Back on the rock! Tired. Very tired.

Yummy Easter eggs!

I was away for a few days – I spent my Easter holidays nel bel paese. Three days (and a few kilos of chocolates and sweets) later I am back on the rock, after an exhausting 1.5-hour flight – yes, short intra-European flights can be a real nightmare. You see, I fly Ryanair. Don’t worry, this is not one of those typical posts bashing the number 1 no-frills airline that everyone loves – although, let’s face it, we all hate to admit it, because it’s more fun to complain about the sale of scratch cards, smokeless cigarettes, perfumes and key rings, all announced with a cheerful ringtone-ish tune, the ridiculous but profitable (for O’Leary) two-queue system – “priority” and “other” (usually the ones complaining are the “others”, myself included) and last but not least, the wonderful charade stressing the fact that this Ryanair flight has once again landed on time – never mind they add half an hour to the flight time and chase you through the aisle when you enter the plane, basically pushing you in the first available seat.

You know what? I quite like Ryanair. Their planes are all relatively new (not clean, but who cares if there’s chewing gum on the carpet, right?), their staff is friendly, despite all the talk about miserly salaries and sub-human work conditions, they really do land on time (again, they purposely add half an hour to the fight time, but at least you get the impression you’ve arrived early), they hardly every lose luggage (because in order to take one suitcase you need to part with half your monthly salary – well, maybe that’s a little exaggerated) and I like their colour scheme (because I’m colour blind).

Joking apart, their prices may not always be competitive, but if you plan ahead, you can bag a bargain. And at the end of the day you’re not crossing the Atlantic, so who needs free coffee and in-flight entertainment? I’m interested in reaching my destination safe and sound. And Ryanair can guarantee that.

I’m exhausted because as I explained in an earlier post, I don’t particularly like flying. Even the whole airport experience tires me out. I anxiously drop off my luggage at the check-in desk hoping they won’t notice I’m carrying a few extra kilos of food, shoes, make up and other stuff I could’ve easily bought on the rock. I go through security with sweaty palms and armpits, because for some reason metal detectors hate me (and the speck, cheese, salami and cameras stored in glass IKEA jars that I carry along). I get pushed over when queuing to board the plane, maybe because I’m tiny and blonde, and I carry a flashy blue and green suitcase, sometimes adorned with stickers (I’m weird... and it helps me not to lose my carry-on). By the time I’ve settled in my seat next to some noisy, chubby fellow passenger unwrapping cheese sandwiches while we’re still on the runway, I’m knackered. It might take me a few days to recover (I’m old). Meanwhile, a totally unrelated question: why are we no longer clapping on Ryanair flights? That was my favourite part!