British Airways And Iberia Express – An Inconvenient Truth For Your Underwear.

Some say that flying is still romantic, still exhilarating, still the high-life. Others waffle on about the journey being as much a part of the experience as the destination. This may be true if you don’t mind standing in queues for no apparent reason, being subject to intrusive security checks by guards who can barely dress themselves, eating plastic food from plastic containers and generally being herded hither and thither by airline staff who are so orange you worry their liver is about to explode. However, if none of the former appeal, we suspect that like us, the act of travelling by air is a complete pain in the rectum. We have just returned from the island of La Palma in the Canaries (we will be posting photos, videos and more on La Palma in the coming weeks). The Canary Isles, you have to agree, is not exactly the most far-flung destination one can imagine visiting. Yet, the whole process of getting from London to La Palma and back again has been one of the most irritating travel experiences ever. Due to the dates we needed to travel on, we were unable to get a direct flight. So on a dreary Thursday, at the ridiculous hour of 5:30am, we arrived at Heathrow Terminal 5 (T5) for our British Airways flight to Madrid. From Madrid we would connect to an Iberia Express flight to La Palma. We queued, as you do, at check-in for what seemed an eternity before being ushered forward by a smiling orange-faced queue handler. Here, we did what normal sane people do and clarified with the check-in agent that our bags would be checked all the way through to La Palma and then inquired if the flight was on time and that no delays were envisaged - we had a connection to make and we didn’t want to miss it. The girl on the desk gave a sigh and smiled at us in much the same way a frustrated teacher might smile at a particularly stupid group of pupils. Of course the bags would be checked all the way through, the check-in girl insisted, after all British Airways and Iberia have merged and are, for all intents and purposes, the same airline. As for delays, the check-in girl gave us another dismissive smile and informed us that we had two hours in Madrid, which would be plenty of time wouldn’t it? Oddly we believed her. Her face was the same colour as her arms for one thing and she seemed very certain that all was fine. This sort of certainty, for the seasoned traveller, normally starts alarm bells ringing, but it was early and we were still half asleep so we accepted her reassurances. Then it was off to security. Belts off, cameras on, laptops and tablets in the tray; no liquids, no creams, no lotions and definitely no sarcastic remarks, otherwise the men and women who failed to pass the Burger King recruitment test will take delight in frisking you roughly and delving with Neolithic carelessness through your personals.

Finally we entered the inner sanctum of T5. This is the home of British Airways, it’s their palace, their crowning glory, and it is quite dreadful.  T5 has apparently won awards for being the best terminal in the world. Who exactly runs these awards? T5 looks as if it was designed by someone who was obsessed with Meccano and wants their parents to see how very, very clever they’ve been. “Look mum. Look at how I held the roof up with these sloping struts! It’s like I’ve created a class and steel circus big top isn’t it? Look at the joints and the windows and the shiny doors and the stairs and just everything”. Perhaps the parents are indeed impressed, to us however, it just looks unfinished. The dull metal fixtures compete for the world dullness award with dull flooring, which in turn competes with the dull decoration. All are outdone though by the dull looks on the dull people who staff the very, very, dull shops and cafes. In short T5 is dullness times a thousand, which is very dull indeed – but we digress.

It was now 7.00am. The flight was supposed to depart at 7:30 and we arrived at the allotted gate at the time indicated by the information displays. 7:10 came and went, as did 7:20 and oddly 7:30. We began to worry. The flight to Madrid would take two hours and if we didn’t leave soon our “plenty of time” to make our connection would quickly become “no time at all”. Finally, at 7:50, a voice that sounded like an asthmatic talking through a pillow bing-bonged onto the tannoy. We had no idea what was said, but like everyone else at the gate we assumed that boarding would soon commence so we joined the quickly forming queue and waited. And waited. And waited some more, whilst non-existent First Class, Executive Club, Platinum Club, Executive Platinum Premier Club and Business Club passengers were invited to board first. British Airways appears to have more clubs than a caveman’s conference. At last at 8:20 we took our seats on-board and argued amongst ourselves about whether we’d make our connection. At 08:30 the Captain made an apologetic announcement for the delay and explained that it was all due to an administrative error. What an administrative error meant was anyone’s guess. Perhaps someone had handed air traffic control their dry cleaning receipt rather than a flight plan or maybe it was just airline speak for “we’re a bit crap at this flying lark”. Whatever the reason we took off an hour and ten minutes late and we all agreed the trip had got off to a bad start.

