Having actually got to the airport in good time for once, and thereby avoiding the mad sweaty dash across the airport to gate number-always-bloody-miles-away, the words ‘the plane’s delayed…’ we’re not the words I wanted to hear! Smile planted on face and hopefully disguising the Rottweiler-like emotions stirring inside, I made the motherly reassuring sounds of ‘never mind…’ to my then partner (now husband) Darren and two boys – Tom aged 20 and Jack aged 18, pushing away the nagging annoyance that we would therefore miss the fiesta we had planned on attending on our arrival in Spain.
Fast forward two hours later where we had ensconced ourselves in the airport bar, we finally got told that the errant plane had arrived. Fast forward another hour and we found ourselves zipping along the runway with a three hour delay under our belt. This is where I should tell readers that our original flight was scheduled for 10pm so the three hour delay plus the hour’s time difference made us frankly bloody late!!
So – of course when we got to Alicante Airport, the car hire desks were all but shut. A beacon of light to see that the rental booth for our hire car was still open reassured us. The white knuckle ride following our slapped wrists for turning up late to collect the off-site rental car however quickly dissipated all humour and niceness. My husband rarely loses his temper but to be presented with a rather unreasonably large petrol bill following our delay – and bone-shaking transfer from a cross minibus driver – tipped him over the edge completely. In a pretty filthy mood myself, I kept clear of all conflict and confrontation and instead indulged in pleasant thoughts of what I could do with a shovel to the increasingly annoying staff at the car rental. I was kept reliably informed by Tom who was building up a pretty mucky picture…150 euros for fuel…30 euros for this….20 euros for that…I think it may have been cheaper to buy the bloody car.
Unsurprisingly, cue very irate husband stomping out of the kiosk having told staff I think to ‘poke it’ – demanding that we be taken back to the airport immediately. So – back in the bone shaker mini-bus we all piled, and this time we were driven even more erratically and had even more of a white knuckle ride back to the airport terminal where we were ceremoniously dumped by arrivals. Of course, by this time it was 3am and I think we were actually the only people in the airport barring a couple sneakily smoking a joint, and the person driving the sweeper-thing.
Rottweiler-thoughts returning with a vengeance, Darren and I sat in silence with the boys trying to concertina themselves around the arm rests on the airport seats. Fast forward another non-descript hour, and quickly losing the will to leave, I suggested to Darren that rather than wait until 6am (an unbearable thought), we instead got a taxi to the house.
He agreed that this was a good idea but I think the expression on my face probably didn’t leave him too much choice! Rousing the boys, we commandeered the last but one taxi and with lots of arm waving interspersed with speaking both loudly and slowly which of course makes English so much easier to understand, we found ourselves trundling out of Alicante in a little yellow taxi en route to our new Spanish house.
The lateness of time meant no street-lights were on – so this in addition to the tiredness and extreme irritability made finding the house something like a Mensa test. With reservations that Darren was actually sparko in the front passenger seat, I was pleased – though not surprised – that we eventually hit signs for La Romana – our soon to be home town. Lots of pleased-with-themselves man noises were coming from the front with Darren and the taxi driver exchanging guffaws and chortling to each other about the success of locating what is actually an extremely sleep village in the middle of nowhere – or that’s what it seemed like at 5 in the morning….!
The driver’s mirth soon disappeared as we bumped and clanked our way up the unmade and very unlit road. Past the farm with sheep – which are quite often pychedelic-faced-looking because of their staple diet which appears to be red peppers… and yellow peppers… and orange peppers….!!
lazydaysinspain 