A Classified View
Four play Europe Jane Ardizzone writes: Heathrow, Sunday, three guys and a girl off to five European cities in five days, all business, no pleasure. Tee hee. John and Stewart both laden and Ralph's case is more of a walk-in wardrobe. Guess who is doing it on hand luggage? Good BA flight to Stockholm, pity it's closed: everything shut by lOpm. Sheraton hotel bar seems the only place to go, but the staff are disgruntled and try to hustle US Off CO OUT rooms. Monday no better, rush hour looks like Sunday afternoon in Chipping Sodbury. It seems Stockholm is bringing in congestion charging. Why? Pull forward flight to Frankfurt. There is absolutely no security at the airport. no baggage check, no passports, we amble through. SAS flight nearly as good as BA. Just surprised that they hand out metal cutlery.
Ah. Frankfurt, quelle difference, great atmosphere, Hilton superb. Ralph has been here before so gets to be Akela for the night. Takes us to a fabulous restaurant, the Schwanen Stern, lovely old building, we sit outside watching people promenade around the square. Hurrah for civilisation and animation. Duck, lamb and chocolate mousse and lots of excellent Alsace. Go to bed, discover I am wearing my thong sideways. is that why I feel a bit tight?
Frankfurt to Milan, a fiasco; supposed to be Lufthansa, check in and they give us Economy tickets on Air Dolomiti, tell us there is no Business Class. Walk 10 miles to the lounge, twice through passport control. Blag our way in, feeling murderous. Rotten lounge, no food. John gets super-cross and demands that they sort out our tickets and finally they discover there is a Business Class and upgrade our seats. Finally on our way, flight not bad, again metal cutlery
and pilot's cabin unlocked, with much toing and froing.
Arrive Milan and book in at the Jolly Hotel, near the Duorno and nearly next door to our office. Lovely feel to the city. Dump bags and off for a drink and a meal. Terrific food, Parma ham and melon, asso bucco and heroic quantities of Prosecco. Lots of beautiful girls for Ralph and Stewart to look at. John and I discuss the merits of the boys. We decide it is about time to take Stewart out on a girl hunt and fetch up at the G bar which turns out to be mostly gay but we teach him the intricacies of the pick-up with the help of a nearby lamp post. He will be tested on these skills once we get to Madrid. On the way back John suggests that Stewart ask for an extra pink or blue pillow at the hotel. Euphemism apparently, work it out. Next day we three look and feel like hell. After the meeting Ralph pulls out a map of Frankfurt, can't he right. None of us can remember what day it is. Hang on, it's Wednesday afternoon so it must he Italy. Off for a few hours of retail therapy. Boys all buy something, Ralph gets a beautiful suede jacket. How come I can't find any shoes I like in Milan?
Long trek out to Malpensa for flight to Athens on Olympic Airways, A million-mile trek to the lounge but pale blue recliners. Bliss. Seats are Business Class in name only. Pilot's cabin open all flight with stewardesses popping in and out. Food filthy, metal cutlery again. Don't terrorists travel in Europe?
Very late into Athens. I'm Akela. Too late for the Plaka tonight, everything will be closed and there is nothing around the area of the Divani Caravel hotel. Up on the pool floor, the boys take photos of the Acropolis at night and we're kicked out of the bar at lam. Divani has the best breakfast, everything you could possibly want plus lots you wouldn't. Decide that there is no time to get to the Plaka, too far assay, and the Athens traffic is nightmarish, so we sit by the
pool and chill out for a couple of hours. Long hot journey to the office and then on to the airport.
Iffy lounge. Iberia flight to Madrid. At least we get plastic knives this time but metal everything else and proper glasses. John is conquering his fear of flying, terror abating with each flight. This time he has decided he is going to sit in the window-seat which is more than I can manage. We all watch him out of the corners of our eyes to make sure he is OK. All goes well, looks like he's beaten it.
It's a long flight, I'm tired and I want to go home. A seemingly endless wait on the ground at Barcelona. We all hope Madrid will be good. We fly through the clouds at sunset on entry to Madrid, very Michael Moorcock vista. God, I want a cigarette. Pull out the emergency Nicorette which makes me cough and gives me a headache but at least it stops the craving.
Fabulous hotel, the Villa Magna Hyatt, beautiful old-style Spanish. I've died and gone to heaven. Down to the Place Major to check out the nightlife. So many' bars. Like Milan, Madrid has no gay bars as such, all mix in together. Wander around a few bars, dance a bit, last night of the trip, we can relax. Bit of an antitourist feeling off the beaten track. Nobody gorgeous catches Stewart's eye seems a waste of that lamp post. Back at the hotel, the breakfast card needs to be on the door before 4am, Omigod. is it really that time? Breakfast arrives at nine, wonderful, perfectly boiled eggs. Ralph calls, meet downstairs at 10.30am. Perfect plenty of time to finish my pot of coffee and contemplate the world over a ciggie, and off to the last meeting. Panic, rush, rush. meeting was for 10am not llam! Can we make it by 10.30am? Meeting goes well, we try for an earlier plane, and just make it on to Iberia 2.35pm. Shorter flight than BA. Plastic cutlery and glasses, must be UK-bound. Yippee! Should make it to Soho early tonight for a large vodka & T or three. What a bonus.
Previous page
