Flight friction
Jeremy Clarke We've just been on one of those allinclusive, lie-by-the-pool-and-drink-as muchas-you-can-in-a-week-type holidays in the Dominican Republic. Which is just as well as it has taken us the best part of the week to recover from the 11-hour flight and the ill-treatment I received from the air-hostess. The bloody woman wouldn't leave me alone. First she told me to put my shoes back on. Then she had a right go at me because my seat-belt buckle was facing the wrong way.
Standing in the aisle and having a stretch was strictly verboten too. Whenever I stood up to get something out of the overhead locker she appeared at my side to supervise the operation. 'Why can't I stand up?' I pleaded, pointing to those passengers fortunate enough to be beyond her jurisdiction who were strolling about in the aisles or chatting affably with friends.
'Safety regulations.' she said tartly. 'If there's a fire, we'll all want to get out as soon as possible, and you'll be in the way.'
I stayed put in the aisle, promising her that if a fire broke out I'd sit down again. She flounced away. From then on it was all-out war.
Our supper trays were slammed down in front of us and we missed out on the bread rolls, the second cup of coffee and the hot flannels. If my shoulder protruded an inch into the aisle she bashed it with a thigh as she strode past. I retaliated by staring at her. From my seat I could look right down the aisle at her as she talked to her mates in the galley. I thought this was having little or no impression until about an hour before we landed, when she had a sudden change of heart and started winking at me, clumsily, as though trying it out for the first time. Odd.
We had hoped that it was going to he hot, but the fierceness of the sun as we stepped out of the airport and headed for the mini-bus was outrageous. 'Sorry about the weather,' apologised Dickie, our sweating, red-faced holiday rep, as he welcomed us aboard. 'Only 39 degrees this morning.'
Dickie was from Burnley. As soon as we arrived at the hotel he gave a little introductory talk. It was brief and kept to the essentials. 'Unfortunately, all drinks after 11 o'clock at night have to be paid for in cash,' he apologised. 'So what I suggest to everybody is go to the bar about ten to, while the drinks are still free, and order as many drinks as you can carry. Say four or five each. That should keep you going for a bit. Oh, and guys, don't go outside the hotel after dark unless you're looking for prostitutes. Any questions?'
I shoved up my hand and asked whether it was possible to buy marijuana on the island.
'Well, I've been here four and a half months and I've not seen any, smelt any, or been offered any. Sorry about that! By the way, folks, it's karaoke night tonight. Anybody still standing up at half-eight, make your way over to the theatre and join us. Always a good night, that one. Any other questions?'
A forward-thinking, lily-white skinhead. with the word 'Light' tattooed above his right nipple and 'Bitter. above his left, politely asked about the duty-free allowance for the return journey. 'Great question,' said Dickie, dinging an imaginary bell with his right hand. 'Fantastic. Anybody here know? Well, it's one bottle of spirits and 200 ciggies, but if you're thinking of taking any more than that home with you — bloody good luck to you!'
It was so hot all week that the most we could do was lie in one of the outdoor Jacuzzis all day sucking ice-cold cocktails through a straw. To vary the routine sometimes we lay under a tree in a hammock and drank Sex on the Beaches instead of Foolish Virgins. Our puritan consciences did get the better of us one day, however, and we took the guide-led bicycle tour of Sosua town. We went so slowly in the blistering heat that it was difficult staying upright. After about 200 yards our guide motioned us to park our bikes against a wall, shepherded us into the shade of a nearby beach bar and called for a round of drinks. That was the bike tour. When we came out again his bike had been stolen.
Previous page
