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Aug. 19th, 2010 05:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolWe got to Manchester in frighteningly efficient time, and even found a parking space in the shuttle park which is about three million miles away from Manchester Airport. It's in Wythenshawe, which has a pretty name for a part of Manchester that is basically a big car park. Still, we were there and ready hours and hours before our flight, so we drank wine and pre-bought sandwiches for the flight once we were through security. Please note the sandwiches. They are important for narrative flow.
We were flying EasyJet, which was... orange, but we got off the ground, I ate my sandwich and I started to feel a wee bit ill. Still, I am a notoriously poor traveller and I felt that it would pass.
About two hours into the flight, I lurched up the aisle and found to my dismay that the toilet was locked.
"Can I have a sick bag, please?" I asked the flight attendant. She gave me one and then panicked and tried to make me put my head between my legs.
"Are you going to pass out?" she asked, with the male flight attendent freaking out behind her.
"Um, no," I said. Whoever it was came out of the toilet. I was airsick, fortunately in the confines of the toilet. I haven't been since I was five and we went to Majorca and I threw up my Dad's hat. I must give props to the flight attendents who were incredibly considerate and kind to me when I got back out and went back to my seat and wallowed in SHAME.
Needless the say, the airport transfer in the ridiculously hot weather wasn't super-duper either. Richie was very kind. I don't really remember checking in, and basically quietly passed out on the bed.
When we woke up the next morning, I was free to notice that actually we had a very nice room, with a lovely little view of a courtyard. My spirits were further cheered by a light breakfast by the pool, and then finding a sunlounger with a view of the sea and in stumbling distance of the bar. Did I mention we were all-inclusive?
I have to admit, I had all these lovely plans that we would Go Exploring and Do Stuff, but it was slightly hotter than I imagined so we only managed to get as far as the little town down the road on the first day, before slogging it back to the hotel for dinner (the food: well, we didn't go hungry and that is the best that can be said) and having free drinks at one of the hotel bars run by a Geordie.
Half way through the night, Richie saved my life! I heard a load crash and suddenly he had grabbed me and moved my head out of the way; I was somewhat confused, until I turned around to discover that the mostly metal umbrellas had fallen down around me and to be honest would have probably done me a nasty injury. I blame this for why we didn't win the quiz they did that night.
The next day was a little cloudy, but cleared up after we'd taken a little wander down to the beach and still managed to get sunburnt. After heading back we had an afternoon in the sun, and in the evening ventured, um, next door to the hotel to a cocktail bar called the Jolly Roger, where we watched the sunset on the poop deck. It was just that kind of place. Cocktails were fabulous, dodgy caberset singer entertainment less so, free shots at the end of the night even better. Raki is the bastard lovechild of whiskey and tequila, but I quite liked it!
And the next day.... was just as lazy, actually. There is, I admit, a theme emerging. We did manage to venture out in the evening, though, to an Italian restaurant on the harbour where we ate the best meal of the week (hint: NOT IN THE HOTEL) and watched the sunset again. More free shots. I enjoy this lifestyle, especially as we had already drank a lot of wine and still went for cocktails in the evening.
On the Monday, though, we actually Did Stuff. We actually got up early for breakfast and got on a bus to the nearby port town of Agios Nikolaos, with a bus driver that looked like Mr Reynholm which was a tad disconcerting. It was a good journey, though, winding through the mountain under hearty air conditioning and getting to see some sights like a mountainside monastery and some 'real' towns. Agios Nikolaos was lovely too, but was not the puurpose of our journey! We were heading out to Spingalonga on a boat which apparently spoke every single language of the entire world, judging by the announcements made on it. We passed Elounda (a luxury resort town) and the sunken city of Olous which is apparently important, and watched the other tourists swim in the sea. I forgot my swimwear, which is a mistake I am still rueing.
However, we eventually got to Spinalonga which used to be a leper colony. We had paid for the talk about what Spinalonga was, and it was actually really interesting, although the tour guide was keen to emphasise that being in a leper colony could have been worse. I'm not sure I agree, but there we go. The island was beautiful, but very very very hot and it was a bit of a relief to head back into the sea air when we left. We passed Kri-Kri Island on the way back, which I really wanted to see - wild goats! - but there were no goats on show. Alas.
We had a bit of chaos trying to get back to Spinalonga, and ended up on a replacement bus which didn't go into Sissi. Fortunately, the 2km walk back was flat and not too hot, and we got to see some non-touristy parts of the town, like gardens with goats and chickens in.
The cocktails went down very, very well that evening, though.
It was something of a rewarding lazy day on Tuesday, although we did venture out in the evening and do some awful touristy shopping. After shopping for El Familio, I ended up wandering past a jewellery shop, making slight keening noises at a ring. I had been making these keening noises at it for about three days, so Richie talked me into going in and buying it, and even went halves with me. It is spectacularly bling and I love it dearly. SPARKLY.