We arrived at Madrid with forty minutes to spare, which quickly dwindled to thirty as the aircraft taxied to furthest reaches of the earth. The plane door opened and with uncharacteristic rudeness we thrust our way to the front and were off and running. We ran up escalators, down escalators, along marathon length corridors and onto a terminal shuttle that travelled slower than a snail with cramp. We held up our passports and swotted grumpy immigration officials aside, shoved security officials out of the way with surprising ease, and with lungs bursting and legs aching we made the connection. Unfortunately our bags didn’t. The baggage agent at La Palma gave the usual apologies and asked us what our bags looked like. Perhaps it was frustration or perhaps it was just rage at an airline that can’t transfer bags between flights in thirty minutes when the passengers, us! Can run non-stop for twenty-five minutes, navigate through security bureaucracy and generally be forced to act without consideration for our other passengers in order to make the flight that we snapped and in unison screamed: “They’re bags, they have handles on them, you carry belongings in them and more importantly they have got your bloody airline baggage tag on”! Suffices to say this didn’t have any affect, clearly this baggage agent was more than used to being shouted at. Paperwork was filled out, tracking codes issued and dismissive smiles exchanged but in the end twenty-four hours of the trip were wasted before our bags containing our wetsuits; fins, masks and underwear finally arrived.

Bad luck you might say. Bags get delayed all the time etc and lightening doesn’t strike twice. Well you’d be wrong. Lightening does sometimes strike twice and it did. Our return flight from La Palma to Madrid was due to leave at 14:55. It left at 15:35. Again on arrival the aircraft taxied half way to France before stopping and again we had to hurtle up and down escalators, onto the snail shuttle, through passport control and security and again we made the connection with minutes to spare and again our bags didn’t. The baggage agent at Heathrow was as hardened to our rage as her Spanish colleague at La Palma. BA and Iberia must mishandle a great many bags, as not a single member of staff in either country is remotely concerned about their passengers’ plight. Again we had to fill out forms and describe our bags and again a very unapologetic apology was offered and again with seething rage at the inconvenience we went on our away. 

Now some of you will no doubt say, so what? Just claim on your insurance or from the airline. But this misses the point. For one thing the airline knows the bags were delayed, they told us. They knew where they were and they knew what flight they’d be arriving on. In short why does anyone need to make a claim, the airline should accept that they have deprived their customers of their personal belongings and compensate there and then. A £100 or 100 Euros up front would be a start. Secondly airlines say they will only compensate for essentials, but essentials are open to interpretation. Some people think Marks and Spencer’s underwear is an acceptable essential others wouldn’t be seen dead in anything less the Dolce & Gabbana - quite literally. So what exactly is essential? Do you buy the most expensive deodorant because you like it, or the cheapest because you know the airline will argue that smelling of something cheap and musky is essentially better than smelling of sweat, and much better than smelling nice at their expense!

Thirdly there is the issue of making the claim itself, a long laborious task that most of us suspect is designed to deter the claimant in the first place. There is also a principle at stake here. We refuse to have some bean counter in a shiny suit decide how much our misery and inconvenience is worth. The loss of our twenty-four hours in La Palma cannot be measured simply in pounds and pence. And we refuse to wear I LOVE LA PALMA t-shirts, nasty underwear and cheap deodorant just because they are the “essentials”. In short, we don’t want a meaningless apology, nor are we interested in selective compensation we simply want our bags. How does an airline mishandle the bags in the first place anyway? If BA and Iberia expect passengers to burst a lung making a connection due to earlier delays on their other flights, the least that we passengers can expect is that they do the same to ensure that our bags make it onto the same flight. After all we’re the customers and we entered into a deal – you fly us, and our luggage, to our destination at the same time and in exchange we’ll give you cash. If you can’t do this, let us carry larger items in the cabin. BA isn’t going go do that though, in fact they are talking about reducing cabin baggage – so there will be more luggage for the baggage pixies to play hide and seek with. Of course there is an alternative and that is not to fly with BA or Iberia again and guess what? We won’t be.

Update: it’s twenty-four hours since we arrived back at Heathrow and do you know what’s happened? Yep. Nothing. We’re still waiting for our bags and according to the BA baggage helpline; they are experiencing a large volume of calls at the moment. Now there’s a surprise.