Cyprus: Getting Here
By booking directly with the guy who owns the villa out here we were not tied to flights and times and - perhaps surprisingly - British Airways offered us by far the best deal. A lot cheaper than the likes of FirstChoice and without the need for an early start, the flight out was rather good. Sam worked out how to check in to the de-restricted Club Class row of seats so I enjoyed ample leg-room, and an extra table in lieu of a middle seat in the row. Food (and drinks) were complimentary and all started well.
Unfortunately, 25 minutes before landing it transpired that a plane had burst its tyres upon landing at Paphos and was blocking the runway. This meant that we had to divert to Larnaca, which was an inconvenience but not without its novelty value. It's just as well, I guess, that Cyprus has more than one airport. Paphos did not reopen in time for us to take off again and fly there, so this meant it was time for a bus transfer.
One plane of people in to one bus does not go. Nor do all the people fit in two buses, even when some are standing down the aisle. So a handful of us were left in the car-park awaiting another bus. It gets dark quite early on in Cyprus, and it felt as though it was about 3am, but it was all really chilled out. Eventually a bus rocked up and I sat back and peered out through the darkness as we made our way along the motorway. Passing several McDonald's arches, we really could have been anywhere, and it was difficult to make out much scenery (though the stars were impressive).
However, it was as I was sat back on this rather non-descript journey that I thought 'this is blogworthy'. If you're wanting a description of the bus, you've come to the wrong place. If you're wanting tales of a near death experience however, read on...
I first thought that something was up when - negotiating some roadworks - the engine started to rev really loudly. Something is wrong with the bus, I thought. I continued to think this as we continued along an empty motorway, with the engine revving but without the speed to go with it. But then as I noticed that other cars were flashing their lights at us, and I was alerted to the fact that we were not heading straight down a straight road I thought 'something is wrong with the drver' instead. Was he drunk or just overtired? I know not, but as we counted down the kilometres to Paphos things became worse. We started weaving over to the hard-shoulder and back again and the gear changes and braking became increasingly erratic. The driver's inability to drive in anything resembling a straight line became so bad that one of the other passengers resorted to going forwards and asking him if all was OK. Some humourous hand-gestures were used in conveying the message that the constant weaving was a bit concerning but apparently "all was OK" and we continued to lurch towards our destination. Being in such a badly driven vehicle with no control over the situation was certainly an experience, but fortunately we didn't hit anything or career down a ravine.
Arrival at Paphos was surreal, as the airport was closed and deserted, aside from the crashed plane which was still on the runway. In the midst of all the diversions and delays the plans to be met by someone with a car had evidently gone a bit awry. The problem was solved with a quick phone call to Theo. As chilled out as you could hope for, the voice at the other end directed us to a Daewoo Kalos "parked between Departures and Arrivals, with the keys under the mat" and said "see you at Zouk". How James Bond (Daewoo aside). Paperwork and payment for the car was evidently not important, and could wait until (much) later on in the holiday; all that remained was 35 minutes of high speed (but sober) driving and our destination was reached.
Unfortunately, 25 minutes before landing it transpired that a plane had burst its tyres upon landing at Paphos and was blocking the runway. This meant that we had to divert to Larnaca, which was an inconvenience but not without its novelty value. It's just as well, I guess, that Cyprus has more than one airport. Paphos did not reopen in time for us to take off again and fly there, so this meant it was time for a bus transfer.
One plane of people in to one bus does not go. Nor do all the people fit in two buses, even when some are standing down the aisle. So a handful of us were left in the car-park awaiting another bus. It gets dark quite early on in Cyprus, and it felt as though it was about 3am, but it was all really chilled out. Eventually a bus rocked up and I sat back and peered out through the darkness as we made our way along the motorway. Passing several McDonald's arches, we really could have been anywhere, and it was difficult to make out much scenery (though the stars were impressive).
However, it was as I was sat back on this rather non-descript journey that I thought 'this is blogworthy'. If you're wanting a description of the bus, you've come to the wrong place. If you're wanting tales of a near death experience however, read on...
I first thought that something was up when - negotiating some roadworks - the engine started to rev really loudly. Something is wrong with the bus, I thought. I continued to think this as we continued along an empty motorway, with the engine revving but without the speed to go with it. But then as I noticed that other cars were flashing their lights at us, and I was alerted to the fact that we were not heading straight down a straight road I thought 'something is wrong with the drver' instead. Was he drunk or just overtired? I know not, but as we counted down the kilometres to Paphos things became worse. We started weaving over to the hard-shoulder and back again and the gear changes and braking became increasingly erratic. The driver's inability to drive in anything resembling a straight line became so bad that one of the other passengers resorted to going forwards and asking him if all was OK. Some humourous hand-gestures were used in conveying the message that the constant weaving was a bit concerning but apparently "all was OK" and we continued to lurch towards our destination. Being in such a badly driven vehicle with no control over the situation was certainly an experience, but fortunately we didn't hit anything or career down a ravine.
Arrival at Paphos was surreal, as the airport was closed and deserted, aside from the crashed plane which was still on the runway. In the midst of all the diversions and delays the plans to be met by someone with a car had evidently gone a bit awry. The problem was solved with a quick phone call to Theo. As chilled out as you could hope for, the voice at the other end directed us to a Daewoo Kalos "parked between Departures and Arrivals, with the keys under the mat" and said "see you at Zouk". How James Bond (Daewoo aside). Paperwork and payment for the car was evidently not important, and could wait until (much) later on in the holiday; all that remained was 35 minutes of high speed (but sober) driving and our destination was reached.
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