Crete Day One: Motorway Mayhem, Mischievous Kids, Grumpy Pensioners, and No Room at the Inn!
Ah, (#Ad) Crete Day One — a tale that began with optimism, a dash of British chaos, and ended with a salad that even the most desperate of rabbits would have rejected. Strap in, dear reader, because our journey from the grey skies of Manchester to the golden shores of Rethymno was anything but uneventful.
The Morning of Hope (and Mild Panic)
For once, a holiday departure day didn’t begin at some ungodly hour. Our pickup was scheduled for 10:45 a.m., which meant we had time for those inevitable last-minute dashes around the house — the frantic search for chargers, the ritualistic zip and unzip of the suitcases, and Michele’s final round of “just-in-case” packing adjustments.
The luggage weighed in at a respectable 15 kilograms each — not bad considering Michele’s usual “I might need six pairs of shoes for a week” approach. The relief on her face when the scales confirmed she was under the limit could only be compared to a student finding out they’d passed their exams.
The Road to the Runway
Right on the dot, our driver from Leigh Executive Travel, the ever-reliable Stuart, arrived to whisk us away. Unfortunately, no one told the M61 or M60 about our travel plans. The motorway gods decided to bless us with the usual slow crawl of British traffic. We crept along like snails in syrup, only picking up speed once we passed the Trafford Centre — that shining temple of retail therapy.
By the time we reached Manchester Airport’s Terminal 1, we were about 15 minutes behind schedule, but not to worry — the bag drop process was, allegedly, “all automated.” Now, for someone who usually travels light with just a carry-on for work, this new-age self-service baggage ritual felt suspiciously like doing someone else’s job for free. Still, the cases were accepted without extra fees (15.3kg and 15.6kg — a triumph!), and we moved on to the next stage of holiday torture: airport security.
Ah yes, the place where belts, dignity, and liquids go to die. Luckily, we had only one bag between us, though that didn’t spare us from the inevitable unpacking of every electronic device known to man: iPad, Android phone, Kindle (#Ad), camera… The lot. Naturally, the bag was selected for a “random” search, which took 25 minutes and revealed precisely nothing.
Freedom at last! Well, almost. Michele had to buy her perfume and lipstick before lunch (priorities, you understand). With time ticking, lunch was downgraded to a classic Boots Meal Deal — the pinnacle of British airport dining. Michele’s coffee, however, didn’t last long… she managed to baptise herself in it while waiting at the gate. A strong start.
Up, Up, and Away (Sort Of)
We boarded our EasyJet flight, which, while not completely full, was still packed enough to make you nostalgic for social distancing. Michele, ever the hawk-eyed child detector, immediately clocked a few young families on board. She has a sixth sense for spotting children — honestly, she’s like the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, minus the net.
I settled into my Amazon Prime film, Undercover Hooligan (#Ad) (a modern classic, if you squint), when Michele struck again — or rather, her yoghurt did. In a display of coordination rarely seen outside slapstick comedy, she managed to splash yoghurt onto the same top she’d already christened with coffee. A two-tone disaster in dairy and caffeine.
But at least the kids were at a safe distance. No, our problem came in the form of a fidgety older couple behind us, who spent most of the flight kicking the seats and rustling about like they were auditioning for Stomp. One can only assume they mistook “in-flight entertainment” for “in-flight exercise.”
Landing in Crete: The Saga of SAGA
After a relatively bump-free descent, we landed in sunny Crete (#Ad). The temperature was warm, the sky was blue, and the men of a certain age on our flight had apparently forgotten the meaning of “queueing.”
As soon as the seatbelt sign went off, an elderly gent behind us made a heroic bid for freedom, pushing past everyone in his path. Chivalry, it seems, did not survive the flight. He didn’t get far though — we stood firm, and he was forced to wait his turn like everyone else. Justice prevailed.
Disembarking required a shuttle bus ride to the terminal, where we once again found ourselves standing while the more “experienced” travellers from the SAGA contingent secured every available seat. When the doors opened, another of their number sprang up, barging his way off the bus and leaving his poor wife behind. You couldn’t make it up.
Immigration, however, was a breeze. I handed over my passport, and the Greek officer asked me something in his native tongue. I didn’t understand a word, so I did the only sensible thing: blamed Michele. He laughed, stamped my passport, and waved me through. Works every time.
Hotel Havoc: No Room at the Rethymno Palace
The drive to our hotel in Rethymno took about 75 minutes — a pleasant enough journey through olive groves, seaside views, and the occasional goat. The Rethymno Palace looked grand from the outside, all marble floors and palm-lined pathways. Things were looking up.
Until they weren’t.
At reception, we were greeted with polite smiles and a sentence no traveller ever wants to hear: “There is no room for you tonight.”
Come again?
Apparently, the Rethymno Palace was overbooked, and we were to be relocated for the night to another establishment. To soften the blow, they handed us complimentary drinks — a cocktail for Michele and a beer for me — while we filled out our paperwork. After that, we were bundled into a car and whisked off to the CHC Imperial Palace, a mere kilometre away.
We were assured that this was “just for one night,” and that we’d be collected at 12:30 the next day to return to our rightful hotel. As compensation, the Rethymno Palace offered us a “complimentary meal.” Odd, considering it was an all-inclusive resort to begin with, but one mustn’t quibble over details when there’s alcohol involved.
The CHC Imperial Palace – Not Quite Royalty
The staff at the CHC Imperial Palace were warm and welcoming, guiding us swiftly to our temporary quarters. The room was pleasant enough, though clearly a step down from the five-star luxury we’d been promised. Four stars at best — the sort of place that says “spa hotel” but really means “there’s a jacuzzi that works on Thursdays.”
As it was late, the restaurant was closed, but they’d kindly left us two salads with bits of meat and cheese, along with a bottle of red wine. I tucked in happily enough — wine and cheese being my idea of a fine dinner — but Michele, a known salad dodger, was far less impressed. The expression on her face said it all: this was not the evening meal she’d envisioned.
We were two hours ahead of the UK, so with bellies (somewhat) full and eyelids heavy, we decided to call it a night. After all, if this was Day One, surely things could only improve from here… right?
Closing Thoughts on Crete Day One
So there you have it — the first day of our Cretan adventure. From traffic jams and coffee catastrophes to overzealous pensioners and hotel hijinks, it wasn’t exactly the smooth start we’d hoped for. But then again, what’s a holiday without a few hiccups to laugh about later?
With any luck, tomorrow will bring sunshine, a proper room, and perhaps even a meal that doesn’t involve lettuce.
Kaliníkta from Crete (#Ad) — good night, all!
