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Debbie Leigh: Emergency pants versus the volcano
ANYONE who hasn't been stranded abroad by the volcanic ash cloud has probably muttered something along the lines of, "Well, I'm sure I wouldn't mind an extra few days on holiday".
I know I said it a few times when the travel chaos first struck and tales filtered through of "stressed-out" tourists facing five days "trapped" in New York, South Africa or somewhere equally exotic.
However, after recently joining the ranks of the 'stranded ash passengers' I have definitely eaten my words.
Truth is, as you will have heard, it's not like you can go off and enjoy an extra few days exploring undiscovered areas until the next flight comes up.
You're practically chained to the hotel, constantly searching for information and travel reps that don't exist.
You're skint because it's supposed to be the end of your trip so you've spent-up accordingly (or in my case, have been on a shopping expedition to rival any footballer's wife's and bought enough trinkets to transform your home into a Moroccan souk).
And you can't even think about unpacking because you could be ordered to the airport at a moment's notice – and it was such a challenge to squeeze all your possessions into your suitcase you simply daren't take them out again.
Still, like most of life's trying experiences, you have a smidgen of fun along the way and even learn a few things.
We were put up in a hotel in Marrakesh with hundreds of other Easyjet passengers and lesson one, discovered early doors, was: avoid the eternal hypothesisers.
Walking through the foyer, eating, or relaxing around the pool (ok, so it wasn't all bad) you would constantly overhear people dissecting what little information they had and analysing what their sister's uncle's wife's second cousin back in the UK had heard from the dog's kennel mate about our chances of getting home this side of Christmas.
Lesson two: you will be treated to a heartwarming display of the Dunkirk spirit we Brits are famous for, with new friendships forged before you can say Eyjafjallajokull (aka THAT volcano)
Lesson three: it can't be all peace, love and understanding. When you and your new buddies have been queuing at the airport for hours in the hope of flying home then find out only 24 of the 35 will get a seat, you'd better sharpen those elbows and your persuasive patter if you want to be one of the chosen ones.
Lesson four: don't say yes every time someone offers you their traditional greeting of mint tea. Delicious though it is, we have reason to believe this sweet treat (or the water used in it) is to blame for one of our least enjoyable holiday experiences – commonly known as Montezuma's Revenge, the Gringo Gallop or the Aztec Two-step. Whatever you want to call it, it's the last thing you need before a nine-hour train journey.
Which brings me neatly to lesson five: avoid train toilets at all costs unless you relish the challenge of using a Trainspotting-esque loo while rattling along at 60mph.
Sticking with this somewhat unsavory theme for one more minute, lesson six: always pack emergency pants. These days you're almost guaranteed a few extra days away thanks to the volcano and I've heard too many terrible tales of blokes wearing their undies inside out for days on end. Talk about making a bad situation worse.
Lesson seven: don't trust the guidebook. From bigging up attractions and destinations which simply weren't worth the effort or were unrecognisable, right down to outrageously sugar-coated versions of reality, we'd have been better equipped with a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
Lesson eight: be careful what you wish for. On what was supposed to be our last night, as we ate at one of the crazy stalls in Marrakesh's main square I mused "what a pity we've only had chance to eat here once".
The next day our flight was cancelled, giving us the chance to eat there many more times.
But lesson nine, and my top tip, is: never mess with a passport control officer. I know that's blindingly obvious but I certainly didn't do it intentionally and still ended up on the wrong side of a power-crazed cross between Roald Dahl's Miss Trunchbull and a giant warthog, who took a serious disliking to me over a stupid misunderstanding about a pen.
Mr N had borrowed one off her to fill in his visa card while I (like all good journos) used my own.
When she told me to hand her the pen I thought she had confused the two, so I pointed out (very mildly) that it was my pen.
I wouldn't mind but it was a scruffy old Bic with no lid. I wasn't desperate to keep it; it was just my instinct to point out Mr N had her red pen and this black one was mine.
From the way she looked at me, the sarcastic comments in English, followed by a stream of abuse in Arabic, you'd have thought I'd told her I made pens from Moroccan children's tongues and would rather eat my own vomit than let her use one.
I feared I had totally scuppered our chances of getting home but thankfully she clearly couldn't bear to look at me a second longer and waved me through to the longed-for flight home.
Finally, lesson ten: a few extra days away might be great but when your cats are waiting patiently for you back in Blighty, there really is no place like home.
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Weather for Leeds
Sunday 12 February 2012
Today
Cloudy
Temperature: 0 C to 5 C
Wind Speed: 7 mph
Wind direction: North west
Tomorrow
Sunny spells
Temperature: 4 C to 8 C
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