Did I mention that Mr C and I were of to the Rugged Coast for a few day prior to his highness entertaining clients in Barcelona? This is where we were headed.
Oh and here too.
But first we had to get there and as you already have been appraised we were flying Ryanair!!!!!!!!!!
My booking fiasco can be found here (To Ryanair, a Muted Monologue) and is worth a revisit if only to get yourselves in the mood.
Now the flight was oddly timed for Michael, ie 8.45 am, nice. As many will know Mr Ryan specialises in crack of dawn excursions so ‘late’ start most welcome. The trip to Luton Airport stress free and cheap (Daughter #2) and the Lilliputian-like allowed hand luggage double measured and triple weighed.
Ok, by the time I had been told off for a too large liquids plastic bag, Mr Carmichael’s knee had been given the Spanish Inquisition (oddly appropriate) and all the seats in Pret were taken it was irritating to find that my husband had already misplaced his sun glasses and cap. This is utterly par for the course and deserves a post of its own but suffice it to say I had packed an extra hat and the Travel Shop were happy to provide Sir with replacement shades.
It’s always disconcerting to have people running past you to queue for seats on a plane. Having refused Ryanair’s kind (and chargeable) offers of seat allocation and/or priority boarding I knew we were at the bottom of the food pile seat-wise for our flight to Girona but we has a suitcase checked in so no one was going anywhere without the Carmichaels. No way José.
We were at the back of the queue.
Luckily far enough back not to be hit with the latté grandé that was dropped a few passengers forward and exploded over another passenger’s holiday footwear. Phew.
There was no plane outside our boarding gate but Mr Ryan does turn his flights around in double quick time so I was yet to become anxious. In hindsight that was foolish. The reason our plane was not at Gate No. 2 was because it had broken down.
“Your plane has a technical fault. We can give you no more information. Please go back to Departures and await further instructions.”
Mass groaning.
Some did as bidden, a few (us included) moved to seats on the concourse and other (those near the front of the queue with more to lose) stood their ground. Fools.
Two lovely young things sat beside us and we started chatting.
“This is eating into our sunbathing on Barcelona beach,” one said to her friend.
“Why did you choose Ryanair over EasyJet?” I asked, interested.
“It was cheaper,” the other replied.
“Even with the cost of the two hour transfer?”
Shocked looks of horror. “Two hour transfer?”
Girona is approximately two hours north of Barcelona, deep in the heart of the Costa Brava. We were flying Ryanair because we were going to the Costa Brava. The girls were going to Barcelona and thought, foolishly, that because Michael Ryan calls this destination Barcelona(Gir) that it is going to Barcelona. Hah!
We have renamed it Barcgirlona.
I believe that in Scandanavia he flies into one country calling it another and buses passengers across a bridge. This bridge has been known to close in bad weather.
Anyway, back to my grief filled girls who are now waiting for a plane to be mended that will take them to a city 100 miles from where they thought they were going.
“Gosh, thanks,” they said. “We would never have known.”
“I think you would have when you arrived,” I pointed out.
So while they were checking their onward travel arrangements, Mr C was on his phone and I was watching for any Ryanair movement our attentions were distracted by a woman running up and down the concourse crying, “Please, please, please,” and banging on the plate glass windows.
She accosted other would be travellers, a man emptying the bins and a crying child who had misplaced its parents.
I must point out here, in the efforts of verisimilitude that the plane she was wanting to board and had obviously missed was not Ryanair (all those had gone hours ago except for the broken one). It was a Wizz flight, bright pink and purple and ready for take off.
The air stewards were still on the steps, the doors were not yet closed.
“I think I’m going to have to get involved,” I informed Mr C.
“Up to you,” he said and went back to his call.
A young couple were already running up and down with the pleading woman. I tried a door. It was locked as expected which I think was a good thing. Not for Mrs Please but for the security of others.
I decided to take more direct action.
Positioning myself in line with the cockpit of the plane in question (see above) I began to wave. I waved grandly, vigorously and for a very long time. I then employed my limited semaphore.
And the pilot waved back.
I gestured madly (yes, I admit there was a madness to it) that someone was trying to get onto his plane.
He gave me the thumb’s up and pointed to the door.
I gave him the thumb’s up, pointed to “please, please, please” and rushed her and the helpful young couple down to the door that the pilot had pointed to.
God, I was happy with myself. Saving a soul AND an early morning commune with El Capitan.
At the door we were met by an angry Wizz ground staff person.