We had a quiet evening, and tried to remember how to play card games from our youth, whilst drinking terrible Cretan wine. "You know," I said thoughtfully, "if you think of it as sherry, rather than of wine, it's quite nice."
The next day was my 23rd birthday and I celebrated with cystitus. I decided the sensible thing to do was FREAK THE FUCK OUT, assuming it would get hideous (it normally does) and have to somehow explain it to a Greek doctor. Ended up crying. It was undignified. Fortunately, it significantly eased off during the day, although I drank my own body weight in water.
I had actually booked a massage for my birthday at the spa bit of the hotel, and although I was a bit dubious about going it was a good decision. The massage was relaxing, and the facial was just fabulous. I may be forced to go for a massage again, one day. Still, it was a rather subdued birthday, but in the evening we went to the beach and swam in the sea during sunseat like I'd been dying to do all week. That part was really, really lovely, nearly as lovely as my awesome birthday cards that Richie had bought along for me.
We'd managed to extend our stay at the hotel on the last day, so we didn't have to worry about being thrown out and we still got meals, etc, etc. I will admit that it ended up being another lazy day, but one that ended up boarding a coach at 8pm and heading out to Heraklion airport. The drive through Crete was instructive in terms of Why It Was A Good Idea Not To Go To Malia, mostly.
I was not sick on the flight back. I was asleep. I feel this is achievement, and given I then had to drive back from Manchester at 3am, a very wise one at that.
You know the rest, I think; came home, slept, turned quite ill indeed, antibiotics, hilarious rash, back in work. The whole trip feels so long ago, and so alien, sitting in the empty office and typing it all up while the computer systems quietly back up. It was a lovely holiday, though; I read far too many books, mostly Jane Austen (it's legitimate chick-lit, okay?), and only got a bit sunburnt, and oh, I wish I was still there.
Well, sort of. I spent yesterday evening running around the DIY stores of Southport looking for a green apron, or a green teatowel, or a green piece of material but apparently no one had any. At all. In all of Southport. I stomped back, and it turns out that Mum had had a mild redecorating fit and it throwing out all of our old cushions, which are HOORAY HOORAY bottle green. This meant I sat for two agonising hours fashioning a rudimentary apron. Why do I so desperately need a green apron? Well, I am going to Glasgow Collectormania at the weekend and I have decided that I am going to Get My Cosplay On. I have managed to scrounge together a River Song costume (it's very scrounged and based on the two minute Stormcage scene, but hell, I have the hair) and I have now finally finished a Sookie Stackhouse costume, hence the need for the green apron. It does not have any pockets and less than twenty-four hours ago it was a cushion, but I feel it's not bad for someone that is about as crafty as a dead cockroach.
As such, I am disappearing again for a few days. I will come back with photos!
We were flying EasyJet, which was... orange, but we got off the ground, I ate my sandwich and I started to feel a wee bit ill. Still, I am a notoriously poor traveller and I felt that it would pass.
About two hours into the flight, I lurched up the aisle and found to my dismay that the toilet was locked.
"Can I have a sick bag, please?" I asked the flight attendant. She gave me one and then panicked and tried to make me put my head between my legs.
"Are you going to pass out?" she asked, with the male flight attendent freaking out behind her.
"Um, no," I said. Whoever it was came out of the toilet. I was airsick, fortunately in the confines of the toilet. I haven't been since I was five and we went to Majorca and I threw up my Dad's hat. I must give props to the flight attendents who were incredibly considerate and kind to me when I got back out and went back to my seat and wallowed in SHAME.
Needless the say, the airport transfer in the ridiculously hot weather wasn't super-duper either. Richie was very kind. I don't really remember checking in, and basically quietly passed out on the bed.
When we woke up the next morning, I was free to notice that actually we had a very nice room, with a lovely little view of a courtyard. My spirits were further cheered by a light breakfast by the pool, and then finding a sunlounger with a view of the sea and in stumbling distance of the bar. Did I mention we were all-inclusive?
I have to admit, I had all these lovely plans that we would Go Exploring and Do Stuff, but it was slightly hotter than I imagined so we only managed to get as far as the little town down the road on the first day, before slogging it back to the hotel for dinner (the food: well, we didn't go hungry and that is the best that can be said) and having free drinks at one of the hotel bars run by a Geordie.
Half way through the night, Richie saved my life! I heard a load crash and suddenly he had grabbed me and moved my head out of the way; I was somewhat confused, until I turned around to discover that the mostly metal umbrellas had fallen down around me and to be honest would have probably done me a nasty injury. I blame this for why we didn't win the quiz they did that night.
The next day was a little cloudy, but cleared up after we'd taken a little wander down to the beach and still managed to get sunburnt. After heading back we had an afternoon in the sun, and in the evening ventured, um, next door to the hotel to a cocktail bar called the Jolly Roger, where we watched the sunset on the poop deck. It was just that kind of place. Cocktails were fabulous, dodgy caberset singer entertainment less so, free shots at the end of the night even better. Raki is the bastard lovechild of whiskey and tequila, but I quite liked it!
