Three and a half hours at Paphos airport, far more entertaining than a day at the zoo. Albeit not without similarities. Eschewing the bargain-price long term parking – six pounds a day for first five days, reduced to three thereafter – my boyfriend and I followed the masses and parked for free on the beach, dragging our cases across the road, through the empty car park and into the departure hall. Oh lordy. Aware that a Wednesday during high season was likely to offer some interesting spectacles, we were prepared for some top grade people watching. And it didn’t disappoint; what sights indeed. The luminous Kate Moss certainly has a lot to answer for. Whilst hot pants and skinny jeans may be the epitome of style on the lovely Ms Moss, the look is definitely more pants than hot on the majority of my compatriots. Having squeezed their reluctant flesh into a variety of ill advised tight outfits all the better to flaunt tan lines, red bits, cellulite and tattoos, we bought a couple of Keos, took a seat and enjoyed the show. Lest it seem my bitching extends only to women, I can assure you the men offered equal delights. Covered torsos clearly being a sign of emasculation, we were treated to a myriad of acne, pigeon chests and beer bellies. Those confident enough in their virility to cover up, did so with football shirts – England naturally – just in case the pink skin, St George’s dragon emblazoned across the forearms or chunky gold St Christopher hanging around their necks did not offer sufficient clues as to their nationality.
Tearing ourselves away from these visual delights we decided it was time to join the burgeoning check-in queue that was by now winding its way out of the departures hall and in danger of ending up in the sea. After 20 stationary minutes, an airport official came up to us to ask our destination and when we told him it was the Newcastle flight, as per the sign above the check-in counter, he inexplicably told us to leave the queue and wait another 15 minutes before joining a new one. This happened a further two times.
Has Paphos airport been taken over by draconian security? On our way through to the departures lounge, a deceptively impassive looking official was chatting away on her mobile. Studiously avoiding our eyes as we slowed down to see if she may want to check any of our documents, we ended up walking past her not wanting to interrupt the clearly important conversation she was conducting about the previous night’s shenanigans. Next thing, a thunderous ‘Hey! You two! Boarding cards!’ followed. All eyes upon us, we sheepishly retraced our steps ‘What’s the matter? Have neither of you flown before?’ was the charming rejoinder that met our apologies and proffering of requested documents.
X-ray was no friendlier. An over-enthusiastic official clearly mistook the assembled line for errant livestock. All she needed to complete her calling was a cattle prod as she bellowed ‘Hurry up! Quickly! What are you waiting for? MOVE IT!’ to the startled queue of beleaguered passengers still in the final throes of high holiday spirits. Relieved – if a little surprised – to find no sign of a trough of sheep dip awaiting us, we made our way to the final leg of our Paphos Airport Experience.
Despite everybody else on the island being fully aware that Wednesdays and Sundays are complete mayhem and chaos, it would appear that no one has bothered to tell those in charge of the airport. Due to there being barely enough seats for a Paphos wedding, the scene that greeted us was more like an underground station during an air raid in World War II than an ‘international airport’. Families were sprawled everywhere on the floor with an understandable look of shellshock in their eyes.
We were encouraged a little however by a sign that assured us that (despite how it looked) our comfort was indeed of paramount importance and that steps were being taken to improve the airport facilities. Among other things, apparently a new exciting retail experience awaits us and better flight information displays are only around the corner.
There was however, no mention of a dress code.
