The time has come

The time has come.  I have left the country.  Not long term, you understand.  As I unerringly blog, sipping a dodgy glass of house white, I am serenaded by a piped out ‘Sleigh Ride’ by Leroy Anderson; fans are spinning; variously shaped members of the largely Great British public surround me, with the melodic buzzing of eloquent green frogs and geckos creating a unique and beautiful vocal back-drop. 

They call this a ‘holiday’; this allegedly is a time where people do something called ‘unwind’, read things they call ‘books’, do something known as ‘relaxing’.  It’s not something I’m overly familiar with, or which comes naturally to me, but they tell me it is a good idea, so, my friends, I have come to… Barbados.

I spent the night in an airport hotel, ready for the morning flight.  The hotel was so close to check-in that it may have well have been in check-in.  I practically slept beside the baggage drop.  The check-in process was remarkably more straightforward than my last check-in experience in Reykjavik, Iceland, which involved 22 tired young people, 6 tired adults and a group of overly unhelpful Icelandair staff. 

I breezed through security, disappointed not to be asked if I was over 16 (see previous blog) and into a WiFi-enabled airport lounge, where I munched a croissant, sipped glorious coffee, whilst making a plethora of work phone calls and firing off e-mails to try to ensure that everyone who needed a reply, had received one, prior to me jumping on an 8-hour flight.  The other morning, I went to have a shower; when I looked at my phone after my shower, I had 54 new e-mails.  I hasten to add that I was in the shower for a normal length of time, before you think I may have been in there for a week.

I boarded the flight and my eight hours of slumber was punctuated only by offers of ‘chicken or beef’ and ‘tea or coffee’ from friendly air-hostesses.  Good old BA.   None of this ‘£7 please’ when you order a sip of wine.   (see previous blog from April 2014).

There’s always a hint of anxiety when awaiting one’s bag.  When I flew back from Iceland with my delightful Guide unit in October, one of the bags was put on the wrong flight.  I still cannot fathom how that happened – ’28 bags? Let’s put 27 on one flight and 1 on the other!’ – but anyway, my bag took its time to appear.  But I was not fussed.   What’s the worse that can happen? It’s on a different flight – it’ll be here tomorrow.     

There I was, quietly awaiting my bag.  I scanned the other people awaiting their luggage; suddenly, my eyes fell on… someone I recognised! That’s right! It was Grace Critchlow, Chair of the Western Hemisphere of WAGGGS whom I met in Hong Kong in July 2014, then again in Sept 2014 in London when I had dinner with the WAGGGS World Board and the Chairs of the World Regions! Grace had been in London (for the weekend!) interviewing potential Chief Execs for WAGGGS.  In case you don’t know what WAGGGS is, it is the ‘World Association of Girl Guides and Girls Scouts’, the movement which spans 146 countries and 10 million members worldwide.  I was privileged to be part of the UK delegation to the WAGGGS World Conference in Hong Kong earlier this year.  I’m hoping to meet up with Grace on Thursday! World Guiding is truly wonderful. 

The arrival into Grantley Airport, Bridgetown was smooth.  It is a tiny airport, with one runway, three baggage carousels and, well, that’s it really.  A taxi brought me to the small, locally-run (none of this multinational corporate malarkey) hotel, where I am now happily blogging, still serenaded by green frogs and geckos.

Keep reading for insights into what I get up to here.  Sleep well all.