nickclayton
Active Member
If anybody gets chance to check out the island off-season go for it. It’s just so calm and relaxed. Last week I sat outside Mambo watching the sunset with birds singing in the palm tree; had free tapas with my drinks in San An; paid 20 euros a night for a double room; walked along deserted beaches; was offered a pass to Pacha which I had to turn down cos of my ferry time; sat in Ibiza Town outside the Sunset Bar listening to great chillout music. And I wasn’t even on holiday.
But, travelling to the island this time of year is time-consuming, not to say, expensive. Here’s the downside…
The plan was simple. I was to go to Ibiza to find a place to rent for the next 12 months as the basis of an experiment to see whether it is possible to be an international telecommuter. The theory is that it is as easy to interview people by phone and file copy by email from Ibiza as it is from Edinburgh. In the summer a direct flight from Edinburgh to Ibiza takes less than three hours…
I’m not expecting sympathy, but at this time of year it’s probably easier to get to the Australian outback from Edinburgh than to fly to, or more specifically, from Ibiza.
The story starts with a booking, actually a lot of bookings. Only one airline flies direct to Ibiza from the UK through the winter, that’s Air Berlin. What’s odd is that you can book a flight to Ibiza, but not from Ibiza. That’s because the “direct” flight actually goes via Palma Majorca. The plane arrives in Ibiza in the afternoon and then turns round and goes back to Palma. That means there are two options when you come back from Ibiza: you either pay more for the 20 minute flight from Ibiza to Palma than it costs to fly from Palma to London and you pay for a hotel room as well or you get the ferry which costs 20 euros (about 12 quid). Being tight-fisted I chose the ferry. Unfortunately, Spanish competition means that although there are three ferries operated by separate companies they all leave at the same time: 1.30am. Still, I thought, Palma’s not a bad place to kill a few hours. So before setting off to Ibiza I had booked return easyJet flights from London to Stansted, a flight to Ibiza, a flight from Palma, assorted hotels on the island and car hire. That’s when things began to get frustrating.
Living in Scotland meant that in order to fly from Stansted to Ibiza I had to stay overnight. However, I felt especially smug as my easyJet flight from Edinburgh had set me back just £1.49. And most airports these days have a selection of hotels within easy reach, usually including one of the budget chains. Not Stansted. There’s just the Hilton. After searching the web for hours I did find a place called the “Harlow Stansted Moat House” for £40. But when I phoned to find if they operated a shuttle bus to the airport they seemed surprised. “It’s 11 miles.” “So how do I get there?” “You’ll have to get a taxi.” “How much will that cost?” “About £20 each way.” By now the Hilton’s £75 charge seemed like a bargain, especially as they offered a courtesy coach. So I took it.
The trip had a bumpy start as I arrived at Edinburgh Airport, looked at the electronic notice board for my check-in desk and it said “Closed”. Fortunately they let me on and my £1.49 flight actually landed 10 minutes early. I arrived at the hotel and got as good a night’s sleep as you can under Stansted’s main flight path. (Now I know the first plane to take off on a Sunday morning is at 4.30am.) After checking out I made my way to the courtesy coach. “Have you got a ticket?” asked the driver. “You’ll have to pick one up from reception.” So I did. “That’ll be £2 sir,” said the receptionist. “But I thought it was a courtesy bus,” I replied. “It is a courtesy coach, not a complimentary coach,” she said, offering a distinction of such subtlety that it isn’t even recognised by my dictionary.
Anyway, the rest of the journey was uneventful to the point of providing me with a false sense of security. I had a pleasant few days in Ibiza and, hopefully, found the home of my dreams where I will live and work for the next 12 months.
The journey back even began smoothly enough. The ferry crossing was unbelievably smooth. Along with a dozen other passengers I even managed to get some sleep although the seats leave everybody with sore knees as you try to avoid sliding down. It was probably a mistake to decide to walk into the centre of Palma from the ferry terminal. I didn’t know it was about five miles.
Eventually I headed out to the airport, a good two hours before departure. It was the day after the Madrid bombing and I felt a little guilty because I thought this would delay me and that seemed a little callous. But, despite the airport coming to a halt for 15 minutes silence, most flights seemed to be going on time. So I went to the gate half an hour before departure and people were already being boarded. At least they were getting onto a bus. Then, just as the passenger in front was about to have his boarding card ripped, a member of the ground crew said: “There is a problem.” People who had already boarded were taken off. Once the plane was empty we watched it take off.
I must say that my fellow Brits at this point were not the most helpful. They started shouting impossible demands at the Air Berlin staff who clearly had no more idea of what was going on than we did. But the airline did seem to be making every effort to destroy the German stereotype of Teutonic efficiency. There were no Tannoy announcements. Information came from ground crew talking to small knots of passengers in German, Spanish or English. In fact what we were told was remarkably candid. “One of our planes has broken down and there are 130 people due on that flight and there are only 30 of you.”
Then we were told that Stansted passengers would be going to Hannover. Wonderful thing this European Union. Meanwhile I was due on an easyJet flight from Stansted to Edinburgh that was supposed to depart three hours after I was due from Palma. Changing that to a later departure meant paying a fortune in mobile phone bills to get my wife to go online to change it. And it cost another £80.
About three hours later we arrived in Hannover where we just had time for a beer before heading back to Stansted. Incidentally, one of my fellow passengers had his Swiss Army knife confiscated in Germany after walking through Spanish security with it in his pocket. This was the day after the Madrid bombings, remember. We were also asked by one of the Air Berlin managers why we were in Hannover…
Eventually back at Stansted, inevitably, easyJet regretted to announce a delay on the flight to Edinburgh. But four hours waiting at the airport flew by. Well, by then I didn’t care. I was numb. Another flight and I was back at Edinburgh Airport. It had taken me exactly 25 hours from the time I got on that ferry to the time when I picked up my baggage off the carousel. It was the first piece to come off. Wasn’t I lucky?
