to the security was nearly out of the terminal door. I had downloaded the boarding pass, and I noticed I had a fast track pass, so I ask if i could jump the line: I could, so I go from being behind a thousand people to being 5th.
I wait my time, get my stuff on the belt in time as staff made all scanner for all passengers. But I was through.
I looked round the terminal to see if I could find my colleagues; I could't, but decide whatever, I should get some breakfast and coffee. So I wait in another line to order a roll covered in pumpkin seeds, filled with cheese, a Danish pastry (of course) and the biggest strongest coffee that a company credit card could buy. I find a table, log onto the VIP wifi and check mails and the news. Coffee has rarely tasted sweeter nor better.
At six I go to the gate, still no colleagues. So I wait more, and then they come, they had been on the mezzanine floor in the canteen. Anyway, we all looked like shot, even those who stayed at the Zleep and had an hour extra sleep. We pile on the plane, it was full, and I have the thrill of sitting next to my manager, so we can talk work and beer. That is until I fall asleep for a few minutes, maybe longer.
I open my eyes and we are above Belgium. It is green with spring growth and bathed in warm early morning light. God, it looked wonderful. Large houses scattered in a light woodland setting, I could happily live there. Or there. Or there, I thought.
We land on one wheel, which was not nice. But down safe and that's the important thing. A bus arrives to take us from the distant slot to the terminal. The bus is packed, and most of us have bloodshot eyes, and those with families are carrying sleeping children.
There is no passports to be shown, so we leave the bus, enter the airport and take the mile long walk to arrivals, and eventually to the baggage reclaim and through to the main concourse, where we are to wait for another colleague flying in from Manchester. We retire to a cafe for more coffee. Strong, black and with no sugar, but it wakes me up, and my mind begins to turn to the meeting we are here to attend.
We have to go down three levels to the railway station, passing all the additional security points and soldiers with guns that now patrol the airport. We get our tickets, and go down to the platform to wait for the train to Leuven. Time to take more work calls, and for me to look at the passing trains. As you do.
The train is packed, but we manage to find seats, and me managing to knock into a sleeping gentleman as the train lurched off. Oh well.
Outside the days is still as bright, green and glorious as it was earlier. And we have to spend all day in meetings.
We arrive in Leuven and amble up the main shopping street before turning off to the faceless office block where we are to be locked in. OK, cease firing, we're going in.
Six hours later, we can leave, walking out into the warm afternoon sunshine, warm enough to have to carry coats on the short yomp to The Capital, for the latest in our trawl through the apparently endless selection of Belgian beers. Sadly, all the seats outside overlooking the square were taken, so we sit in a table just insode, as near to being outside, while still being inside. Even the most average looking beer is 8% or so, so, we are light headed by the time we have drained our glasses.
A short walk away is the gourmet burger place, it is one of the few places open that serve food all day, so we take a table, order burgers, fries and onion rings and glasses of the local brew, Stella Artois to wash it all down with. Despite this being our 18th visit here, this is only the 2nd time we have had the local brew, which is of course, no available all round the world. We attack the food like we are starving, and soon all that are left are a few scraps of fries. To round it off, Jesper pays.
We are left with a dusk walk back to the station, I could have taken shots, but I have so many shots of the town at this time of day, I pass, and walk on in the wake of Jesper, down the main shopping street. We arrive at the station with two minutes to get over to platform 2 so Chris and I could catch the 18:03 train to Brussels, where I would get off at MIdi ready for the next leg of the day to Ebbsfleet. The train is packed, so we "accidentally" sit in first class, on the top deck of a double deck train, that zooms through the late afternoon sunshine.
We rattle through the tunnels underneath central Brussels, me leaving Chris at Midi, walking over to the Eurostar platforms, past lots of fancy shops, all without a customer, checking in, having my passport checked, twice before being allowed into the waiting area.
Sadly, the "lounge" at Midi for Eurostar is not comfortable, more has the feeling of a bus station, so with an hour to wait, I read magazines until half seven finally rolls round and we can board the train.
Our train for the trip is an unmodernised first generation Eurostar, that might soon be scrapped. The large seats have a hint of the 70s about them, are comfortable enough, but looking very dated. I am sharing a table with another gentleman, we settle down and wait for departure.My word, I am tired, but not as bad as I thought I would be, even accepting a small bottle of wine to go with the light meal that came with the ticket.
We leave Belgium, stop in Lille and Calais picking up many families heading back from EuroDisney. Most parents are carrying a sleeping child that is still gripping a shiny balloon.
I write some mails that I can send in the morning, and dive into the tunnel. Whilst under the sea, I write the previous blog post to this. How modern is that?
Sadly, upon emerging at Folkestone, I am stuck on the train until it stops at Ebbsfeleet, where I will have to double back on a Javelin. At least I would only have a ten minute wait for a train back to Martin Mill. Even still, with each mile we pass north means I would have travel back south.
I get off at Ebbsfleet, and go to the Southeastern platforms to wait for my train, hot and sweaty after an long, long day. The train is also rammed when it arrives, with the few seats unoccupied covered by people's coats and bags. I could have argued with one of them to sit down, but I have been sitting all day, so stand and daydream as the train headed south the Ashford and Folkestone.
I get a seat at Asford, and some quick calculations reveal that I have been up 20 hours, and I realise that my eyes are focusing on anything but what I am looking at.
We pass through Folkestone, Dover and take the line up through Buckland and Charlton to Guston. As it has been since I left Brissels, most is just black outside, and all I see is my reflection, which is not pretty I have to say. We glide into Martin Mill, two of us get off, and I get my aching legs to take me down the subway to the other side of the station to where Jools was waiting in the car.
From there it was a two minute run to the Deal road, then over to Station Road, up the hill and we are back home.
Jools makes a brew, I check mails and we chat, catching up on what has happened, but I had been up 21 hours and counting, and just needed a shower, a change of clothing, and bed.
Long day over. I lay in bed, listening to the wind in the trees, new leaves rustling. Home at last.
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