Lightning strikes twice

Poor weather for flying then?

After making a strong mental note of the “never again” variety a couple of years ago, the airline schedules (mis)aligned and the booking was made: Ryanair FR8245 home from Palma late on Friday night after a week.

BA from/to LHR was not an option due to the pilots industrial action. So to get work here on Mallorca, it was EasyJet out, Ryanair back.

The “never again” sentiment was from a cancelled flight from the Algarve. That was an arrive at the airport, ditch the rental car… inbetween doing that and walking to the terminal… poof, the flight vanished from the departure boards. With no flights available for a week we got a refund and rebooked via Munich which ended up costing a grand. In essence, Ryanair hid behind a technicality and left us stranded.

Of course, lightning never strikes twice right?

Mallorca on a September Friday it does. Seemingly the Mediterranean weather had plans for us. Delayed was the inbound flight by storminess, if only by around 30 minutes. Nary a drop of rain at Palma, but lots of nearby meteorological disturbance causing air traffic strife. We board, we push back, we edge out toward the runway and we wait with not a little frustration. So if sitting on the taxiway ready to go for 2 hours was a blow, imagine how driving back to the terminal in a bus from a remote stand was a kick in the teeth.

Hence an irritating delay becomes a bed-free-semi-sleep in the terminal. I write this from said terminal: 11h45m of “bad weather delay”. The concourse is littered with snoozing travelers on unforgiving benches. At least it’s not cold in here.

My last two Ryanair flights have been a mahousive bite in the arse. Expensive, inconvenient, unaccountable. The scant information we have is that our arrival in Bristol is 10.45 this morning. Luggage? Who knows.

I am fairly clear that this time “never again” might well be for keeps.

Oh look, I’ve written an ode.

An ode to O’Leary’s budget airline

Ryanair exist for what purpose exactly?

Yet people queue up and pay their coin to travel.

Anyone would think that we are all fools.

No one seems to be able to make sense of why they keep coming back.

A mystery and no mistake

Indulge yourself in some travel

Remain at the airport for 14 hours

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Anyone can play

Roll the dice

Enlist by simply buying a ticket.

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Can I go home now?

Undo your spell and release us from this misery

No drama now

Transport us home

Show us you have the ability to fulfill the simple promise of a valid boarding pass.

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Written after spending the night on an airport bench at Palma Aeroporto.

Oh Balearics: we’re grounded

People come to the Balearic Isles for a spot of sun. Not me, I’ve come to Mallorca for work and after a grueling week – theatrical wink, it’s been spectacular – am really rather ready to go home. A 21.45 Friday night flight is on the unpleasant side of tolerable after an 05.30 start. Should’ve got me home to the ‘Shire for 01.00. Good planning. Well, reasonable. Ish.

Should’ve.

A spaniel has been thrown into the works. Instead of crusing through the night sky, we are back in the terminal building after a 2 hour Ryanair/Palma Aeroporto taxiway tour courtesy of a batch of, allegedly, spectacular thunderstorms. I say allegedly as they are missing in action. Simply, it ain’t raining here: no dramas, no flashy-flashy, no rumbles. Well, other than the deep dissatisfaction of a Boeing 737-800 full of tired people. V grumbly rumbly.

A bus tour from an apron stand in Azerbaijan and I am back to the gate we departed (45 minutes late) from yesterday, Friday 13th, now Saturday 14th. The cafe is dark, but it has tables. All the outlets are closed, yet the concourse is remarkably busy with all the other cancelled/grounded/delayed flights, their passengers milling, queuing, ruminating, snoozing and grumbling. It is an opaque situation with the departure boards telling porkies, the internet saying we left hours ago, the ground crew refusing to refuel aircraft (due to the storms) – contrary to the Cap’n’s reassurances – and air traffic control doing some form of manyana drill.

Massive information deficit. Another Ryanair fail.

D’you know what? I just want m’bed. Having rushed around all day – all week, doing cool stuff to be fair – I am stinky-weary in my work gear. Yet my clothes are in a case somewhere in the airport perimeter, presumably still aboard the Ryanair crate.

Don’t let anyone tell you business travel is glamorous.

It’s not as if this is the first time (on a job for this client to boot).

See you on the other side. Whenever, wherever that might be.