I had a light brekkie this morning as I still wasn’t
feeling quite right. However a light brekkie on holiday would class as a
serious pig-out back home.
Once fed we went back to our room to do our packing.
Mine didn’t take that long, and I had a little sleep whilst "er indoors
TM"
did hers. With packing done we handed in our room keys and moved our luggage to
"My Boy TM"’s room, then joined everyone by the
pool. I did crosswords until the poolside quiz was announced over the loudspeaker,
and our crew managed to score fourteen out of twenty. Mind you some other bunch
claimed nineteen out of twenty. Bearing in mind the rules did say not to use
mobile phones, I would declare shenanigans (again).
We
adjourned for a (relatively) light lunch and then sat by the pool again.
As the afternoon wore on our pool seemed rather busier than usual. There were
quite a few pools in the complex, but one had suddenly been closed due to a “code
brown” alert.
You
would think that if a child wasn’t toilet-trained you would either have the
child in a swimming nappy, or not let them in the pool, wouldn’t you?
We
had a rather lazy day; eventually it was dinner time. Saturday is Chinese day
in the hotel restaurant. We had a really good bit of dinner. And then we said
our goodbyes and three of us got on the coach for the airport. Glen and Matt
had left yesterday. Others had gone during the day. Our pick-up was at eight o’clock
in the evening.
In
retrospect this wasn’t a good time to start travelling.
We
got to the airport after only fifteen minutes and followed the swarm of people
from our coach. The queue to the baggage check-in was endless. The process of
handing in three cases took hardly any time at all. How could the chap on the
counter be taking so long about it?
With
our cases handed it we asked the baggage check-in bloke what we did next. He
vaguely waved his hand.
I
had a vague idea that passport control might be a good idea. We got through
there quickly enough, but what a contrast to Turkish passport control coming in.
On the way in we were met with smiles and friendly banter. On the way out the
chap was surly and unco-operative. Had he smiled, his face would have cracked.
I
was also rather amazed at the attitude of those checking our luggage. The woman
supposedly looking at the monitor of the x-ray machine was swinging on her
chair, looking around, looking up and down. Clearly utterly bored with her job,
she was checking nothing. I could only liken her to “Lazy
disinterested sixteen year old supermarket checkout girl” from Viz
magazine.
We
had been told our flight went at eleven o’clock; we had some time to spare. We’d
also been told (by a *lot* of people) that Dalaman airport was the most
expensive airport in the world. We’d been told that three meals in McDonalds would
cost over fifty quid. I don’t know where people got that idea from; a
quarter-pounder meal cost just over eight quid. Rather expensive, but that’s
airports. I had a strawberry milk shake for two quid. That milk shake was the subject
of my last photo of the
last album of the holiday. I took just under six hundred photos when we
were away.
We
did a little shopping, and then thought we might queue for the plane. After a
lot of farting around (and being deliberately blanked by several airport
staff) we found the check-in for the Gatwick flight. We queued… and then we
were told of a gate change. I asked a chap in airport uniform where the Gatwick
flight was boarding from; he tried to put me on the flight to Germany. When I
pointed out it was the flight to Germany he waved his hands and walked away.
We
eventually found where we were supposed to queue for Gatwick. After five
minutes some officious little twerp marched up and demanded that we all left
the area so he could set up a security gate. Despite having had our luggage and
ourselves already searched twice, we were searched a third time. I was thinking
of suggesting that had “lazy disinterested sixteen year old supermarket
checkout girl” done her job properly then we might have been spared this
indignity. But I thought it best not to ruffle any feathers; I’d already had a
near-miss with the chap searching me who got *very* over-excited when he
found my nail clippers. He was clearly disappointed when I suggested that if
they were an issue then he might just throw them away.
The
flight was supposed to take off at eleven o’clock. We were finally airborne
just after midnight. I had hoped to sleep on the plane. I did doze a little;
perhaps I should have taken a travel pillow?
We landed at about two o’clock (UK time). Unlike Dalaman airport, the
authorities at Gatwick airport had signs saying where you should go and what
you should do. A novel approach, but one which worked. Looking back it didn’t
take *that* long to get
through passport control and to get our luggage. After less than two hours
after our flight had landed we were in the scrum at the bus stop waiting for
the shuttle bus back to the car park. After a rather traumatic time at Dalaman
airport and a rather poor sleep on the plane I was ready for a fight, and the
chance was clearly there. The attitude of the surly jobsworth driving the
shuttle bus didn’t help my nerves either.
Finally we got to the car parking. The place had
clear signs saying to leave your luggage outside when collecting your car key.
I didn’t say anything to the family of five who had all gone in to the office
with all of their luggage when only one person (without
needing to take anything) could have done the job.
But I had my car key within seconds, and within
minutes we were driving home.
Dawn broke as we came down the motorway. Kirsty’s
husband was waiting for her at Dobbies, and we came home to some rather excited
dogs.
And after
eleven hours travelling we got to go to bed.
If any of my loyal readers are going on holiday,
don’t take a night flight if you can avoid it…
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