“No, no it’s ok the pilot said she could get on,” I panted, purring with pride at my successful endeavours.
“I have told you three times,” Miss Wizz said to Mrs Please in a very cross voice. “This plane is NOT going to Warsaw. This plane is going to Romania. Do…you…want…to…go… to…Romania?”
“Please, please, please,” begged Mrs Please.
“Oh my god, “I said to the helpful young couple. “I can’t go back to my seat. The pilot will think I’m mad.”
I know. It does beg the question, doesn’t it?
I slunk back to Mr Carmichael and my seat opposite the nose of the plane. The captain gave me a thumb’s up. I gave the captain a thumb’s up. What else was a girl to do?
A different set of ground staff collected Mrs Missed the Flight By What I Think Now Was Quite a Long Time and she ran off with them, still thinking, I believe, that she was getting on the long gone plane.
“At least you tried,” the glass half full girls said to me.
Mr Carmichael smiled and went back to his phone.
Could not hlep to laugh for your helpfullness in a hopeless situation. 😛
We flew with Ryanair without any mishap.
We also flew with Vueling without any problems just to hear afterwards lots of people complaining about their unpredictability
Oh Lord, I always think that if you get there, you’re winning. Think I’ll stick with that belief but poor Mrs Please.
What a story and what a great way to tell it! I agree that if you actually get there you have won. 🙂 Wish me luck next week as I try to fly to and around Texas in mid July heat!
Lisa
LUCK! 🙂
Love your story – brilliantly told! 😀 😀
Thanks Sue, I’ve been bursting to tell that one. More to come.
More?
there were five more days…….
Oh, great, looking forward to the drama…;)
I guess it happens when you sleep in six beds in five days. Am I glad to be home? Not particularly.
Well, at least you tried Mrs C and I am sure the captain and the staff will always remember you for that! You are famous girl! 😀 Great shots and it looks like you had lots of fun too! *hugs*
Ah, Thanks Sonel. yes lots of good stuff after a shaky start!
For sure! 😀
Great story. I’m keen to hear the rest of the epic!
Strap yourself in 🙂
Bwahahaha! Thank you for this story. 😀 Maybe Mrs Please should have just gone to Romania, and Ryan could have sent a bus transporting her to Warsaw. 😉
Oh mrs fringe, if I’d thought of that I would have written it!
😀
I wonder where the glass half full girls ended up. Probably they wouldn’t have cared as long as they had a beach to lie on. Great story!
They were so lovely. I wouldn’t have taken it with such equanimity I can assure you.
At least they were flying home EasyJet from the real Barca airport!
Thanks 🙂
Since its Ryanair, maybe Mrs Please thought their flights to Warsaw actually landed in Romania!
Peter, you are probably right. I wonder where she is now.
At least I’m back home!
Oh what a ‘Gemors’ (South African slang for confusion.) 🙂 I do hope everyone eventually ended up at their correct destinations. I’d really like you on my side if ever I was lost and a state about it. 🙂
You are not the first person to say that! I think that’s why Mr C just sits back and lets me got on with it.
I love the ‘gemors’. I shall use it on my Sth African friend the next time I see her.
Your husband seems nice – and you are terrific! Grrrreat story!
Appearances can be deceptive! Thank you so much.
This is hilarious! had me chuckling for ages wondering where Mrs Please ended up and the delightful half-full girls, doesn’t anyone ever check where the plane is going to? Reminded me of my Italian job http://wp.me/pL5Ms-g2
J xx
Thanks. I imagine Mrs P spent a night in Luton’s Holiday Inn or the airport. I’m sure the gals had a super trip and will be telling the story for years.
Will look at yours now (but won’t be able to comment!!!!!!)
Yipes! I hope your time in Costa Brava proves to be far less… *exciting* than the trip getting here!
yes and no, golf person. yes and no 🙂
What a great read ! And the flag signals !
Yes I actually cheered out loud when I found those semaphore flags 🙂
Mrs. C! I was horrified to find out your predicament with Akismet. I hope that gets cleared up quickly because I miss your blog, your snappy repartee, your sense of humor! (See this post as Exhibit A-B-C) I couldn’t even bring up your latest posts to read. Is there anything any of us can do to vouch for your non-SPAM qualities?????
OMG really?
You haven’t seen the Costa Brava Instalment 2 or “It’s not just Mrs Carmichael……..’
Please tell me it isn’t getting WORSE?????