A Charmed Life

After taxiing out onto the runway we sat gently rocking, allowing the Hermes' four turbo-propeller engines to gather momentum. Despite feeling nervous this motion was surprisingly calming. Suddenly, as the brakes were released and the engines roared into life, we were all lurched forward violently. In sheer panic I grabbed my mother's arm ........ perhaps that Lake District tour might not have been so boring after all? Eventually, after bravely opening one eye, I was just in time to witness our Kent coastline disappearing from view.

A further five minutes passed before the seat belt sign rang off, prompting a flurry of lighters and matches to fill the cabin with acrid cigarette smoke. Nervously puffing away on my tipped Woodbine I felt extremely relieved at having survived the terrors of take-off. After a stiff rum and coke, which mum felt was required to calm my nerves, I settled back and drifted off to sleep. "DING DING" rang the seatbelt sign urgently. I awoke with a jolt. Two stewardesses were now frantically running up and down the cabin checking we were all buckled-up securely. They obviously knew something we didn't!

Before takeoff we had been told “due to adverse weather conditions our flying time would be approximately 5½ hours at a height of 9000 feet”. Warning bells had rung in my head, remembering from school geography lessons that some Alpine peaks were higher than this. As I began to imagine us cleverly flying between them the airframe shuddered and the plane dropped alarmingly. Some passengers screamed. Frantically I looked to my mother for reassurance. Having survived two world wars she was more concerned about her spilt gin and tonic. My imagination ran wild as I envisaged us all pinned to an alpine peak, entombed in ice for eternity. Just as I had accepted this fate a giant hand lifted us up, up, and even more up. With passengers and engines screaming I then imagined us being launched into outer space. This terrifying roller coaster ride continued for a further 3½ hours. Thankfully the in-flight meal was cancelled, with additional sick bags becoming the most requested duty free item.

Our accommodation at Bonefish Resort had been described on the internet as `a chalet in a picturesque beach setting'. Roger may have believed this but I was secretly sceptical. Sadly, I was right. Roger displayed bitter disappointment at our being directed to a converted caravan on the fringe of a mango swamp! Despite it having seen better days, probably sometime before the previous six hurricanes, I commented “it looks interestingly quaint”. Having not eaten since breakfast we walked round to the on-site restaurant .......... which was closed!

Despite our bedroom air-conditioning unit being very noisy, it didn't drip continuously, unlike the previous nights. This was very fortunate as it was positioned above my head! The following morning I opened the veranda doors to be greeted by the `sweet smell' of `mangrove swamp when the tide's out'. Our `beach', now mud coloured, attracted a variety of wading birds, together with a squadron of fearless, hungry gulls. The advertised plunge pool also excited several species of ducks. All of whom appeared oblivious to the unspoken but recognised rule of 'not pooping in pools'!