And gloomy it is in the UK. It was a wrench to leave Andalucia’s blue sky and confetti of pink almond blossom scattering the paths. It’s not the first time – and not forever – we’ve made several trips back home.
We jumped on board the carousel of airport lounges, airline seats and airline food. We opted out of oysters and champagne this time, instead, choosing pretzels and Respiral sweets. We’re unsure if Respiral are actually sweets or, like Tunes, which unblock the airwaves, something you’re meant to have one or two of. M ate 80 of them, one after the other. With a head like candy floss – and almost choking on a lozenge during some turbulence (oh, the irony!) – the gin and tonic did taste odd.
A man with a huge felt hat quizzed the hostess on every item on the trolley. What did he expect, Lobster Thermidor?
The safety information card of ants escaping from a toy plane was studied in great depth. The sick bag was missing. Then that moment came like it does on most flights, when the ‘broken sewer’ smell drifts up the aisle and people glance at the possible suspect. A six-day bout of constipation or rotten meat curry the day before, who knows. Where was that sick bag…
Flying over Spain is lovely. Villages, like pieces of a jigsaw pressed into the mountain side, can be spotted, the sunlight still to reach them. The Sierra Nevada looks amazing from whatever angle you view it. Now from above with the snow, it’s even more spectacular.
You stare at the blue with the iceberg clouds which suddenly become a blinding cushion of cloud, mimicking a Hollywood heaven. It’s easy to drift off – normally to be woken by a sneezing passenger (that sore throat will arrive in about 48 hours).
Using his phone’s screen, M spent time reflecting sunlight onto hat man’s face while he slept. The attempt at burning off a mole didn’t work. Time to suck on sweet number 78 as the plane descended. The needle-in-the-ears pain doesn’t strike this time.
The plane landed, everyone got out of their seats far too early, hunching beneath the overhead lockers and breathed in the cabin’s Alpine air.
It was raining. It was England’s green and pleasant land.
© con jamón spain