Returning to the Middle East after summer leave is really the only time you see Dubai through the eyes of a tourist. What always strikes me is the colour palette – the yellows, beiges, saffrons, hints of lemon, touches of ochre, seen on the ground, on villas and buildings, and at the beach. They’re such warm, cheerful colours, but best of all, I love the way the city is bathed in almost non-stop golden sunshine.
Sunset over the land of sand, taken by my friend Elin Boyd
I don’t know about you, but the school holiday/Christmas combo wore me out – if I’d propped my eyelids open with cocktail sticks, I would still have fallen asleep.
And as BB’s school goes back a week later than nearly every other school in the world, I decided to take him home to his grandparents in England so they could do some advanced babysitting.
So here we are – in chilly Surrey (it’s 7 degrees and I arrived in flip-flops!), having got here by the skin of our teeth.
Suffice to say, our tickets – which were meant to be confirmed, weren’t – so standby it was, again. We tried four different flights over 24 hours, which involved lots of waiting (and you know how painful this can be with a small child in tow – personally I’d rather sit on those cocktail sticks), plus trotting backwards and forwards to the airport in a taxi.
On day 1, after our first crack-of-dawn attempt to get away, the taxi driver didn’t quite get that all we’d achieved that morning was an airport breakfast, and from the yawning I was doing presumed we’d just got off an international flight. So I went along with it. Later that day, we had afternoon tea at the airport too.
On day 2, after an even earlier start, the boarding pass fairy smiled on us and, with less than 45 minutes until take-off, we set off on a high-speed chase through passports and security to the gate – me dragging BB and our bags along at speed past Dubai International’s endless bling bling stores.
While everyone else settled down to enjoy a good movie, BB and I watched the map and counted down the minutes. "Look, Mummy - the front of the airplane has reached England. Are we in the front?"
The airplane, of course, was parked in the furthest-away spot, in the overflow parking by the airport fence, and we had to get to it by bus. As BB whined about how long the bus ride was taking – with eight hours of playing Tray Up/Tray Down, Light On/Light Off on the actual flight to go – my mood plummeted further.
The final hurdle was a seating problem. Having got the last two seats, BB and I were sitting in separate parts of the aircraft – and while I would have loved someone else, and even paid them good money, to sit next to him, this obviously wasn’t going to work. So I enlisted the help of a kindly cabin boy to ask passengers if they wouldn’t mind moving.
The shuffle that ensued resulted in a young man being left without a seat and, it was at this point, that my over-tired, over-active mind whirled into action, with visions of BB and I being deplaned.
“She doesn’t look like a terrorist,” I imagined the other passengers thinking, as I pictured us being marched off the aircraft. “Surely not with a child. Maybe they’re drug mules. No, the mother must be drunk. That’s it! She’s drunk – and in charge of a small boy! Disgraceful!”
Thankfully, my nice cabin boy returned and found the young man a seat – and we were on our way.
And so that’s how my relaxing break began. Just don’t get me started about the flight itself!
We all know that traipsing through airports and travelling on planes with small children is rarely a joyous experience (unless you’re my husband who takes the kids to eat at Dubai International on his days off).
But if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to add a whole new dimension to your journey, it’s the traffic light system in staff check-in that tells you if you’re actually on the plane or not.
Staff check-in at Eid - as far as we got!
Staff travel is, of course, the most wonderful perk and allows us to go round the world at minimal cost – IF you plan it right. Get it wrong – and by that I mean try to travel on stand-by at busy times such as Eid, Christmas or peak summer season – and you might as well just join my DH and the kids for lunch at the airport then head home.
My last-minute plan was good in theory: to fly back to London for the weekend to be surprise guests at my mother’s birthday party, see my whole family gathered under one roof (a rare event!) and watch some fireworks and effigy burning on Bonfire Night. It was our timing that sucked.
When we pitched up at staff check-in just before lunchtime, it looked promisingly quiet. But by 1.50pm, about 40 minutes before take-off, every employee and his wife had appeared out of the woodwork, all hoping to travel to London for the five-day Eid holidays.
People were craning their necks to get a look at the stand-by board, their luggage haphazardly filling the floor and other hopeful passengers trying to find a path through to the queue. The boarding pass fairy smiled on no-one which meant the crowd’s focus changed to the next flight – to Gatwick – a little while later.
“When will we get on the airplane,” a raring-to-go BB asked a hundred times, as his little brother busied himself trying to unzip random suitcases before darting out the door.
Gatwick was also a no-go because the throngs of people meant we couldn’t even get close to the check-in desk. LB was, by now, starfished on the floor in front of oncoming trolleys.
“Daddy, just pay!” pleaded BB, his patience tested to the limit and his rounds of rapid-fire questions hitting me full pelt.
The next option was a late-afternoon flight to Heathrow, so off we trooped to waste some more time, while trying to head off the ear-bending disappointment we were guessing was just round the corner and which only kids know how to express.
But, by now, the thought of enduring a seven-and-half hour flight with a small child (LB was staying in Dubai with DH) after waiting around with the boys for so long was making the sofa look appealing.
So when the traffic light turned from amber to red – and the check-in girl announced “London Heathrow, no chance!” – I was of course sad I wouldn’t get home to England for Mum’s birthday, but also relieved the waiting game was over. You would have been too, if you were as knackered as I was.
EID PART II: Just when I thought it could only get better…coming soon!