After jam sandwiches to keep the kids happy on the flight, we’ve finally arrived for our holiday. We’ve regrouped after our first not so good (although not so bad i.e. I’ve heard worse stories) experience getting on the plane and are ready for round two. However it’s a whole different story. We wait with reassurance from cabin crew until everyone is off the plane. We’re then helped to the front with our luggage allowing me to carry Quinns onto the Ambulift where we’re reunited with the Bug.
Just as we’re wondering whether we’ll need to catch a bus to the terminal the Ambulift starts moving forward. Who knew that not only did they lift you down from the aircraft but also transport you? Not us so that was exciting. We were handed paperwork, more reassurance that they were expecting us.
I don’t know what made us do it. Maybe it was because of our first experience of special assistance where we just felt we were inconveniencing them. Or maybe our fierce independent streaks got the better of us but thankfully the Special Assistant who met us off the Ambulift looked so incredulous at our refusal of help that we eventually accepted.
What a difference! They guided us through the airport, helped get our luggage off the belt, pushed a trolley (much to the relief of Big Sister) and ensured all our luggage was safely on the bus while we sorted the car seat, the Bug and Quinns.
Lesson learned. Always accept the help!
Sadly when the bus dropped us off at the hotel we had to get from the bus to reception by ourselves. (If we’d been sensible we would have sent Dad off to get help but it’s those wretched independent streaks). It was a short but difficult walk with 4 large suitcases, 4 hand luggage bags, a car seat and a Bug between 2 adults and one 7-year-old without trolleys. I’ve no idea how we did it but perhaps our super strength kicked in knowing that the swimming pool was just around the corner.