We rose early, with time for a last couple of shots out of the apartment window:
Checking the flight-status web-site we found that our flight was already flagged up as delayed.
We debated the merits / costs of getting a taxi to the main railway station and then getting the TXL bus to the Tegel Airport, versus getting the taxi the whole way there. Given the relatively modest price difference, that it was raining and that we would still have a fair walk to reach the right terminal from the TXL bus stop there was really no contest - taxi all the way.
We headed down to reception to check out and requested a taxi. "Certainly sir", the young man said, "it will be here in about 3 minutes". In fact it was there in about 90s.
We were dropped at Terminal C at Tegel and checked our bags before looking for brunch.
Tegel is a modest airport, and has much, about which, so to be... It feels like one large hangar, with all the facilities on one level. We purchased rolls and our last Apfelschorles of the trip and sat watching almost the entire airport in action from our stools.
Through security and into the even more modest airside lounge, from where we eventually saw our plane arrive:
The signed delay to our flight wavered up and down, but it was clear that we were going to be at least an hour late arriving in England. No matter - I had allowed 3 hours for a trip from the airport to St Pancras that should take no more than 40 minutes.
Finally on the plane. When booking the flights, the cost of upgrading to business class on the outward part of the journey was outrageous. On the return flight it was £6 extra each, so I had ticked the box...
The resulting (pre-flight) view from Row B in Club Europe:
Obligatory selfie:
The weather was still grey and miserable:
Our pilot thanked us for boarding so promptly. Our plane had been delayed in getting to Berlin because of high winds in the UK resulting from Storm Aileen, and the same high winds meant that our adjusted arrival slot in the UK was also delayed - by a further 30 minutes. However, by emplaning swiftly we had given him the chance to request the next appropriate free slot from any aircraft that was delayed on the ground.
Off eventually:
and the first sign of our extra £6 a head being put to obvious use:
Coming down through the clouds - I think this is the Dutch coast:
A wind farm in the North Sea:
and as our altitude continued to decrease, individual vessels could be seen:
Another wind farm, closer to home shores:
Losing altitude all the time:
A sandbank somewhere off the UK coast:
and finally cameras and phones were put away and we prepared for the rest of the descent, watching out for landmarks along the Thames. Hot towels were handed out - more of the extra £6 each being well spent.
Down safely, we walked what seemed miles through London City Airport to collect our bags, which in turn seemed to take an age to be offloaded. I spent the entire time doing calculations in my head.
Of the three hours I had allowed for this stage of the journey, 90 minutes was lost to the delayed flight, and around 25-30 clearing security and collecting bags. The multiplicity of DLR trains available to get us to Stratford International, and thereby to St Pancras, was dwindling rapidly.
Moving quickly onto the platform for the DLR we realised that we had not 'swiped in' with our debit cards (faster than buying tickets). Amanda took both cards and raced back down to the main concourse while I stood guard over the bags. She returned as the board announced that the next train to Stratford International (and our last chance) would arrive in 4 minutes.
Onto the train, standing by the doors and trying to corral our luggage while also checking the timetable of trains from Stratford to St Pancras. If we did not catch the 15.00, arriving at 15.07, we had no hope of catching the 15.15 home - and our tickets were non-transferable...
Watching our progress through each station, and mentally calculating how long the rest of the journey would take.
Finally out at Stratford, into the lift to ground level and a rush across the road to the over ground station.
Down in another lift and along the platform as far as we could go, to minimise the distance to walk on arrival.
Onto the train and, seven minutes later, off again and waiting for the lift to the concourse level at St Pancras.
A mad dash across the concourse to the lift for our platform, and grateful and eternal thanks to the chap who held the doors for us and allowed us to get in.
Another mad dash from the lift, through the barrier and on to the train through the first available door - at least seven carriages away from our seats. As we started walking through the train, trying to avoid annoying too many people with our baggage, the train pulled out and we were off.
An otherwise uneventful journey. A carton of milk purchased at the home station and a taxi back to the house.
Home, and a cup of tea.
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