Me in Barbados airport
TUESDAY 29 JULY
Just after 11am, I am at MBIA – the Maurice Bishop International Airport, waiting on my LIAT, or rather the LIAT to take me across to Barbados.
My sister dropped me off at the airport, and as we approached there was only one car in the area, and no one – no one – standing in line. Momentary panic. Had I gotten the time wrong?…followed by… to change the missed BA flight, all the reservations… the headache, the purse ache. But no. I was just there ahead of the crowd, and I was checked in within 5 minutes.
My one small checked bag is 30 pounds. Most of the poundage is paintings and artist supplies. The butterflies in my stomach are calm at the moment. Not sure if the lentil chips and maxi malta combo did that or if they are simply catatonic. The thought of flying does that to me… but once I am in the air, well there’s not much I can do, but to accept that everyone has done his/her job to the best of their ability, and leave the rest to god.
Tuesday into Wednesday: Grenada – Barbados (4 hours) – London – Madrid
And here’s the crackly announcement… inconvenience, late, thank you so much for flying… When the flight arrives, I’be happy. A little closer to where I am going.
Thank you so much for your support…
WEDNESDAY 30 July
No internet in Barbados airport yesterday, so could not post. See above.
Arrived safely London. The BA flight was uneventful, thank god. No turbulence, or angry passengers. Food was decent, and the complimentary wine was most welcome. My neighbour was a nurse from Scotland, a delightful woman, who was returning home from a holiday in Barbados. We spoke about art, medicine, life. Drank wine, and talked about bad coffee.
11.57am London time, at Heathrow airport. Just checked through security… I got through quickly enough… seriously long lines, with people and their stuff getting pulled out and searched. Then my stuff gets pulled over and searched – a bottle of water is in my bag. What water? I drank 2 small bottles and the large bottle is in the checked luggage. But the security lady knows her stuff – shows me on the monitor, but all I see is an image reminiscent of Francis Bacon reworking Basquiat. The water is located, at the bottom of my bag – to my shame – but I am allowed to drink it… and then I head for the bathroom. A little closer still to where I am going, which should be Madrid, tonight.