Tenerife - Rife Indeed
21st March 2020
Tenerife: 'Tenareef' or 'Tenor ReeFay'? - clearly Tenareef I would say, literally as it were.
You don't say 'the old trouble and stryFay is in the kitchen'. Not many people say that these days anyway. Haven't listen to any rap but I'm sure they don't use that phrase. Maybe garage rappers do, if the wife is in the garage (I'm out on a limb here not knowing exactly why garages are an integral part of some rapping).
I digress - so I've been back nearly a week now from a workshop in Tenerife. Given the Covid-19 virus issues I diligently kept an eye on the Government advice on travel. I assumed Boris was awake and paying attention. Not having the worlds best sense of direction or ability to remember where places are, I was pretty sure that Tenerife wasn't in China or Iran and so wasn't on the Foreign Office list of places to avoid. All system go I thought. Its in Spain - what could go wrong.
Arrived in Tenerife no problem but dressed like an Englishman abroad. Well, jeans and a jumper which is always the problem. Do you go dressed for UK weather when you leave or Spanish weather when you arrive. In my opinion, men should only ever wear flip flops reluctantly on the beach and never as normal footwear. Young chaps with a penchant for flip flops in the centre of Sheffield might as well just be walking around with underpants on their heads and their arses painted purple as far as I'm concerned. A sturdy pair of trainers will always suffice. So arrival day was Wednesday.
Winding Tenerife hairpin bends took their toll in the back of the almost unairconditioned van and I felt a tad queasy for most of Thursday. Friday I felt better. More air and sat middle of the van. I assume its like being on a boat where either end rocks around more. Unlike being on a ship there are no opportunities for deck quoits in a van. Disappointingly short on space.
That brought us to Saturday when things were beginning to look more serious. Football was cancelled and Boris had woken up and decided that if we all huddled together to catch a bit of the old virus then we'd all be fine. After all, we left Europe so lets do exactly the opposite of what those Johnny Foreigners think is a good idea.
Spain meanwhile had decided to begin a lockdown which, thanks to mobile phones, our intrepid band of photographers had noticed. So Plan A - go to La Palma on a ferry with no guarantee of getting back off the island or Plan B - get out, go home on the next available flight. After a long debate of several seconds we decided to book a new flight home. So again thanks to mobile phones, sitting in a van in a Spanish car park (having moved the deck quoits to one side) I managed to book a BA Club Class trip back to Heathrow via Madrid. Club Class was cheaper than economy by the way. Although when it comes to crisis travel I like to have a free lunch thrown in.
Only problem being that my car was at Gatwick.
Heading off to Tenerife airport after a leisurely morning spent setting fire to trees with twirling wire wool (ok - no woods were damaged) we set off for the airport. Again due to my canny survival instinct having bought a Club class ticket we didn't have any problems with queuing. The Club lounge was full and, although I asked, they did not in fact know who I was, so we didn't get in. After an hour delay, we headed off to Madrid.
Madrid. That was different. Lots more closed shops and officials barking instructions. Stand 1m apart. Get a hair cut etc.
This time the Club lounge was a visible but we had to get past security. As Security didn't speak English, with a bit of shoulder shrugging and pointing we mutually agreed we could take our chances by heading past his zone of responsibility and made it to the lounge. A very nice lounge it was to. I think they could tell I wasn't a regular Club Class passenger but I styled it out well with a single doffing of my cap as all Businessmen probably do.
We sat on the tarmac and were informed the towing tractor has become stuck to the plane. That got fixed. I assume a hammer was involved. We set off to the runway. We came back from the runway. Hitting it with a hammer had set off a warning light of in the cockpit. Engineers were called to turn off the main switch and turn it back on again. The warning light was off - we were go for launch. 4 hours late but hey that was ok.
So I made it back. The moral of the story. The strain in Spain ends mainly on a plane.
You don't say 'the old trouble and stryFay is in the kitchen'. Not many people say that these days anyway. Haven't listen to any rap but I'm sure they don't use that phrase. Maybe garage rappers do, if the wife is in the garage (I'm out on a limb here not knowing exactly why garages are an integral part of some rapping).
I digress - so I've been back nearly a week now from a workshop in Tenerife. Given the Covid-19 virus issues I diligently kept an eye on the Government advice on travel. I assumed Boris was awake and paying attention. Not having the worlds best sense of direction or ability to remember where places are, I was pretty sure that Tenerife wasn't in China or Iran and so wasn't on the Foreign Office list of places to avoid. All system go I thought. Its in Spain - what could go wrong.
Arrived in Tenerife no problem but dressed like an Englishman abroad. Well, jeans and a jumper which is always the problem. Do you go dressed for UK weather when you leave or Spanish weather when you arrive. In my opinion, men should only ever wear flip flops reluctantly on the beach and never as normal footwear. Young chaps with a penchant for flip flops in the centre of Sheffield might as well just be walking around with underpants on their heads and their arses painted purple as far as I'm concerned. A sturdy pair of trainers will always suffice. So arrival day was Wednesday.
Winding Tenerife hairpin bends took their toll in the back of the almost unairconditioned van and I felt a tad queasy for most of Thursday. Friday I felt better. More air and sat middle of the van. I assume its like being on a boat where either end rocks around more. Unlike being on a ship there are no opportunities for deck quoits in a van. Disappointingly short on space.
That brought us to Saturday when things were beginning to look more serious. Football was cancelled and Boris had woken up and decided that if we all huddled together to catch a bit of the old virus then we'd all be fine. After all, we left Europe so lets do exactly the opposite of what those Johnny Foreigners think is a good idea.
Spain meanwhile had decided to begin a lockdown which, thanks to mobile phones, our intrepid band of photographers had noticed. So Plan A - go to La Palma on a ferry with no guarantee of getting back off the island or Plan B - get out, go home on the next available flight. After a long debate of several seconds we decided to book a new flight home. So again thanks to mobile phones, sitting in a van in a Spanish car park (having moved the deck quoits to one side) I managed to book a BA Club Class trip back to Heathrow via Madrid. Club Class was cheaper than economy by the way. Although when it comes to crisis travel I like to have a free lunch thrown in.
Only problem being that my car was at Gatwick.
Heading off to Tenerife airport after a leisurely morning spent setting fire to trees with twirling wire wool (ok - no woods were damaged) we set off for the airport. Again due to my canny survival instinct having bought a Club class ticket we didn't have any problems with queuing. The Club lounge was full and, although I asked, they did not in fact know who I was, so we didn't get in. After an hour delay, we headed off to Madrid.
Madrid. That was different. Lots more closed shops and officials barking instructions. Stand 1m apart. Get a hair cut etc.
This time the Club lounge was a visible but we had to get past security. As Security didn't speak English, with a bit of shoulder shrugging and pointing we mutually agreed we could take our chances by heading past his zone of responsibility and made it to the lounge. A very nice lounge it was to. I think they could tell I wasn't a regular Club Class passenger but I styled it out well with a single doffing of my cap as all Businessmen probably do.
We sat on the tarmac and were informed the towing tractor has become stuck to the plane. That got fixed. I assume a hammer was involved. We set off to the runway. We came back from the runway. Hitting it with a hammer had set off a warning light of in the cockpit. Engineers were called to turn off the main switch and turn it back on again. The warning light was off - we were go for launch. 4 hours late but hey that was ok.
So I made it back. The moral of the story. The strain in Spain ends mainly on a plane.