So I went to school on the Thursday before I left, expecting my classes to finish at 12.30pm (I’d been told that in my last lesson 12.30pm – 1.30pm they were going to have an exam so I didn’t need to go in – I wish he’d told me that weeks before when I booked my tickets home). As it turned out I didn’t need to go in for my lesson 11.30am – 12.30pm so I finished the day at 9.30am. I rushed back to a friend’s house and tried to see if I could get some earlier flights, making sure that both Iberia and Easyjet would allow me to change the flights in correspondence. All Iberia flights were full so there was no chance of an early arriva. Never mind. I chilled in the afternoon and had plenty of time to quadruple check that I’d packed everything in my bag and made my way to the airport an hour before my flight was due to leave.
Annalisa and Jorge took me to the airport and just after they left I tried to check in my hold luggage for my flight (17.45... Where is it on the board?!). It wasn’t on the board because the flight had been cancelled!!! The woman behind the desk kept repeating ‘Tenemos un problema’ (We have a problem!) to which I kept repeating ‘Claro!’ (No shit, Sherlock!).
They tried to put me on the next flight (which was the last flight to Malaga from Melilla for the day) so I would still be able to catch my connecting flight but then told me that the next flight was, in fact, full. I was told to wait around for an hour until everybody had checked in for the last flight of the day to see if anybody didn't turn up. FANTASTIC!
I turned around in a huff and made my way to the cafeteria to settle down for an hour when I bumped into my lovely housemate who works at the airport! He seemed shocked to see me and asked if I was going home for Christmas. I explained the situation and he explained that it’s not the airport’s fault, but Iberia's. Bloody good job I’d met his mate who’s the director of Iberia (we’ve been out for tapas several times ;-))! He spoke to the girl behind the desk to see what could be done, explained that I was a friend of his and then I was just told to wait again. Grar!
I grabbed a Fanta and as I was about to go out for a cigarette Mr. Iberia told me to go into his office and take my bags so I didn’t have to leave them in the cafeteria. I went into his office, had a few cigarettes with him in there and watched several men try and fix the plane that wasn’t going out due to a motor problem. It was cool, I spent the afternoon chilling out, awaiting my Christmas fate!
After about an hour (that I’d spent looking at different Easyjet flights from Madrid to London – there was another flight leaving Melilla at the same time as the one that was going to Malaga which wasn’t full) a woman shouted in that it was time for me to check my bag in. Huh?! Next minute I’ve got a boarding pass and I’m on the plane. Schweet!
I went through to departures as cool as a cucumber and walked outside onto the plane. Mr. Iberia was waiting for me there and I thanked him one last time for sorting me out as I climbed the stairs on the plane (Yeah... The ones that are in the teeny, weeny, polka dot, door.) peninsula bound.
So..... My flight was cancelled. Bummer. I got a later flight. Bummer. But I got there in the end and travelled in style! :-)
I managed to get to Malaga on time and check in for my flight fine. Easyshit managed to mess up the flight so we left later than planned but I was back in England (in -2 degree England!). I waited for the Gatwick Express, desperately trying to shove my hands into the pockets on my thin summer jacket. I boarded the train, waited at various signal failures, observing the snow on the cars out the window and swiftly jumped a taxi back to Beanie’s where he was loyally waiting with central heating ablast ready.
So that was my journey home back for Christmas, a bit of a nightmare, but I was back.
Christmas was cool and before I knew it, it was time to head back to Melilla. EXCEPT... Travelling to Melilla is never plain sailing and my flight had of course been cancelled back to Malaga. I had to rearrange the flight leaving from Gatwick and change it to Stansted, all making sure it coincided with my other one, which meant getting up earlier, heading right out of London and jumping on two flights, with a bloody long wait, back to Africa.
All in three weeks. Whopper.
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