As you’re reading this, I’m on holiday in Devon. So, I thought I’d honour this holiday by telling you about a disaster that occurred when Johnny and I went to Gran Canaria last December. We decided to take a warm holiday away from the cruel British weather and celebrate our anniversary in beautiful Gran Canaria. Our trip there was smooth and we had such a lovely holiday together – enjoying twenty-eight degree heat in the middle of December!
However, our trip home was the worst trip home that I’ve ever experienced and I suffer from quite bad travel anxiety too, which is never great. But hey, at least I didn’t get food poisoning.
We used TL Travel via Travel Republic to book our airport transfer and while we had to wait a bit for it on our way to the hotel the minibus greeted us at the airport and went to our hotel with no problems. On Thursday, two days before our transfer was due to happen, TL Travel contacted our hotel and said they would pick us up from the hotel at 8:30am to get us to the airport for our 12pm flight. At 8:15am on Saturday we stood outside the hotel and waited. 8:30am came, nothing. 8:45am, nothing. 9am, nothing. 9:15am I called TL Travel and there was no answer. By now, I was panicking that we’d miss our flight – I’m not very calm when it comes to travelling anyway as I do suffer from travel anxiety so this was just tip of the ice burg. I phoned TL again, this time on an emergency line. Nothing. Johnny went into reception and asked them to phone TL Travel. No answer. At 9:30am, we called a taxi and paid 60 Euros to get to the airport. It was a good thing Johnny had been paid while we were on holiday, otherwise we might not have ever got to the airport.
We arrived at the airport, exceptionally pissed off. But we were there and we checked in our bags and we thought what else can go wrong, right?
Our flight was delayed an hour. We thought ‘annoying, but not the end of the world.’ Then it got delayed another hour. And then another. Until 9 hours had passed and we still weren’t on our flight. It was late. We were both exhausted and pissed off. Finally, at 9:30pm, we boarded the plane. Just before we’d got on, Johnny and I stuffed down a Burger King and about an hour into the flight, while I was watching Sex and the City, I started to feel rather ill. No, it wasn’t my stomach turning because Carrie was gushing about Mr.Big again, it was the Burger King from earlier making a second appearance. If you’ve ever been sick on an aeroplane, then you know it’s one of the worst experiences you can possibly have. It’s not easy to rush to the toilet when you’re sat on a plane seat. It was really unpleasant.
We got back to London at around midnight but the journey wasn’t over and so began the two hour drive to Dorset. Johnny, bless him, was exhausted and I spent the entire journey in a perpetual fear that we were going to crash and die. At one point, we were driving on the complete other side of the road which was extremely terrifying. But we got home, alive and well. Everything seemed perfect.
As I unpacked my case the next morning, I started to panic. I couldn’t find my purse. I suddenly had the realisation that I’d left it in the hotel. My debit card, Oyster Card and Railcard were hundreds of miles away in the Canary Islands. A terrible cherry on the already pretty shitty cake. Luckily, I got my wallet back and Johnny and I got compensation from EasyJet for the delayed flight. We also got the money for the taxi back from TravelRepublic, and we vow to never book with TL Travel again as the only explanation they provided us was that they ‘forgot’ to come and pick us up.
So, yeah. A lovely holiday ruined by a hellish journey home.
Contains paid links.