The scene: endless queues. Glazed eyes. Families with small children clutching passports and boarding passes as if they were talismans against the coming dark. British holidaymakers have been told to arrive three hours early at EU airports, as chaos threatens the summer exodus. The barbarians are not at the gates, dear reader; they have already scaled the walls, poured into the departure lounges, and are now picking over the bones of what was once a civilised transit system. It would be amusing if it were not so predictable.
Let us be clear. This is not a glitch. This is not an IT failure or a brief staff shortage. This is the logical conclusion of a Europe that has spent the last decade dismantling its own competence in the name of bureaucratic convenience. We are witnessing a historic collapse of operational capacity, a slow-motion disaster that evokes comparisons with the late Roman Empire: the roads still exist, but the legions have gone soft. The cursus publicus is a shambles.
The British government, naturally, has offered the usual platitudes. 'We are working closely with EU partners,' they say. They might as well be reciting Latin prayers to a declining Jupiter. The EU, for its part, points to post-Brexit border checks, staff shortages, and a summer surge that apparently took them by surprise. Surprise? The summer always comes. It is as predictable as the barbarian migration. The difference between a thriving civilisation and a failed one is that the former plans for the floods; the latter merely builds levees after the water rises.
What we are seeing is a crisis of administrative decadence. In the Victorian era, Thomas Cook could arrange a tour of the Continent with the precision of a railway timetable. The great hotels of Paris and Rome were staffed by professionals who took pride in their work. There was a civilisation of service. Today, we have minimum wages and maximum resentment. The airport staff do not see themselves as ambassadors of leisure; they see themselves as victims of a system that despises them. And so the system grinds to a halt.
One must also consider the psychological dimension. The modern holidaymaker is a creature of the smartphone. He believes that information is power, that a digital boarding pass will conquer all obstacles. But the boarding pass is a flimsy idol. It cannot placate the new barbarians: the understaffed security line, the cancelled flight, the lost luggage. The digital illusion shatters against the concrete reality of a terminal at capacity.
And what of the national identity? The British holiday has long been a ritual of escape, a pilgrimage to the sun. It is the great democratisation of luxury that began with the package tours of the 1960s. But now the pilgrimage has become a trial. Instead of tanning in Benidorm, you are roasting in a three-hour queue. The dream of leisure degenerates into a dystopian endurance test.
The EU, meanwhile, will likely respond with more regulations, more forms, more digital surveillance. They will attempt to control chaos with control, not realising that control itself has become the problem. The system cannot be fixed by making it more complex. The Empire falls not because the walls are breached, but because the men who guard them no longer believe in the value of what they protect.
I have no patience for the finger-pointing. Blame Brexit. Blame the EU. Blame the airlines. Blame the weather. All of these are secondary. The primary cause is a civilisation that has lost its grip on the practical arts. We have outsourced our competence to algorithms and committees. And now we are paying the price in lost holidays and frayed nerves.
Here is my prescription, for what it is worth. Abolish the three-hour rule. It is a placebo. It makes you feel prepared when you are not. Instead, demand that the airports perform. If they cannot process a flight on time, close the airport. Let the chaos be obvious. Let the failures be visible. Only when the mob sees the incompetence with their own eyes will they demand real change. Until then, keep your passport handy, pack a sandwich, and pray for the return of something that resembles professionalism. The summer exodus is upon us. May the gods of travel have mercy on your luggage.