And the next day.... was just as lazy, actually. There is, I admit, a theme emerging. We did manage to venture out in the evening, though, to an Italian restaurant on the harbour where we ate the best meal of the week (hint: NOT IN THE HOTEL) and watched the sunset again. More free shots. I enjoy this lifestyle, especially as we had already drank a lot of wine and still went for cocktails in the evening.
On the Monday, though, we actually Did Stuff. We actually got up early for breakfast and got on a bus to the nearby port town of Agios Nikolaos, with a bus driver that looked like Mr Reynholm which was a tad disconcerting. It was a good journey, though, winding through the mountain under hearty air conditioning and getting to see some sights like a mountainside monastery and some 'real' towns. Agios Nikolaos was lovely too, but was not the puurpose of our journey! We were heading out to Spingalonga on a boat which apparently spoke every single language of the entire world, judging by the announcements made on it. We passed Elounda (a luxury resort town) and the sunken city of Olous which is apparently important, and watched the other tourists swim in the sea. I forgot my swimwear, which is a mistake I am still rueing.
However, we eventually got to Spinalonga which used to be a leper colony. We had paid for the talk about what Spinalonga was, and it was actually really interesting, although the tour guide was keen to emphasise that being in a leper colony could have been worse. I'm not sure I agree, but there we go. The island was beautiful, but very very very hot and it was a bit of a relief to head back into the sea air when we left. We passed Kri-Kri Island on the way back, which I really wanted to see - wild goats! - but there were no goats on show. Alas.
We had a bit of chaos trying to get back to Spinalonga, and ended up on a replacement bus which didn't go into Sissi. Fortunately, the 2km walk back was flat and not too hot, and we got to see some non-touristy parts of the town, like gardens with goats and chickens in.
The cocktails went down very, very well that evening, though.
It was something of a rewarding lazy day on Tuesday, although we did venture out in the evening and do some awful touristy shopping. After shopping for El Familio, I ended up wandering past a jewellery shop, making slight keening noises at a ring. I had been making these keening noises at it for about three days, so Richie talked me into going in and buying it, and even went halves with me. It is spectacularly bling and I love it dearly. SPARKLY.
We had a quiet evening, and tried to remember how to play card games from our youth, whilst drinking terrible Cretan wine. "You know," I said thoughtfully, "if you think of it as sherry, rather than of wine, it's quite nice."
The next day was my 23rd birthday and I celebrated with cystitus. I decided the sensible thing to do was FREAK THE FUCK OUT, assuming it would get hideous (it normally does) and have to somehow explain it to a Greek doctor. Ended up crying. It was undignified. Fortunately, it significantly eased off during the day, although I drank my own body weight in water.
I had actually booked a massage for my birthday at the spa bit of the hotel, and although I was a bit dubious about going it was a good decision. The massage was relaxing, and the facial was just fabulous. I may be forced to go for a massage again, one day. Still, it was a rather subdued birthday, but in the evening we went to the beach and swam in the sea during sunseat like I'd been dying to do all week. That part was really, really lovely, nearly as lovely as my awesome birthday cards that Richie had bought along for me.
We'd managed to extend our stay at the hotel on the last day, so we didn't have to worry about being thrown out and we still got meals, etc, etc. I will admit that it ended up being another lazy day, but one that ended up boarding a coach at 8pm and heading out to Heraklion airport. The drive through Crete was instructive in terms of Why It Was A Good Idea Not To Go To Malia, mostly.
I was not sick on the flight back. I was asleep. I feel this is achievement, and given I then had to drive back from Manchester at 3am, a very wise one at that.
You know the rest, I think; came home, slept, turned quite ill indeed, antibiotics, hilarious rash, back in work. The whole trip feels so long ago, and so alien, sitting in the empty office and typing it all up while the computer systems quietly back up. It was a lovely holiday, though; I read far too many books, mostly Jane Austen (it's legitimate chick-lit, okay?), and only got a bit sunburnt, and oh, I wish I was still there.
Well, sort of. I spent yesterday evening running around the DIY stores of Southport looking for a green apron, or a green teatowel, or a green piece of material but apparently no one had any. At all. In all of Southport. I stomped back, and it turns out that Mum had had a mild redecorating fit and it throwing out all of our old cushions, which are HOORAY HOORAY bottle green. This meant I sat for two agonising hours fashioning a rudimentary apron. Why do I so desperately need a green apron? Well, I am going to Glasgow Collectormania at the weekend and I have decided that I am going to Get My Cosplay On. I have managed to scrounge together a River Song costume (it's very scrounged and based on the two minute Stormcage scene, but hell, I have the hair) and I have now finally finished a Sookie Stackhouse costume, hence the need for the green apron. It does not have any pockets and less than twenty-four hours ago it was a cushion, but I feel it's not bad for someone that is about as crafty as a dead cockroach.
As such, I am disappearing again for a few days. I will come back with photos!
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Date: 2010-08-19 05:02 pm (UTC)