Drowning in a sea of sunburnt flesh, and not a seat in sight

Drowning in a sea of sunburnt flesh, and not a seat in sight

A blissful trip to Cyprus comes to a hot and sticky end as I find myself struggling to keep cool in an overcrowded airport

Horror beyond the check-in

The taxi driver shook my hand warmly as he dropped us off at Larnaca airport. “You’ll be back,” he said confidently, and I had to agree with him.

During our all-too-brief stay in Cyprus we had, without exception, been met with nothing butfriendliness and courtesy from our Cypriot hosts. I had said my goodbyes and now looked forward to the four-hour flight home and a return to reality. But reality reared its ugly head sooner than expected, in the form of Larnaca’s departure lounge.

Check-in didn’t give me any indication of thehorror to come. Upon entering the departure lounge, we found ourselves in the middle of a sea of travellers, aimlessly drifting, constantly on the move, in search of somewhere or something (or somebody!) to sit, sprawl or lean on as they waited for their flight to be called.

We are all aware that Larnaca is a small airport with inadequate facilities for its increasing traffic but those inadequacies are magnified greatly when a couple of flights are delayed, as was the unfortunate case at the time we were travelling.

The airport just couldn’t cope with the ever-increasing numbers and life was suddenly made miserable for the throngs of holidaymakers whose only desire was to get home.

Every café, food or drinks dispenser was under pressure from the multitudes, who queued endlessly for anything that made waiting easier, the difference being that only the lucky few were able to find a seat where they could enjoy their food and drink in comfort.

Most were doomed to wander about, balancing cardboard platters of pizza or pints of lager in one hand and their baggage in the other. The absence of any sanctuary for non-smokers added to the misery.

The contrast from what we had enjoyed earlier couldn’t have been greater. We had suddenly entered a world of ill-mannered, self-centred tourists. The lack of seating forced bodies of all shapes and sizes to take up every available floor space. The ensuing spectacle of flesh the colour of rare beef displayed in the most unflattering way was not easy on the eye.

This type of situation seems to bring out the worst in the travelling public, with no mercy given or taken. To attempt to buy a drink at the bar was to risk losing an eye. Best to retreat with backs against a wall and use one’s baggage as a protective barrier in an attempt to make personal space.

The whole scene was a nightmare that could have been made less of an ordeal, if not avoided, by the simple provision of more seating. The most apparent shortcoming in this respect was the assembly lounge at our departure gate, where I counted about 60 seats for a full Tri-star load. People were herded together, standing cheek by jowl, for a long wait before boarding the bus for the aircraft. I have never felt more relieved to hear that our flight, Air Atlanta/Sabre in this case, was on time.

I’ll wash my hands of this

In the current climate, about the only thing we agents cannot be held responsible for is the behaviour of our clients.

I can, however, remember one occasion when a tour operator held me personally responsible for booking an unacceptable client on one of the company’s coaches. I had booked an old chap who had long since become a stranger to soap and water, and for whom we always kept an air freshener on hand for a quick spray as soon as he left our office.

The booking was a British coach holiday, due to depart on a Sunday. On the following Monday morning, I received a call from the company’s reservations department asking me to refund the gentleman’s money in full. Fearing the worst I asked what had prevented him from travelling. “You should know, or have you lost your sense of smell,” came the abrupt reply.

Apparently, the coach had been on the road for 30 minutes when, in danger of being overpowered from the aroma rising from the old gent, the passengers were on the verge of mutiny.

The driver quickly phoned the company and a decision was made to take the unwholesome gent off the coach. The company felt that we, as agent, should never have booked him in the first place!

Kate urns her ‘Quiet Life’

While I have been on holiday Kate has had more than her usual share of odd clients. One young lady called in to request a brochure for her honeymoon “in that place where you get cheap drink – Mongolia.”

Kate asked her if she was sure she was asking for the right place. The client replied that her friends had been there and had told her about the cheap booze. Agents are not to reason why, so Kate dutifully handed over the brochure.

Two hours later the client returned to tell Kate that there had been a mistake and she had meant to ask for Macedonia, as her friends had been on a cruise that had stopped there.

Before going on holiday, I had left Kate my Lane’s Quiet Life pills but, before she could take two, a middle-aged client popped in to enquire about £69 no-frills flights to Los Angeles.

“You know, where you don’t get food, just coffee and you can take a packed lunch”. He added that he couldn’t book at the moment as he had to buy an urn for his mother but would have the money after she died – in about five weeks, he reckoned. With admirable control, Kate told him that she knew nothing of these flights and gently steered him towards the door, before reaching for the pills.

Let’s set a date, shall we?

If I was hoping for a gentle reintroduction to agency life, I was soon jolted back into the swing of things when I answered the phone to a woman calling back, as requested, with her exact dates of departure.

“I can’t go until the middle of November as I’m too busy, and I can’t go between the 12th and the 18th as I’ve a few village functions to attend to, Oh! and I’ve an important meeting to go to on the 21st and then I’m booked through until etc etc and I must be back by…” As diplomatic as ever, I suggested that it might help if she were to tell me when she could go. A stunned silence was followed by: “Well, I am aren’t I ?”