SN Brussels: Worst Airline Ever?

Summary: Dom runs through two airports to catch the two most poorly operated flights he's ever experienced. He makes it onto the plane to Dakar, but does his bag?

It was wholly fitting that GlobalTrek:Africa should begin with some challenges. Never a destination of blissful ease, the journey to get to Africa is part of the experience; you earn it. For me, earning Africa began at London's Gatwick airport. With a 6:40am flight to Brussels where I'd connect on a flight down to Dakar, I elected to save my dear family an atrocious wakeup and instead spent the night at Gatwick. Earlier this year, I spent an unexpected night at Chicago's O'Hare airport. Perhaps the most uncomfortable of U.S. airports, I'd survived its cold confines on one of the only benches to have three seats free of armrests and hopped a 5:15am flight back to Denver feeling like I'd survived O'Hare. Without question, I could survive Gatwick in summer. With a 27kg rucksack and a handbag chock full of sweets for Yuri, my good buddy in the Peace Corps in Mali, I entered the departure hall. At 9:45pm, level 5 was a ghost town. Two janitors quietly swept in the dark; more filling time than making progress. Descending to level 4, the escalator delivered me to the main lounge. All the shops, save one Marks & Spencers were closed, locked and dark and the only place to grab some shut-eye was the carpeted area in the center of the lounge. With about 30 chairs and benches of various sizes and in cruel constrast to the hibernating shops, the lounge was lit up like it was set for a Paris fashion show. Rest area by day, this was the site of an impromptu shantytown filled with a couple dozen haggard looking Europeans who were paying the price for their bargain tickets; 6 hours attempting to sleep under the glaring lights is apparently worth it savings. Even if I had wanted to endure the bright night, there was hardly a space and so I was left to use my exploratory skills and found a darker corner near one of the exits where I broke out my fleece sleeping sack, my air mattress and got ready for a long night.

Having slept no more than 25 minutes at a time, I crawled out of my corner at around 5:00am to head up to check in for my flight. The ghost town of level 5 had been completely transformed into a bustling center of international activity. Hundreds of people milled past boards with information about where to check in, each dragging anywhere from an overnight bag to 5 giant suitcases. One large school group was gathered by the elevators, perhaps ready for a week's adventure to Paris. Finding my queue wasn't so difficult as it was the longest one on the whole floor. The SN Brussels check-in had two check-in agents; one for “light” and one for “flex”. Apparently SN Brussels wants to be different and the standard economy and business classes are beneath them. For over 200 people, most of whom were flying “light”, one check-in agent was available. I let this go and as it was 5:20am, I wasn't concerned about missing the flight. 30 minutes pass and we're still 100+ people away from the desk. Groggy and with promises from a Gatwick agent who told us that SN Brussels said they'd get everyone on the plane, I just stood patiently in the single line and waited. All in all, I was in the queue for over 90 minutes before I got to the desk where they couldn't find my reservation. Eventually, a supervisor came over and found me on a printed list next to the check-in agent. If I wasn't half-asleep, I might have scoffed or even outright complained about this guy's incompetency. At 06:30am, I was given my boarding pass and told to run to the gate. Using this as an excuse to fly though security is something I will likely do from now on until I die. Just tell security that the check-in agent told you to get priority screening and you will get zipped through like a VIP. Genius. I was nearly delayed en route by the Senegalese family ahead of me at the metal detector who were trying to carry on 3 items for 2 people. Gatwick, like all UK airports, has a strict one bag per person policy so that the screeners don't get overworked. The Senegalese mother had taped two of the bags together and called it good. The best part of the exchange (and I would have waited it out if I wasn't highly likely to miss my flight) was the security agent from the Midlands trying to lecture the Senegalese woman about how “3 is not 2”. I hate security agents and would be happier with monkeys in funny hats – we'd be just as safe and could laugh at the monkeys.

As one of the last 12 passengers, I got on the plane at about 6:55am, 15 minutes after scheduled take-off. Immediately, I noticed that there seemed to be fewer people in this plane than there had been at the check-in. After 20 minutes of Africans trying to haul the bags they'd weaseled through security into the scarce overhead space, a flight attendant apologized to us all and explained that the supervisor at the check-in was new and had allowed too many people to check in and that they had had to scramble to find a second plane. They didn't just oversell the flight, they booked almost 60% more people than they could seat! Even more insulting, the unruly Africans who were trying to fit gigantic bags into the overhead compartments or in between their legs and arguing with staff (one was threatened with removal from the aircraft) were given drinks and food after takeoff. The rest of us were conveniently passed by. Upon landing, passengers connecting to Kinshasa were asked to disembark first. In typical African fashion, nearly everyone in the plane stood up. Queuing is not an African strength.

The chaos continued in Brussels. In a stunning show of poor planning, we arrived at Brussels and were immediately put through a full security screening. Having left an hour late from Gatwick, I now had a very tight connection and this was not an appreciated measure to ensure my safety. After proving I was carrying deodorant, not bombs, I left security en route to the SN Brussels ticketing agent. The check-in agent at Gatwick had not been able to check me through to Dakar, but had been able to do so for my bag and told me to see the ticketing agent on the concourse in Brussels. The woman there took my passport and said that she would have to re-route me as the flight was full. I explained that I had a confirmed reservation on this flight and after checking her computer, she told me that I should not have even been allowed to board in Gatwick and that I had been re-routed from there to Lisbon! After a few minutes and a call to the gate, she told me to run to the gate and that they would help me there. After a lightning-fast pee midway down the concourse, I continued my run (yes, I ran) to the gate where about 20 Africans were arguing with 4 gate staff who were furiously typing into computers and dolling out boarding passes like Wonka's golden tickets. Somehow, I ended up with a boarding pass and scooted through the checkstand to head to the plane where I took my seat. With no breakfast, a mid-run pee and on little sleep, I hoped my bag had moved as quickly as I had and was somewhere below me in the cargo hold. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly given the incompetency of SN Brussels, my hopes were to be unfulfilled.