A Pleasant Homecoming

It's always nice to get home, especially when one lives in a town featured in many holiday brochures, but for once my actual journey back to Bodrum was very agreeable. My usual trip starts with a 7 am embarkation at Hydra Port, then a noisy and anxious 2 hour hydrofoil ride to Piraeus; the anxiety is not misplaced as these metal tubes, laughingly named 'Flying Dolphins', are not the most reliable form of transport. I have, in the past, spent two hours wallowing outside Athens' main harbour being subjected to ear-splitting metal-crunching noises coming from the engine room.  If all goes well, I catch the X96 bus to the airport and if the traffic is light, get to check-in with 30 minutes to spare. If the traffic is bad, I'm biting my nails the whole way.  The metro is more reliable but goes into central Athens and then out again so takes longer than the bus. By the time I arrive at Departures, I probably don't look my best!  Sometimes the sea is too rough and schedules are abandoned, leaving those of us with planes to catch, on the quay. The only option then is to take a bumpy sea-taxi ride to the mainland, which is a bit like being on a roller coaster with someone throwing buckets of seawater over me, and then hail a taxi to Athens airport. I've had to do this a few times and I always get a 'John Wayne' driver. If you've travelled anywhere east of Rome, you will recognise this term. The driver propels his vehicle as if he is an extra in True Grit; left shoulder forward, left hand holding the  reigns  steering wheel, right shoulder back and right hand either swinging worry beads (older driver) or sending texts and looking at Facebook (younger river) and seemingly only one buttock on the seat, thus he is facing his passenger rather than the road. Disconcerting at the best of times, but nerve racking on narrow mountain roads. When I arrive at check-in after a 3 hour drive with John Wayne,  I am covered with a salty crust and a bit green around the gills.
This time my flight was booked for Thursday 5th November.  All ferry staff were on strike on the 2nd and 3rd, but were due to return to work on the Wednesday. This being Greece, the first ferry out of Hydra was on Friday afternoon.  BUT, instead of having to travel with an unknown  lonesome cowboy, a fellow staff member was driving up to Athens airport on Wednesday, so I had a lovely safe drive in a new Audi, with chance to stop en route for a meal overlooking modern Epidavros.

I was booked into The Sofitel at the airport and was expecting the usual airport hotel experience. I'd stayed at the Thistle Terminal 5 at Heathrow 10 days before and been glad that I hadn't been planning any feline oscillation. I'd checked in late and left before dawn so hadn't been subjected to the depressing decor and claustrophobic room for long enough for it to affect my mood.  The Sofitel was completely different - a proper 5 star hotel, with plump pillows, comfy beds, impressive bathrooms and completely soundproof, airy rooms. There was a rooftop pool and spa, if only I'd packed a swimming costume.  I was hoping my plane would be cancelled. On Thursday morning I lazed in bed reading The Times on my iPad, had a long shower and even managed to put on a bit of makeup before I pulled by bag the 200 meters between hotel and airport.   As I arrived in check-in, I looked so unlike my normal self, I doubted I'd get through passport control.