Marooned at Heathrow under the shadow of the Iceland volcano

The indiscriminate nature of the effects of the aviation shutdown was readily apparent at Heathrow Terminal 3 today, where a Rwandan soldier, a pair of Canadian alpaca farmers and an American academic waited, with hundreds of others, to discover whether they could finally head home. At nine o'clock, the ranks of airline staff and airport employees outnumbered those optimistic passengers who had turned up in the hope that the blue skies would soon fill with vapour trails again. Anthony Boykin, a 27-year-old US army private was meant to have reported to his unit in Frankfurt by now. Instead, he was stuck smoking a cigarette outside the terminal and reading a copy of Pimpology. "I flew from Dallas to here," he said. "I thought it would just be a day and I thought I'd wait it out because I had a little money. But not anymore. I've spent it. I hope someone can accommodate me because I don't have a penny." Had he been in touch with his family to let them know what was going on? "Negative." What about the US embassy? "Negative." How was he feeling about his impromptu stopover? "Well, being pissed off isn't going to help," he replied. That stoicism was echoed in his compatriot Julia Fullman, who sat reading in the morning sunshine outside the terminal. "I was supposed to be giving a paper at a conference at the University of Hertfordshire on the novel Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," she said. "But when we were about an hour out of Heathrow, we were diverted to Paris. We spent Friday there and then they coached us through the tunnel to Heathrow on Saturday." She has been here ever since, and has missed the conference, whose title was: "Open Graves, Open Minds: Vampires and the Undead in Modern Culture." Still, mused the 25-year-old student from California State University, Fullerton, there had been some upsides: "I've never been out of the country and London was top of my list. I also got to see Paris, which was a bonus." The mood inside the arrivals area of the terminal was less jovial. More than a hundred tired, angry or resigned passengers from all over the world huddled in a makeshift camp near the internet terminals, killing time until lunch and queueing to be escorted to the Virgin Revivals Lounge for "some light refreshments and a shower (towels will be provided)". Paul and Marie Lewis, a couple from Grand Falls in British Columbia, seemed to have deeper reserves of patience and good humour than those who surrounded them, crashed out on seats or lying on the floor with only a thin foam groundsheet as a mattress. "We didn't think it would be too problematic until Friday," said the Marie, who has been in the UK for three weeks visiting relatives. "We're lucky because we've got family here and we've been staying with them in Salisbury. They drove us here at seven o'clock this morning. We've rebooked three times now and our flight is still scheduled for seven tonight, but the Air Canada people say they're not very hopeful." Although Paul and Marie were missing the nine alpacas they own – "the neighbours are looking after them and the dogs are in kennels" – they knew they were more fortunate than most. "If we don't get out tonight, our family in Salisbury will come and collect us," said Paul. Others were beginning to wonder if they would ever get home. Kim McIntyre, a 42-year-old veterinary technician from Baltimore, sat next to her 65-year-old mother, Cindy Beard, and rattled off a litany of grievances. "We've been sleeping on the floor. We've been ignored. We've been told to ring phonelines that were not answered. We've been given the cold shoulder, We've been told to use the internet, which costs £1 for 10 minutes. We've been sleeping for 20 minutes a night and we've had absolutely no help from the airlines." Her mother, who was born in Croydon, but has lived in the US for the last 45 years, was also far from happy about their treatment. "It's like we're the forgotten ones and the Europeans are the only ones who are being looked after," she said. Staff at the terminal's shops had been great, she said, digging into their own pockets to buy them coffee and cookies. But what were the authorities doing? "Are the governments talking to each other? It's like, 'Let my people go'. We feel drained, we feel like hell. It's like a homeless shelter here." Aslunchtime swung around,volunteers from the United Sikhs NGO appeared to dish out a free lunch of rice and stewed kidney beans."On Sunday, we got bananas and apples," said Obed Kamanda, a 37-year-old lieutenant in the Rwandan army on his way home from a logistics course in Virginia, between forkfuls of rice. "Yesterday we were given some Indian food." Kamanda was angry that it was only volunteers who seemed to care about the marooned.He was infuriated by the invisibility of airline representatives. "We are their clients. Why should we pay more money on the phone? They should be here physically."