Trying to be grateful for small mercies.
Be under no illusions, the annual annoyance to the 21st Century airport traveler is part and parcel of my weekly routine and excessive checks, scans, queues, delays, mix ups and the such like have become common place to me. As such I do my utmost to take these variables in my stride as often as possible. I am however becoming all to frequently aware that being vertically challenged, alone and female, all contribute to the ever increasing sensation that somebody, almost like a reversal of “the Emperors New Clothes” has sneaked into my room at night and drawn on my face in ink that is visible to everyone but me saying “Easy Target”. During the past three and a bit weeks I have been traversing the extremities of Europe, this continent has well and truly kicked my butt furthermore denoting that this job is in no way as glamorous as people seem to believe it to be.
Currently I am back stage on the fourth of four consecutive cruise contracts waiting to perform my second show of the night. But the convoluted process to get to this point is an entirely different story. Let me take you back to Iceland… a little over a week ago.
After disembarking the ship In Reykjavik just after noon on the day of its arrival, I was transferred to a hotel by the port agent who very much resembled an ‘Icelandic Jack Nicholson’ . I was to be staying in a hotel apart from my fellow guest entertainer and friend Christopher Caress (International Hypnotist) so we decided we would try and meet in town later for some dinner. I was pretty proud of my self-contained efforts at traversing the capital on public transport without a word of Icelandic to my name and after a pleasant if slightly damp afternoon in Chris’s company I returned to the hotel for the night as a 4am wake up call was about to set the tone of the following travel day. Frequent travellers will attest to the inability to truly rest the night before such an early rise for fear of sleeping through their alarm so at 3.30am I was in the shower and preparing my luggage for the day ahead. The flight to Frankfurt was about as blissful as a flight can be if I’m truly honest. An unexpected upgrade to Economy comfort saw me ‘zed’ away the three hours of the flight in seats of the same dimension to the business class passengers. I was a happy bunny. However a six hour lay over at Frankfurt was never going to be fun and when I finally did arrive in Athens, we were delayed on the tarmac for 45 minutes with no explanation and the air conditioning turned off. We all trundled into the arrivals hall disgruntled, sweaty and I for one, ready for my bed.
I acquired a taxi at the rank and as is usual and sensible for any traveller alone in a country in which they don’t speak the language I agreed upon a fare before commencing the journey. However on arriving at my destination the driver protested that the meter was incorrect (at 28 euro’s) and that even our agreed tariff (at 30 euros ) was now not enough for him. We both headed inside to the reception of the hotel in search of some change and some help interpreting the issues we appeared to now have with each other. I am used to taxi drivers ‘trying it on’ when it comes to squeezing more money out of you but in this instance and after the length of the day I had, I was pretty adamant it was safe for me to argue my case with ‘Greek Bill Murray’ the taxi driver. Not only did I have an interpreter as my aide, but said interpreter was a woman AND the receptionist of the 4 star hotel where I was due to spend the night. However after many protestations on both our parts I relented, exhausted and emotional and threw the extra 10 euro note at the driver in a display of overt exasperation and stormed off to my room where I waited for the porter to bring my luggage. I have a LOT of luggage.. how can you pack for Ireland, Iceland, Athens, Turkey and Spain in 20kg??? You can’t. When ‘Greek James Gandolphini’ the porter arrived with my luggage I’m ashamed to say I was crying. They were entirely involuntary tears which appeared to have accrued though the culmination of feeling exhausted, ripped off and disappointed at the fact that my sister in arms, ‘Greek Bridget Neilson’ at reception had failed to fight my corner for me. I had very little change left to give ‘Greek James Gandolphini’ for carrying my bags which made me feel even more morose and the tears were now entirely not of my control.
I ran a bath, grasped at the mini bar Heineken in the most urgent manner and sank into the tub to watch a tv box set on my laptop which I’d propped up on the toilet seat. Quicker than you could say “why does everyone I meet today resemble a famous person?” the hotel room phone began to ring and I clambered grumpily out of the bath, the affects of the beer I had ingested at light speed yet to reach my extremities.
“Hello”
“Mrs Parry? I am sorry to disturb you” It was Greek Bridget Neilson.
“My colleague, ‘Greek James Gandolphini’ (Obviously she didn’t call him that but I don’t remember his name) told me that you seem upset and distressed is there anything we can do?”
I refrained from saying what I was thinking… that maybe if she had stood with me in a little more sisterly solidarity I might not feel like the day was kicking my backside quite as much as it was.
“No thank you ‘Greek Bridget Neilson’ (I didn’t say that either, but her name also evades me) I know none of this is your fault, but I have had an awful travel day, I am exhausted and I am so sick of being ripped off just because I am a woman travelling on my own. I’m fine. Thank you for calling, I’m having a bath and beer and I will be ok in the morning”
“Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help you” Bridget replied.
“Thanks but no thanks” I retorted and returned to my bubbly haven.
About thirty minutes later I was safely ensconced in my pit watching the laptop and eating a packet of mini bar pistachios as it was far too late at night to be traversing the streets of Athens in search of sustenance and as per usual, the room service menu was horrifically expensive. There was a knock at the door. Down right naffed off at this point, knowing full well only a minute ago I had hung the “do not disturb” sign on my door, I dragged myself off to peer round the frame as by this point I was only wearing a tee shirt and a pair of knickers.
‘Greek Sally Field’ in an apron with a tray was waiting at the door.
“Compliments of the reception” she said in broken English.
