I think it's safe to say my flight back to Nice last weekend was my most memorable to date. The highlights of an emergency landing in Italy and a full ten hours without disembarking meant it even outshone the time Ryanair decided to account for a missing passenger by doing a full register of every single person on my plane.
Ironically, I had only narrowly made the flight in the first place because despite arriving in time, a dubious new 'fast track' system at Liverpool was doing exactly the opposite of what it professed and creating problems. Watching hoards of people running to catch their flights would have been entertaining- if I hadn't been one of them. When I got to the gate after it had technically closed (but with over 20 people behind me) I thanked myself lucky I had made it. First mistake of the day.
The journey seemed fine until we approached Nice where the first clue that something was amiss came from the pilot 'We're just hovering at the moment due to bad weather, and the reason you can see an aeroplane a few thousand feet below us is because we're sharing the same airspace.' Mildly worrying, but I was sure the pilot knew what he was doing.
The next update, however, was a bit more exciting, since we didn't have enough fuel to 'hover' forever, or the capability of landing in an airport surrounded by a storm, we were off to do an emergency landing in Genoa, Italy. At this point, most of the passengers were viewing this as a bit of an adventure, especially when the emergency exits all suddenly lit up and the people next to me (Terry and Terry) informed me that this was not normal procedure.
On landing in Italy, the captain emerged to tell us that Nice airport was shut, other flights had diverted to Marseille and Turin, and to 'chill out and relax' for the time being whilst he got news. The babies and small children on the flight did not seem to want to 'chill out or relax' however. Babysitting tactics were quickly improvised involving the cockpit, relay lengths of the aisle and pens and paper for the more well behaved.
The 'short' stop in Genoa progressively lengthened, and one by one our available options diminished. Flying was out of the question because as soon as the storm subsided around Nice, its next destination of choice was of course, Italy. Plan B of a coach trip was quickly dropped when we were told that the whole of Genoa could only muster one coach between them. The idea of a hotel was thrown around and we were told a 'team in London' were working on it, but this never materialised.
To boost our morale, we had announcements at irregular intervals along the lines of 'the reason I haven't given you any news is, there is no news.' We were all pretty understanding, considering, and each of the pilot's speeches ended with an applause that gradually began to wane along with our patience several hours in. Easyjet then showed an excessive display of generosity for a budget airline by breaking into their supplies and giving us a soft drink and a packet of crisps each. Sadly this was the entire extent of their provisions and all we were given in what turned out to be, a total of ten hours on the plane.
In the end they decided to return us by navigating us around the storm. At this point safety procedures were repeated for a second time, and with good reason. The extreme turbulence on the return flight can only be described as a rollercoaster. The people around me clearly agreed if their swearing and seat clutching was anything to go by. Still, despite some major doubts on the way, we all made it in one piece and the captain landed us (surprisingly smoothly) to a polite and very British round of applause.
Now the early hours of the morning, we were all eager to get home to our beds, but first we had to battle our way through hundreds of people in the taxi queues. I shared one with a woman in her sixties who couldn't get in touch with her friend who had her apartment keys. So as she had nowhere to go, I let her stay at mine. The next morning, after awaking from a few uncomfortable hours on the sofa, I was very glad I hadn't left her on the streets since it turned out to be her birthday! Possibly not the day she was expecting! Before work, I manged to find her apartment and get hold of her friend- a small fiery Irish woman who had been out of her mind with worry. She told me I was a 'guardian angel' and that 'well if I didn't believe in God before, than beJesus I do now'
When I made it to work I was in such a zombie state I accepted an espresso from my boss without complaint. He found my story both funny and typically Helen, and suggested that maybe this meant it was time for me to get some good karma. Hoping this would be the case I sleepily opened my emails- to a rejection for a job I'd recently applied to.
I can only hope that maybe my good karma is just a bit delayed, or recovering from a diversion to Italy...
jacobvanloon