It's my own fault

 I have fond memories of Svalbard and the whole trip from Aberdeen to the Orkney, the Faroes, Jan Mayen and Longyearbyen. Except most of those happy thoughts were compromised by my mini adventure on the way home.

On our last day, we disembarked the "Greg Mortimer" at around 9 am for a coach trip to somewhere I frankly don't recall. It was incredibly cold as a lovely young woman talked about huskies and sledging. I still can feel the lush, deep fur as I hugged one of the huskies - we don't deserve their affection.  I remember another lovely young woman in a large wooden hut describing the adventures of the first Dutch to Svalbard. 

Then we were dropped off at the car park in Longyearbyen at around mid-day. We were to be picked up at 18:00 so we had to kill 6 hrs in a town of two thousand with one Coop and not much else. 

On the plane to Oslo. Our carrier Norwegian Airways had to be rescued by their government during the Covid pandemic. They and our plane hadn't recovered. It was pretty basic, but it landed at Oslo Airport. And this is where it all went wrong. I was to stay overnight and catch a plane the next day. I blame all that happened next on my preoccupation with the rail strike on the day I'd arrive in London and how I'd get home.

I had a room pre booked at Radisson Inn City. I Googled it and found it was in central Oslo. I got on Oslo's super airport to city train, got out at Oslo Central and looked for the hotel. I'd phoned earlier saying I had a booking and how far from the station was the hotel. The receptionist said it was not far and gave directions. 

I arrived at the station at 23:00, and using Google maps I got lost. There was a taxi rank, so I asked the first guy in the rank to take me to the hotel. After about 10 minutes circling central Oslo it was clear he didn't have a clue. I swapped to a taxi who took me to the hotel. Except it wasn't the hotel I was booked into...that was at the airport. Oslo's superb trains to the airport weren't running now - at midnight. I'd need a taxi to get there and my hotel. That was cheaper than booking in the wrong hostelry.

I took a £90 taxi ride. It was great, the car was the top of the range Merc and we covered the ground on super Norwegian highways. I went to the hotel and was told it was the wrong hotel. Radisson in a moment of corporate madness had decided to colourise all their airport hotels. I was at Radisson "pink" when I should have been at Radisson "red". Another taxi drive and I arrived at the correct hotel at around 3 o'clock in the morning. 

My room no was 4052 - the place was enormous - it could take the entire population of the Faroes and Svalbard and leave room - it was a Hibbard infinity hotel. The bedroom was obscene. I had a huge double bed and two bunk beds, space to run a gymkhana and a bathroom to die in. The price included breakfast but when I awoke that was the last thing on my mind.

I checked out and headed for the airport - just a few hundred metres away - to wait in a queue at BA desk for 2 hours (I hear that's normal, and we put up with it).  Anyway, the BA plane was Airbus which was super (Not like the Norwegian Airways pre-war Boeing). For us plebs BA in their usual entitled way gave us a bag of crisps and a small bottle of water. We couldn't see what the other entitled were served because a curtain hid them. Although the captain told us before we took off.

Arriving at Heathrow I was full of dread. The rail strike seemed to have paralysed most of the country. Yet the Elizabeth line was running (shutting that down would I'm sure lead to beheading at the Tower) as was the privately owned Heathrow Express (HE). The HE was the first to go so I flashed my Rail Card and the barrier let me through. On the train to Paddington, where I'd catch the Elizabeth Line to Liverpool Street and Overground to Walthamstow Central.

That was the plan. HE don't take rail cards - at Paddington that was pointed out to me, but this lovely guy just said that and showed me to where I could get the Elizabeth Line. Got to Liverpool Street and there was a Chingford train in a few minutes. Home was in sight - except the train terminated at Hackney Down - three stops from home - fire on the track. Disembarking I caught a bus to Walthamstow Central except because of traffic conditions due to the rail strike the bus journey ended at Bakers Arms. Finally, after another bus journey I was able to get home. 

My darling wife greeted me as a long-lost adventurer. A couple glasses of white wine and pasta I was in bed to sleep for 14 hours. It goes without saying after all that I need a holiday!