The journey from airport to hotel would have been so much better undertaken in the dark. We'd arrived mid-morning, had been greeted by a cheery holiday rep who put us in a cab and waved us off, all the while trying to smile a happy smile even though she was getting thoroughly soaked to the skin. Apparently it hadn't rained in Corsica since May, and whoever or whatever controls the weather over there certainly knew how to pick the best possible moment to welcome us with a storm of monsoon proportions, with raindrops so large they could hit the ground and bounce back up your trouser legs, soaking you up to the knees of your jeans in ten seconds flat. Trying to make us Brits feel at home, no doubt. How kind.
Sitting back in the taxi my husband reached for my wet hand. I didn't look at him. Instead I continued to gaze through the steamy cab windows at the passing vista of crumbling high rise flats, industrial yards and derelict concrete buildings. I bit my lip to stop it quivering and wished I'd packed an umbrella and cyanide pill.
We arrived at the hotel which was surprisingly pretty considering it's urban surroundings, and my spirits began to lift. I gave myself a bit of a mental telling off for being so defeatist and silly. Maybe it was going to be OK after all. At reception we asked about getting some lunch, we'd been up since 4 a.m. and had avoided the in-flight cold bacon ciabbatta on the grounds that it looked like a bit of a health hazard, and now we were starving.
The bad news that this particular hotel had no food service at all apart from breakfast came as a bit of a shock to us, ditto the revelation that everything in the village would now be shut, it being Sunday lunchtime, and wouldn't be opening again until that evening. Perhaps. The only place we would be able to eat at this time of day was back in town, from where we had just come, and as we weren't due to pick up a hire car until the following morning, we were, quite frankly, buggered. And no, sorry, even though this is indeed a hotel in wine making country, we don't actually have a bottle of Corsican red in the so-called bar for you to take up to your room to help pass away the time until dinner.
So we started our holidays tired, wet and hungry. And just a little bit grumpy.
Things could only get better, right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
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9 comments:
oh dear. oh dear oh dear. oh dear oh dear oh dear.
Not sure what else to say. If it was france-proper I'd apologise on behalf of my adopted nation....
Travelling, whatever you do, don't mention the F word in Corsica. They don't like it up 'em.
Brace yourself, there's a lot more moaning to come yet before I've got it all out of my system.
Ohhhhh, I have a feeling there's more where that came from.
If at all possible, ALWAYS pack an emergency bottle of wine. I have learnt my lesson many times....
You are so right Pam, but travelling with large volumes of liquid is frowned upon these days, and believe me we needed a LARGE volume of liquid by the time we got there.
Had also drunk the miniature bottle of gin which I keep in my overnight bag on a previously stressful occasion, dammit.
UH-OH
UH-OH
UH-OHHHHHHHHHHH!
Awaiting next installment. (Although I want to know the travel company that allowed customers to travel on a night / early morning flight to a destination and hotel where there was no food available for hours!!!)
Was it that bad - get swearing girl release the angst
My wife and I had much the same experience in the days when Scotland was shut on Sundays. Luckily we had brought a fruit cake with us - it had to last the whole day.
Looking forward to more misery ...
Life without eats is unthinkable.
Oh. I wasn't expecting that. I hope that it wasn't all bad.
If it's any consolation, I've had some holidays abroad that I really could have done without. Come to think of it, I've had some holidays in this country that I could have done without, too!
Waiting for the next episode with some trepidation!
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