screaming I thought at first he knew something I didn’t. He was clutching his head and I realised his ears must have popped like mine as the cabin pressure dropped. Even asleep he must have felt it, but unlike me he didn’t have a boiled sweet to suck on. He freaked out, inconsolable. There was nothing I could say or do to comfort or distract him; not pointing out the view of white buildings for as far as the eye could see, not even saying over and over, again and again, ‘We’re going to see Nana, we’re going to see Nana.’
At least it took my mind off crashing, although even as I held my breath then gasped as the wheels of the Monarch airliner bounced down and the brakes squealed into action, I knew what Ben didn’t.
We’d be doing it all again in a couple of hours’ time.
It was 21 April 1991 and, as far as the tourist industry was concerned, still ‘closed season’, so there wouldn’t be any direct flights to Kos until the demand picked up later in the year. Consequently, Mum had told me to get to Athens then buy a domestic flight ticket to complete the journey. It sounded pretty straightforward. Mum said I had enough cash for a taxi to the domestic terminal and for flights to Kos. There wouldn’t be much change so I had to be frugal. That’s why we’d brought a packed lunch.
Ben was still upset as we reached the exit on the Monarch. Then the heat off the runway took his breath away and he just stared with wonder. I was doing the same. Even that early in the year, it was very, very warm. By Sheffield standards, it felt like stepping into a bath.
We went through passport control and found our luggage without a hitch. There was a rank of taxis immediately outside so we climbed in one and began stage three of our journey. I couldn’t get over how blue and uninterrupted the sky was, even so close to the terminal. I had such a good feeling about everything. We just needed to get through the trial of one more flight.
In fact, there was another hurdle much closer at hand.
As we pulled up outside the domestic terminal, I counted 2,000 drachmas from the small bundle in my purse. That was how much Mum had said the fare should be. That was how much I’d budgeted for. I lifted Ben out and we joined the cab driver at the boot of the car. As he flipped up the lid he said, ‘4,000 drachma.’
I’d already handed it over before I realised he hadn’t said 2,000.
He looked at the notes in my hand and shook his head. ‘4,000.’
‘That’s not right.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘It should be half that.’
He shrugged and closed the boot again – with our bags still inside.
‘4,000,’ he repeated.
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I’d only been in the country ten minutes and I was messing it up already. I could feel the tears welling. I wanted to be so strong for Ben. Now it was all going wrong. If I handed over another 2,000 drachmas, would I still be able to afford an aeroplane ticket? But what choice didI have? We hadn’t packed many things, but the bags in that boot contained all the possessions Ben and I had left in the world.
Welcome to Greece .
Ten minutes later, with Ben in one arm and dragging our bags with the other, I managed to find the ticket queue. According to the departures board in the hall, there was a flight leaving in under an hour. I took a deep breath and forced myself to picture Mum’s smiling face when we arrived. ‘We’re going to see Nana.’
When I reached the desk my worst fears became a reality. I was exactly 5,000 drachmas – about £11 – short of the ticket price. Not only had I overpaid the taxi driver but in my fluster to find the inflated price, I must have dropped some notes from my purse. The woman behind the counter waited for me to pay but I couldn’t even move. I just stood there, shell-shocked, disbelief and rage fighting to be uppermost, as I stared at the space in my purse where the rest of the money should have
At least it took my mind off crashing, although even as I held my breath then gasped as the wheels of the Monarch airliner bounced down and the brakes squealed into action, I knew what Ben didn’t.
We’d be doing it all again in a couple of hours’ time.
It was 21 April 1991 and, as far as the tourist industry was concerned, still ‘closed season’, so there wouldn’t be any direct flights to Kos until the demand picked up later in the year. Consequently, Mum had told me to get to Athens then buy a domestic flight ticket to complete the journey. It sounded pretty straightforward. Mum said I had enough cash for a taxi to the domestic terminal and for flights to Kos. There wouldn’t be much change so I had to be frugal. That’s why we’d brought a packed lunch.
Ben was still upset as we reached the exit on the Monarch. Then the heat off the runway took his breath away and he just stared with wonder. I was doing the same. Even that early in the year, it was very, very warm. By Sheffield standards, it felt like stepping into a bath.
We went through passport control and found our luggage without a hitch. There was a rank of taxis immediately outside so we climbed in one and began stage three of our journey. I couldn’t get over how blue and uninterrupted the sky was, even so close to the terminal. I had such a good feeling about everything. We just needed to get through the trial of one more flight.
In fact, there was another hurdle much closer at hand.
As we pulled up outside the domestic terminal, I counted 2,000 drachmas from the small bundle in my purse. That was how much Mum had said the fare should be. That was how much I’d budgeted for. I lifted Ben out and we joined the cab driver at the boot of the car. As he flipped up the lid he said, ‘4,000 drachma.’
I’d already handed it over before I realised he hadn’t said 2,000.
He looked at the notes in my hand and shook his head. ‘4,000.’
‘That’s not right.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘It should be half that.’
He shrugged and closed the boot again – with our bags still inside.
‘4,000,’ he repeated.
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I’d only been in the country ten minutes and I was messing it up already. I could feel the tears welling. I wanted to be so strong for Ben. Now it was all going wrong. If I handed over another 2,000 drachmas, would I still be able to afford an aeroplane ticket? But what choice didI have? We hadn’t packed many things, but the bags in that boot contained all the possessions Ben and I had left in the world.
Welcome to Greece .
Ten minutes later, with Ben in one arm and dragging our bags with the other, I managed to find the ticket queue. According to the departures board in the hall, there was a flight leaving in under an hour. I took a deep breath and forced myself to picture Mum’s smiling face when we arrived. ‘We’re going to see Nana.’
When I reached the desk my worst fears became a reality. I was exactly 5,000 drachmas – about £11 – short of the ticket price. Not only had I overpaid the taxi driver but in my fluster to find the inflated price, I must have dropped some notes from my purse. The woman behind the counter waited for me to pay but I couldn’t even move. I just stood there, shell-shocked, disbelief and rage fighting to be uppermost, as I stared at the space in my purse where the rest of the money should have
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