Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
The Spanish Snappery Fiesta
by admin - 22:31 on 09 May 2014
Cloudless skies, a soft breeze taking the edge off 24C temperatures – Menorca is a good place to be. Matchgirl, stuck on Kessock Bridge traffic and beset by drizzle, may have momentarily regretted her decision to stay at home when she received my text but I'm sure she'll pull through.
The flight from Inverness to Gatwick was uneventful, as was my overnight stay in the Gatwick Hilton. Events began this morning when I quit the hotel at 7am and ambled over to the Monarch Airlines bag drop to find a scene from the evacuation of Saigon. The place was mobbed. Shame the bag drop didn't open yesterday evening.
Fortunately, for those of us with the foresight to check in online (a surprisingly small number) the queue wasn't desperate, but the news was – our flight was now in the hands of Titan and the breakfast I'd paid for, and to which I was looking forward with keen anticipation, would not be served.
Security was negotiated in a record five minutes – the beeper didn't even go off – and shortly afterwards I found myself in Monarch's drab departure lounge surrounded by people with “Fit To Fly” labels on their hand luggage, even though many of them manifestly weren't. Menorca must currently be a magnet for the aged infirm traveller. I'd assumed this was a budget travel company but later learned that the labels were attached after a weight and size check. Why my camera bag wasn't subjected to this indignity I don't know.
The flight was better than I'd hoped, despite the lack of food – I got the extra legroom seat I'd paid for and the wailing children were well away at the back of the plane. Result. And Mahon Airport was bathed in the aforementioned 24C heat. Splendid.
PhotoActive Philip, leader of the Spanish Snappery Fiesta, was there to collect me and five other group members who'd arrived on various flights. From there we were minibussed to the Hotel S'Algar where we'll spend the next seven nights. After lunch in the village square, drinks in the hotel bar, dinner in the restaurant and a briefing from Philip and his glamorous assistant, Norene, we were well integrated and looking forward to a week's snappery.
The hotel (adults only; it's not how that sounds) is a decent spot, marred only by idiosyncratic broadband, so don't be surprised if blog posts are erratic.
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