Well, I’m back from my two week break in Madeira, and the return trip was… Interesting to say the least. It started out when the pick up from the hotel was late. We were
supposed to be picked up for the transfer to the airport at 10:30 this morning.
Ok – not a problem – we were all packed & ready to roll, having done nearly all the packing yesterday afternoon (after I’d watched the British Grand Prix from Silverstone) and had settled the outstanding hotel bill last night.
So this morning, it was just a matter of putting the last minute bits & pieces into the one case, making sure that both cases were locked & strapped, and getting the flight bags packed, and the hideous flight socks on (the less said about these, the better!)
10:30 (the allotted pick up time for Mum & myself), and a mini bus duly arrives. Only it’s not big enough for everyone who is waiting (by my estimate there were about 16 – 18 people waiting for transport to the airport), and it turns out that it was for people who were travelling with another tour company (Mum & I had booked with Thomas Cook – more on that in a later post!) So, they clamber into the mini-bus, and it goes off to the airport, leaving the remaining travellers (Mum & myself included) are standing by the front entrance to the hotel wondering what the bloody blue blazes is going on.
There was no rep around (he was at the airport - again, more about the rep later) and the time is starting to move on… Well our transfer arrived – at 10:45. Not too good when you consider that we were supposed to be at the airport for 10:50 at the latest (it’s a 2hr check in) and we still had to clear security & passport control at the airport.
The aroma of knackered clutch was heavy in the air (it was truly nauseating to be honest!) and the best (or should that be worst) was yet to come… The driver seemed to think he was Madeira’s answer to Ferrari’s Fernando Alonso – without the talent or the charisma. It didn’t get off to a good start when the driver stalled the mini bus – I suspect he was in the wrong gear to try & pull away…
Now I know that under normal circumstances, I’m not easily scared by someone’s driving, but this was truly scary – even by my standards. Every time we came to a red light, or a pedestrian crossing, it was like it was a race to see how close he could get before he hit the brakes (or whatever poor sod was in front of him – be they pedestrian or another motorist), and instead of using the handbrake like anyone else would do when attempting a hill-start with a manual gearbox, he tried (and failed) to hold the vehicle on the clutch, meaning that we rolled back frequently, and the aroma of burning clutch got worse.
The there were the gear changes themselves. Now I know that my Peugeot can be a temperamental little b’stard when it wants to be, but the way this guy was slamming the gears made me apologise to my little blue fiend when I got back to it at Birmingham! The gear changes were really notchy – almost as if the driver wasn’t depressing the clutch fully. I suspect he was, but it really didn’t feel like he was to be honest!
If I recall correctly, the speed limit on the main highway is something like 80 kmph, but I know for sure that we were doing well over that – if it was on the road, we overtook it - thank god the road is a duel carriage way!)
It was almost as if this guy had been watching the British Grand Prix yesterday, and was determined to re-create the overtaking style in the mini-bus. We got to the airport in one piece (we got there by 11:10) and I have to admit, it was one of the few times that I gave thanks for arriving at the airport. The guy was a loony – and it didn’t help with him answering his ‘phone when we were on the main highway.
Check-in was fast and painless (but that could have been due to our arrival time at the airport – we were some of the last passengers to check in!) We had 17.5kg in both cases (the weight limit was 20kg) and all I can say is ‘thank God they didn’t weight the hand baggage at Funchal!’
Simply because I estimated my flight bag was about 8 – 9 kgs (and the limit is 5kgs!) Mind you, most of that was book… I’d bought a book called
Dam Busters – the race to smash the dams 1943 by James Holland at Birmingham on the outbound flight (I also bought the Rowland White book –
Storm Force) and resolved to have
Dam Busters as my book for the return flight.
Once through security & passport control, it was like a rugby scrum as per normal. There were at least 4 flights going out about the same time (although the Easyjet flight to Gatwick had a ½ hour delay) and the Luton Thompson flight was leaving 10 mins before ours did. Mum & I boarded the bus that took us to the aircraft, and we were directed to the rear door.
Now this wouldn't have been a problem, had we been seated at the back – we were in the middle of the damned aircraft, and to make matters worse, some silly female had some kind of mini-suitcase as her flight bag, and was making a pig’s ear out of getting it into the overhead locker.
This meant that she was standing in the aisle, fussing around, and preventing people from getting to their seats. When we eventually got to our seats, we’d been given the window & middle seat again, and if you tried to transport cattle the way that we were seated on the plane (it was a B757-300, with the seats set at the minimum space allowance of 26 inches between the front of one seat and the front of the seat in front of you) then the RSPCA would rightly prosecute the transport company.
The ticket (it’s one of these stupid e-ticket things) said that in-flight meals would be provided… Yes, they were, if you didn’t mind paying £6.00 for a tiny lasagne that looked revolting, and didn’t smell too appetising either! Thank god I’d had a decent breakfast before we’d left the hotel… If I’m honest, the less said about the flight, the better.
As I’d been smart, and plugged in my headphones (I was listening to the S&M album by Metallica & the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra – hence the S&M title!) I didn’t hear the wailing of some kid on the flight – Mum said it howled nearly all the flight.
We landed, and got to the gate... It was gate 54 at Birmingham. I know damned well that the couldn’t have gotten us further away from Border Security & baggage reclaim if they’d tried – at least not at a gate with an air bridge!
Once through Border Security, we headed to baggage reclaim which was surprisingly fast, and then had to run the gauntlet of more stinking duty free. Some bright spark has had the idea to put a smallish duty-free area on the route from the baggage reclaim & customs area to the arrivals area, meaning that it's yet another chance to fleece knackered passengers before they leave the airport.
When I say stinking, I mean it. The combined odour of the various perfumes that had been sprayed into the air was enough to give anyone a bad head, and it sure as hell did that to me, so I was only too glad to toddle up to the bus stop for the long stay 1 car park where I had left the little blue fiend two weeks ago. Mum & I got to the bus stop just as the bus arrived (talk about perfect timing) and then got off at the allotted stop.
Mum being her normal organised self had made a note of the bus stop number and car park row I’d parked on. So, it was just a case of getting off the bus, and getting the car loaded. Now I’ve had problems with the gearbox on my little fiend, and as I was loading the cases into the boot, I made sure that the engine was running, meaning that the little fiend was getting some heat into the engine, and also into the gearbox, with the idea being that it would stop causing the gearbox to throw it's usual hissy fit...
It seemed to work ok, and the little monster burbled it’s way home, and is now back in it’s allotted parking space.
As for me? I’m so chilled out, I’m horizontal, but that’s no thanks to the transfer today. That’s all down to the island of Madeira, and the wonderful (and very helpful) staff at the
Porto Santa Maria, who made Mum & myself feel like old friends.
Ah well, guess I should call this quits – my eyeballs feel like they are on fire, and I really want to get some rest. Back tomorrow with a full report (and photos) of my holiday on the island.
Karen
Now some things you hold on to - and some you just let go
Seems like the ones that you can't have
Are the ones that you want most
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