I hate flying. Just in general. Flying alone or with children, it doesn't matter, I don't like flying.
It's not that I'm scared in a flying machine like that, it's not. But the long sitting still and the small toilets do not invite you to feel at home. If you're still unlucky, a smelly Asian will sit next to you. Not a bad word about those people, but my nose doesn't pull the amount of garlic out of their pores. What I really hate about flying with children is the eternal wait at such an airport. Not to mention the filthy toilets, howling children and the horrible food at some airports – I'm not talking about Schiphol, of course.
So we went to Portugal with our whole family. Fantastic country. Great food, nice people and beautiful weather for two weeks. Unfortunately, everything comes to an end and so does our vacation. And the return journey proved once again that flying with children is an art in itself.
'Two hours delay?'
I barely scream in disgust as I look at the screen at the departure times.
So that means hanging out at this filthy airport even longer. Because of this tiny airport at the Algarve you don't feel the need to stick around (while everything sticks and so do I). I look around desperately, hoping to find a place in this hole. All the eateries are packed with stranded travelers so there is little hope for us. Husband leads crankily and everyone trudges after him. We are hungry and we are tired. Little Man whines and brans. Mommy, my legs are tired. I'm hungry. I want McDonalds. I don't like all the food here. When are we going to fly? Why does it take so long? My legs can't take anymore mommy. Can we sit somewhere?
Yes, we all want to sit. Look, that's what I mean. Flying with children is already a challenge, let alone when there is a delay.
I bump Husband with my elbow. “There!” I point to a couple of tables away. Four faces look at me sleepily.
"Spot!" I hiss.
Still no one seems to get me, so I wriggle my way through the sweating crowd with Little Man by my hand. I no longer care that the table has food for the mice. I want to sit. Two teenagers are still dreaming about their love life while I try to get a table.
"Hurry up, the chairs here have legs."
There we are:exhausted, irritated and hungry. The moment we discuss who wants to eat what – no dear, they don't have McDonalds here – a small round woman suddenly stands in front of me. "You must have something to eat when you sit down here," she says in a penetrating tone.
Not much more needs to be done to get me against the ceiling. I moan that she should mind her own business and turn my back on her. Five pairs of eyes stare at me in shock. When we discuss who is going to get up to get food, the atmosphere does not improve much and when Little Man also knocks over his drink – while it doesn't matter to the slice on the table – I get a nervous breakdown.
So as not to burst out crying in everyone's presence, I walk away for a while and glance at the itinerary to see if our flight accidentally goes even earlier. But unfortunately. My patience is being tested. Waiting on the way there is rewarded, but back there is a pile of laundry waiting. And that suddenly sounds like music to my ears.
-x-
Ievy
