Tales From Turkey (2)

Good morning fellow travellers, here is the second of my little thoughts about my recent pilgrimage to the golf courses of Belek in Turkey.

The Plane

We had never been to Turkey before, Mrs B is of the opinion that if all you want to do is sit by a pool, then fly the shortest distance possible to guarantee some sunshine - usually Menorca. But now we were faced with a  four hour flight to Antalya from Birmingham. 

The airport is an hour from our house, but the hours leading up to departure are difficult and dangerous times. There is packing and then there is cleaning - the house has to be hoovered in case burglars break in. 

Packing is Mrs B’s domain - I just lay out some clothes and she folds them all neatly and makes sure I have packed enough handkerchiefs. 

We secure the cases and wrap them with a strap with our name on, allowing easy identification on the baggage claim carousel later. I noticed that some people now wrap their suitcases in clingfilm…why is that? Are they smuggling left overs into Turkey? Does it help keep your knickers fresh?

Anyway, bags packed, loaded into the car and off we go, at 4am, to Birmingham. We park and walk the short distance to the terminal, Mrs B dragging two suitcases and me dragging my golf clubs….oh yes, I took the golf clubs to Turkey.

So far, so good. We know that you have security checks and so you allow time for that process - although it did take longer as Mrs B beeped. She had to be swabbed  for explosives and just for a minute I thought I might have to enjoy my holiday without her. Not sure why the explosives detector went off, unless it was due to  all the cleaning products she had been throwing around the house before we departed? That combination of bleach and air freshener and multi surface cleaner is now on the watch list I guess.

Having already checked in online and paying extra for our seats (you’ll be expected  to pay extra to breathe on a plane soon) we didn't rush, as many do, when the flight was called. We just made our way to the gate, and low and behold our seats were just waiting for us…why do people rush and push to get on the plane?

I have an answer…hand luggage. Limited space in the overhead luggage compartments is soon taken up with mini suitcases. People who have just bought 14 bikinis and some sun tan oil don’t check their bags, they carry them on board so they can rush off at the other end…rush rush rush. The idea of holiday for me is to not rush, but to relax…and I find it hard to relax as a sweaty fellow is trying to squeeze his suitcase into a space designed for a satchel! 

You can choose your seat but you get no choice who sits next to you sometimes…I was lucky on the flight out, less so on the way back. A walking tattoo and his harridan wife, who constantly argued in a thick Wolverhampton accent were my travel companions.  I plugged my earphones in and watched Life of Pi but that only took care of half the journey…

They argued about duty free, they argued about some aromatic oil leaking in her handbag, they argued about the meal, they argued about electronic devices…oh yes, she refused to turn off her mobile phone, as requested by the aircrew, during landing, as mobile phones are not electronic! She then hid her phone in her bag and continued texting someone about her dogs that needed feeding.  Idiots. 

On the flight out, which left before 9am, the couple who sat in front of us had devoured three cans of lager before we’d reached cruising altitude! The battle to get to a toilet between the trolley going up and down was amazing - what a palaver.

I always worry about what I will breathe in on a flight, hence the handkerchiefs - well, this time it was not germs but farts.

Someone dropped the smelliest fart just as we took off for Antalaya on the return leg - that fart was so strong it was still doing the rounds as we landed in Birmingham. I fully expected the oxygen masks to be deployed!

Just a word about some of our fellow travellers as this will lead into the next section which will be about the British abroad.

In Antalya airport I saw a man striding about Burger King with some crutches tucked underneath his arm. He looked happy and was obviously British because of the tattoos and the straw hat perched on top of his shaven head. He was also wearing cut off denim shorts and a vest tee shirt exposing his hairy shoulders….British. 

Anyway, there he was nipping happily about Antalaya but the flight must have been a terrible experience for him because after we landed he no longer carried the crutches under his arm, he now dragged himself along on the crutches like a zombie. It was like a reverse miracle…in Turkey he could walk, in England he could claim disability benefits. (Cynical old me). He looked exactly like the sort of bloke who would be interviewed on BBC Midlands complaining about people 'coming over here and taking advantage of the benefits system'.

Oh well.