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Saturday, 2 September 2023

Worst Holiday 02

 MY MUM’S WORST HOLIDAY   

By Bob French

(My Mum and Aunty Frances go to America)

Billy sat looking at the travel brochure of Cyprus.  “Nana, this place looks fabulous.  Is it where we are going on holiday?”

          “Maybe love. But Mummy is not coming with us.”

A frown crept across Billy’s face as he looked at his Aunty Frances, then at his sister, then back at his Aunty.

“Why.  Doesn’t Mum like going on holiday?”

Mary, Bill’s eldest sister nudged him in the side and gave him one of her fierce stares, telling him with her eyes ‘not to ask such questions.’

But Billy wanted his Mum to go on holiday with them.  He was aware that this September he would be going up to senior school and he would no longer be a little boy, but a ‘grown up,’ and according to his sister, who had turned eighteen and had already been on her first holiday with her friends, ‘it was only grown-ups who went on their holidays with their friends, not their parents.’  This bothered Billy.

“It’s a long story Billy and I don’t have time at the moment.”

“When will you have time then Aunty?”

Aunt Frances thought for a moment, then said in a quiet voice; “I will tell you both your Mum has gone out.

Three hours later, Billy heard his mother call from the front door. “OK, I’m off to keep fit class.  Be good for Aunty Frances. Love you.”

Billy and Mary were watching the TV when Aunty Frances came into the room with a tray of cocoa.  It was Mary who spoke first.

“Are you going to tell us why Mum doesn’t like going on holiday with us?”  Aunty Frances could sense the hurt in Mary’s voice and quickly put the tray down.

“Listen.  Your Mum loves you both very much.  No love, the reason she doesn’t go on holiday was because on my hen party, we got very drunk.  She saw the question in Billy’s eyes, then paused to explain what a hen party was.

“We were due to fly out to Philadelphia in Pennsylvania in good old US of A for a week packed full of fun, eating, drinking and sunshine. There were eight of us.”

“What happened?” Mary, leaned forward, eagerly wanting to compare her exploits of her holiday with her friends in Wales to her Mum’s.

“Well, the plan was that we all booked into the Three Willows Hotel, just on the outskirts of Stansted airport.  That night we partied until the early hours of the morning, then we had to make our way to the departure desk.  Because most flights to the east coast of America were busy, we were to purchase our tickets and get out to the States as best we could. Problem was Your Mum and I were very drunk and we slept in.

Needless to say, we were very late in getting to the airport.  Neither of us could think straight, let alone see straight.  Anyway.  Your Mum saw a sign for Philadelphia and dragged me along to a boarding desk where we purchased a return ticket to Philadelphia

As we sat in the cool of the cabin, feeling the gentle hum of its engines, we relaxed.  The worries of missing the flight to the USA were over, we could, and did, lean back and sleep off a huge hangover in comfort.

The jolt of the wheels hitting the runway brought us both out of our deep sleep and instantly we could feel the excitement around us.

We decided to wait until the rush to get out, had passed, then slowly rose, collected our bags from the overhead locker and made our way out to the door.

The first thing that hit us was a 120-degree blast of hot air rushing into the cabin.

I recall your mum saying; “Wow, boy am I going to get a suntan to die for.”

It was then things seemed to go wrong.  Firstly, we couldn’t find our luggage and when we started asking people at the various desks, no one seemed to understand us. 

We then found a British Airways desk and asked how we could find our luggage.  After an hour of filling out forms, we were both fed up and tired.  All we wanted to do was find a hotel, have a shower, then a drink, and not in that order. The gentleman on the desk pointed us to the taxi rank and said that we should look for the blue taxi service.

Once we managed to find one, your mum explained that they wanted to go to Philadelphia. As we sat back we both wondered why the driver was dressed as an Arab, but thought that due to the intense heat, everyone dressed that way to keep cool.  This was confirmed as we drove through the busy streets of the city

Our interest faded after the second hour as the buildup part of the city slowly faded behind us. 

I started to think that something was wrong and asked the taxi driver where we were going.

“Missy going to Philadelphia, no?”

“Yes, but this does not look like the brochures we were given back in England.”

“Yes Missy, we go to Philadelphia soon. Maybe in three hours, Inshallah.”

Your mum thought that America had been nuked and what we were seeing was the wasteland left after a nuclear strike.  Total destruction leaving nothing but burnt-out desert.

The taxi driver seeing the looks on our faces turned and asked if this was our first time in the beautiful country of Jordan?

We both said Jordan together.  “What do you mean, Jordan.  We are supposed to be in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in America.  Not in Jordan!”

“This is Philadelphia Missy. In city of Amman, the capital city of my country. Very nice here. What hotel you staying at.”

“We don’t have a hotel booked here, we…”

“No problem.  My brother Abdullah, owns a very nice hotel.  He give you good tourist rates.”

Things got decidedly worse when your mum asked where she could get a drink, to which the taxi driver frowned at her.

“No Missy, woman not permitted to drink in public and we do not drink alcohol in Joran.  It is forbidden,” then seemed to say a quick prayer to Allah above him.”

The cab fell into silence as we contemplated a week of no drink or entertainment for that fact and no escape from the stifling heat, dry humid air with a constant sweaty feeling.

Things started to look up as we slowly began to pass through built up areas and soon, we could see skyscrapers and wide avenues with palm trees and we even a few people dressed in European clothes.

The taxi driver pulled up outside a hotel in one of the back streets, jumped out and vanished in through the front door.  We just sat there sweating and disheartened for half an hour.

Suddenly, the door burst open and two young boys dressed in smart uniforms rushed down the steps to the taxi, opened the doors and assisted us out.  One had a large golf umbrella which he popped and we were ushered into a cool reception area.  Here we found our taxi driver and the hotel manager, Abdullah, sitting in the cool of the room drinking black coffee.

“Ah ladies, welcome to my humble hotel.  My brother tells me that you have chosen to holiday in Philadelphus in Jordan rather than America. A wise choice. Believe me, you will never forget your holiday.”

“I have to say the week’s holiday was a little unusual; no drink, no socializing or fraternizing in public, and the food was very spicey so we had to be careful. We did manage to meet up with a German couple who were out there digging up old relics for some museum back in Germany. We quickly learnt that during prayer times we had to be off the streets and we had to cover our heads, arms, and legs when we went walk-about.  Come the evenings, the temperature dropped down to 10 degrees. But felt like minus 20.

We spent most of the time just wandering around the town of Philadelphia carefully tasting the food, but never asking what was in it and trying to converse with the locals, who eagerly nodded and took our American dollars for souvenirs we didn’t need.

“What happened when your week was up?  How did you get back to England?”

“The kind taxi driver came and collected us and took us back to Amman International Airport and made sure that we were booked onto the flight to London Stansted.”

Mary, with a hundred questions in her eyes, looked carefully at Aunty Frances.

“So, what were the good things you both enjoyed on your holiday?”

“Well none of it really.  On the flight back we both swore an oath that we would never drink again and that we would never go on holiday where it meant catching a plane and lastly, we lost so much weight out there, we promised to keep fit.”

Billy jumped up.  Does that mean you and Mum can go on a walking holiday this summer?”

Thinking that Mary would go along with his idea, he turned to face her only to be met with one of her fierce stares.

Copyright Bob French

 

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