But, travelling to the island this time of year is time-consuming, not to say, expensive. Here’s the downside…
The plan was simple. I was to go to Ibiza to find a place to rent for the next 12 months as the basis of an experiment to see whether it is possible to be an international telecommuter. The theory is that it is as easy to interview people by phone and file copy by email from Ibiza as it is from Edinburgh. In the summer a direct flight from Edinburgh to Ibiza takes less than three hours…
I’m not expecting sympathy, but at this time of year it’s probably easier to get to the Australian outback from Edinburgh than to fly to, or more specifically, from Ibiza.
The story starts with a booking, actually a lot of bookings. Only one airline flies direct to Ibiza from the UK through the winter, that’s Air Berlin. What’s odd is that you can book a flight to Ibiza, but not from Ibiza. That’s because the “direct” flight actually goes via Palma Majorca. The plane arrives in Ibiza in the afternoon and then turns round and goes back to Palma. That means there are two options when you come back from Ibiza: you either pay more for the 20 minute flight from Ibiza to Palma than it costs to fly from Palma to London and you pay for a hotel room as well or you get the ferry which costs 20 euros (about 12 quid). Being tight-fisted I chose the ferry. Unfortunately, Spanish competition means that although there are three ferries operated by separate companies they all leave at the same time: 1.30am. Still, I thought, Palma’s not a bad place to kill a few hours. So before setting off to Ibiza I had booked return easyJet flights from London to Stansted, a flight to Ibiza, a flight from Palma, assorted hotels on the island and car hire. That’s when things began to get frustrating.
Living in Scotland meant that in order to fly from Stansted to Ibiza I had to stay overnight. However, I felt especially smug as my easyJet flight from Edinburgh had set me back just £1.49. And most airports these days have a selection of hotels within easy reach, usually including one of the budget chains. Not Stansted. There’s just the Hilton. After searching the web for hours I did find a place called the “Harlow Stansted Moat House” for £40. But when I phoned to find if they operated a shuttle bus to the airport they seemed surprised. “It’s 11 miles.” “So how do I get there?” “You’ll have to get a taxi.” “How much will that cost?” “About £20 each way.” By now the Hilton’s £75 charge seemed like a bargain, especially as they offered a courtesy coach. So I took it.
The trip had a bumpy start as I arrived at Edinburgh Airport, looked at the electronic notice board for my check-in desk and it said “Closed”. Fortunately they let me on and my £1.49 flight actually landed 10 minutes early. I arrived at the hotel and got as good a night’s sleep as you can under Stansted’s main flight path. (Now I know the first plane to take off on a Sunday morning is at 4.30am.) After checking out I made my way to the courtesy coach. “Have you got a ticket?” asked the driver. “You’ll have to pick one up from reception.” So I did. “That’ll be £2 sir,” said the receptionist. “But I thought it was a courtesy bus,” I replied. “It is a courtesy coach, not a complimentary coach,” she said, offering a distinction of such subtlety that it isn’t even recognised by my dictionary.
Anyway, the rest of the journey was uneventful to the point of providing me with a false sense of security. I had a pleasant few days in Ibiza and, hopefully, found the home of my dreams where I will live and work for the next 12 months.
The journey back even began smoothly enough. The ferry crossing was unbelievably smooth. Along with a dozen other passengers I even managed to get some sleep although the seats leave everybody with sore knees as you try to avoid sliding down. It was probably a mistake to decide to walk into the centre of Palma from the ferry terminal. I didn’t know it was about five miles.
Eventually I headed out to the airport, a good two hours before departure. It was the day after the Madrid bombing and I felt a little guilty because I thought this would delay me and that seemed a little callous. But, despite the airport coming to a halt for 15 minutes silence, most flights seemed to be going on time. So I went to the gate half an hour before departure and people were already being boarded. At least they were getting onto a bus. Then, just as the passenger in front was about to have his boarding card ripped, a member of the ground crew said: “There is a problem.” People who had already boarded were taken off. Once the plane was empty we watched it take off.
I must say that my fellow Brits at this point were not the most helpful. They started shouting impossible demands at the Air Berlin staff who clearly had no more idea of what was going on than we did. But the airline did seem to be making every effort to destroy the German stereotype of Teutonic efficiency. There were no Tannoy announcements. Information came from ground crew talking to small knots of passengers in German, Spanish or English. In fact what we were told was remarkably candid. “One of our planes has broken down and there are 130 people due on that flight and there are only 30 of you.”
Then we were told that Stansted passengers would be going to Hannover. Wonderful thing this European Union. Meanwhile I was due on an easyJet flight from Stansted to Edinburgh that was supposed to depart three hours after I was due from Palma. Changing that to a later departure meant paying a fortune in mobile phone bills to get my wife to go online to change it. And it cost another £80.
About three hours later we arrived in Hannover where we just had time for a beer before heading back to Stansted. Incidentally, one of my fellow passengers had his Swiss Army knife confiscated in Germany after walking through Spanish security with it in his pocket. This was the day after the Madrid bombings, remember. We were also asked by one of the Air Berlin managers why we were in Hannover…
Eventually back at Stansted, inevitably, easyJet regretted to announce a delay on the flight to Edinburgh. But four hours waiting at the airport flew by. Well, by then I didn’t care. I was numb. Another flight and I was back at Edinburgh Airport. It had taken me exactly 25 hours from the time I got on that ferry to the time when I picked up my baggage off the carousel. It was the first piece to come off. Wasn’t I lucky?