Flabbergasted yet grateful, I opened the door to let her in not comprehending the fact I was wearing less clothes than a pole dancer and she put the tray on the table for me and left. It was a luscious fruit plate with yoghurt and honey and exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.
I enjoyed every mouthful and immediately called reception to thank ‘Greek Bridget Neilson’. It was ever so nice of her and I felt a little unwarranted at my internal beration of her only moments before.
The next morning I hailed another taxi to the ship and steeled myself for the reality that I was about to again be ripped off. “Greek Dame Judy Dench’ however seemed relatively nice, though I had made the mistake of thinking the same about ‘Greek Bill Murray’ the day before. She spoke very little English and did her best to take me to my destination. My faith was restored albeit temporarily as being kept waiting for an hour by the authorities in the port is never particularly joyous, but alas part and parcel of the job. After “Greek Andy Murray” finally allowed us to pass through security (us being myself and the dutch juggler I had recently made the acquaintance of.. I blame him for the delay he had a case full of knives) we boarded the ship for what was to prove a very enjoyable week. Though I didn’t really know anyone as such on this particular vessel, it provided a welcome opportunity for me to rest and relax, make the best of the fitness facilities and eat well as the food was excellent and there were plenty of healthy options. Thats not necessarily the case on each ship I visit and even within the same fleet the food choices can vary greatly. The early nights, steamed fish and extra reps on the weights were all in preparation for the coming week as I’m well acquainted with every man and his dog on the subsequent ship so I knew there’d be a little socialising to enjoy.
After a week on board that saw me perform to two sets of passengers, discover beautiful Argostoili in Cephalonia, an Island I had never previously visited and enjoy an early morning stroll through Venice before the streets had become too crowded, I disembarked in the port of Kusadasi to travel back to Athens AGAIN where I was to wait two nights in a hotel before joining the final ship of my four in a row. After waiting on the quay side for some 20 minutes or so it became apparent there may be some kind of issue with the transfer which my paperwork detailed had been arranged for me. An officer from the ship introduced me to the port agent who said that whilst no transfer provision had been requested of him, it was not a problem and would arrange it for me forthwith. I followed him, heavy laden with my luggage (now containing the obligatory duty free) and was delivered into the supervision of ‘Turkish Danny De Vito’ to arrange my onward travel. Shortly after the port agent left our company, ‘Turkish Danny De Vito’ asked me if I would like to pay the driver now or on my arrival at the airport, over an hours drive away. After arguing the toss with him for what seemed for ever, showing him emails and paper work and him “phoning” the agent though not allowing me to be put on the line to him to explain, it became obvious that if I wanted to make this plane at all I would have to give in and pay up. Feeling somewhat disgruntled I arrived at Izmir airport, looking forward to relaxing for an hour or two in the executive lounge, for which I buy an annual pass… a travel must when you do over 80 flights a year. As my turn arrived to check in my albeit dubiously capacious amount of luggage, the abrupt ‘Turkish Miserable Brunette Michelle Pfeiffer’ on the desk reliably informed me that no luggage had been allocated on my ticket.. at all. As I am sure you’ve acknowledged by this point, I seem to have found myself in more than one situation this last couple of weeks where people have been trying to take me for a ride so to speak and utter exasperation descended upon my demeanour at this point. At the ticket office I then I showed the ‘Turkish Joe Pesce’ my seamans allowance book which would ordinary entitle me to 40kg of luggage. Feeling the tears of sheer frustration bubbling in my sockets I surrendered the 70 euros to him on the promise of a receipt so I could at least claim it back from the company when I got home. To issue my boarding pass, I had to return to the perils of ‘Turkish Miserable Brunette Michelle Pfeiffer’ who tried to retain my receipt.
“I need that” I hollered. So she scowled and tore off the credit card slip attached to the receipt and proffered it, angrily.
“Take this then” she snapped.
At this point I felt the culmination of all the rip offs, delays, mistreatment and let downs begin to erupt like an emotional volcano in the pit of my stomach. If this blog had CGI I would certainly have morphed into lucifer at this point.
“No…” I shouted. “NO!. I want ALL OF IT .You’re not keeping this from me”
She threw the receipts at me and started to curse at me in Turkish.
Angry, disconcerted and well and truly ready for home I dragged myself through yet another security checkpoint to sit in yet another lounge to board yet another flight to join yet another ship… totally travel weary.
On the small propellor plane taking me to Athens I sat in silence staring out of the window thinking that on days like today I wonder whether all this hassle is really doing me any good and if indeed its all its cracked up to be. I started to ruminate upon what I might do as an alternative if all this schlepping around the globe was starting to become too much for me. I miss my family, my friends, my new nephew growing and changing, many special occasions and celebrations.. is it really all worth it? It was as we started to descend into Athens I first saw it… a crystal clear Rainbow straddling the city. How utterly beautiful I thought and how uplifting. But it was then I realised that I was in fact viewing this rainbow from above. To all intents and purposes I was “Over the Rainbow” literally and I thought..’Who gets to do this? Who gets to see a rainbow from sky?’ As it arched beneath me I felt like I was being reassured in someway that despite the trials and tribulations of my trip, I was still immensely privileged to be being paid to do what I love the most and to see the world.
I arrived in Athens with the notion of a new positive outlook for the days ahead and though I all but ripped off my little fingernail trying to get my passport out of my bag, the sight in the arrivals hall of ‘Greek Sean Connery’ with a sign bearing my name certainly signalled that my luck might just be changing
😉
