Full circle back to Blighty

On Turkish Airlines from Colombo to Istanbul.

The last night is always a bit of a waiting game, but we were determined to carry on as normal and enjoy our time in Sri Lanka to the last minute. Packed and ready to go at stupid o’ clock, but prinks, dinner and wine all needed to be enjoyed before we snatched what sleep we could get before heading to the airport. We said our farewells to Ronnie and Leah, Ali and Kenny and breathed a sigh of relief, that finally the young lad had proposed to his girlfriend who was now sporting a rock. Word had got around that there was going to be a proposal on the trip and the poor couple involved were surreptitiously watched throughout the holiday in case the guy had found the perfect setting and someone could film said occasion. Blimey, talk about leaving it to the last minute. Finally I noticed them ambling off for a walk on the beach on the last evening. Phew, he didn’t bottle it then.

All other nights on the hols I’ve generally woken around 1am, which would have been absolutely ideal last night. Alas, the usual happened to me. I knew we needed to wake and crack on at 1 am, so although we’d gone to bed early, I was doing that waking thing every half hour. When we left our room at 1.30, all was very quiet and dark, however the security guard had heard the lift being called and was ready to help with our bags when we got down to reception. Our driver was already waiting for us, fifteen minutes early.

We had been “helpfully “ advised by Atulah to keep an eye on our driver. “Sometimes they fall asleep and crash”. Oh great, not exactly what you want to hear on your way home from your epic travels. However, our driver was excellent. He kept well below the speed limit, he was the one who on several occasions flashed other drivers who were clearly drifting into our lane and were evidently falling asleep. Our driver didn’t have a huge amount of English, so conversation was limited. We took on board what Atulah had said and decided to keep up a running commentary between ourselves, just so there wasn’t the soporific sound of the car tyres on the road. It was actually weird trying to sightsee in the dark, but we were a day after Poya, the full moon and the sky was clear.

There have been times when I’ve been gobsmacked by the sophistication of certain elements of Sri Lanka. As we rock up to the airport, I comment to Nick on the very camouflaged police officer with a massive machine gun at the entrance to the airport. No Nick hadn’t noticed him, he was evidently too well camouflaged. I was then blown away by the volume of armed Police at the airport entrance. Our driver said that the entrance x-rays every vehicle that comes through the airport complex. Security has been a constant theme throughout our trip and I now feel comfortable to mention it, now that we’re on our way home. It strikes me that the Sri Lankans learn from their threats and go overboard to keep the honest person, safe. We’d noticed that all hotels we’ve visited have been gated, with security on them. Our last hotel had two guards, one at the front of the hotel, the other constantly patrolling the back. This presence has made us feel safe, but also concerned us that it’s needed.

We got to the airport, probably an hour before we needed to, but time went fast. I actually lost count of the number of times we went through some sort of security. We managed to get some shut eye on our first flight. It was a nine hour flight and the crew fed us and then bedded us down. It sure helped a tedious journey go reasonably quickly. However, and here was the problem, we departed from Colombo about 30 minutes late. Ok, no great worries, these guys are used to making up the time as best they can. We know (under perfect conditions) we have 55 minutes to make our connecting flight from Istanbul to Heathrow.

We land and are poised with our next boarding cards in hand, only this time the system works way differently to when we went to Colombo from Istanbul. We clock our gate (D8) and follow the signs for International Transfers. We walk fast, use the travelators, ask people to move, start pushing past people, start breaking into a trot because we seem to be doing that thing where we do the supermarket trolley dash from one end of the airport to the other. We don’t have the luxury of the 55 minutes we were expecting. I note that any reference to gate D has vanished long ago and start wondering if we need to rethink our direction of travel. But no, we carry on in the direction of international transfers.

OMG, then we see the big red sign for international transfers and it is full-blown security. Belts off, shoes off, iPads in separate baskets, fluids in the terror-busting bag, watches off. There are two sorts of people now at this point. The amblers, not a care in the world, they have hours until their connecting flight and don’t care how long this all takes and then there’s the ones who can now see the red “final boarding” sign showing on the board for their flight. Us. Much jockeying for position. Someone trying to get past us, no, hang back missy, we’re in final call for our flight and not a sign of our gate. Ok, she decides not to mess with us and steps in line behind us. We’re both stopped and frisked, but sent on our way. No time to put belts back on, sort bags out or get our watches back on. Nope, it’s grab and dash. Yes, we are pretty much the last to board the flight, puffing and panting, but we made it. Doors to lock and cross check, just in time. I dutifully accept the glass of orange handed to me by the Turkish Airlines flight attendant.