A Ryanair Moment

The air hostess stows my bag under the drinks trolley and makes me put my jacket on for take-off. The French man next to me rather resents being told that he too must put his on, and splutters and flaps for a while. The hostess nods and smiles and looks like she wants to slit his throat. My first Ryanair flight and I can barely force my legs under the seat in front of me. Welcome to the ten quid carrier. Would you like to buy a drink? Ice is extra.

One of the reasons budget carriers are able to offer their flights so cheaply is because they fly into tiny rural airports miles from anywhere and rely on bus connections to ferry you back and forth from the city you’re actually aiming for. Such was the case with Milan to Paris: our plane landed in Beauvais, some 80 kilometres north-east of Paris proper. A canvas tent shaking in the rain, while punters fight to jam their bags onto the bus and the bus drivers huddle together to light cigarettes.

Normally this would present little concern, but when you’re sick and it’s 11 pm and pouring with rain, all you want to do is crawl into bed and forget the day even existed. Ordered on a list, negotiating a long bus journey followed by a succession of metro transfers is right up there with attending knitting lessons and jabbing salad forks into your eyes.

Just after midnight, we make it to the station nearest the hotel I have scammed for 15 euro for the night. We climb the stairs and emerge in the middle of a red-light district and, given the way the day has progressed thus far, this does not surprise me the slightest. Neon tits flash into puddles on the near-empty streets and a man huddled in a doorway half-heartedly offers us a lap dance. Frankly, I doubt he would be up to the challenge.

Still, we find the hotel and it’s quiet and clean. The double bed in a room alone a welcome novelty after two days faced with an old man snoring so hard the walls shook. I lock the door and wander around naked for a while, just because I can. Then I watch some TV on my bed, just because I can. I consider drinking all the beer in the hotel fridge, just because I can, but decide against it after working out it would cost me approximately seven times what the room itself did.

In the morning, I’m up early and wander the streets of Montmarte in the drizzle. I find a café and duck inside. Leg 2, here we come.

Posted in Travel on Thursday February 7, 2008.