Madrid! Err no... Brighton!!

I had planned a 7-day trip to Spain, but ended up spending only 6 days there. This is what happened...

OK, so how did I land up at Brighton, yeah? See, Heathrow and St. Pancras Intl. both have dedicated kiosks for Immigration check, which one necessarily has to pass after check-in. (All right, agreed - you don't have to check-in for Eurostar.) Gatwick doesn't. It is mentioned in the Ryanair boarding pass (Yes, you can directly print the boarding pass out after online check-in.) that non-EU passengers have to get their boarding passes stamped. But if you don't encounter a passport check on your way to the departure gates, you're bound to forget about it and it's reasonable not to go about asking for things that you have forgotten, right? Well, Gatwick & Ryanair don't align themselves to this simple logic.

The boarding gate opened twenty minutes late and I was going to be ushered in ten minutes before take-off. That's when the lady asks me suspiciously if I had a Schengen Visa. I humour her by turning the pages of my passport and showing her the Visa. She then tells me that's not enough and I needed to have my boarding pass stamped as well.

"Huh?" I exclaim, urgently looking at my watch. She puts on a sympathetic attitude. "It's possible you will miss this flight," she says unhelpfully.

"This is what the stamp looks like." This was from her colleague who, ironically enough, was letting two other Indian girls pass and was showing me one of their boarding passes.

"Yeah thanks!" and I hurriedly retrace my steps to get what needs to be done, done.

You should remember this was 10 minutes before scheduled departure. At the Information Desk, the lady asks me to wait right there and someone will come and collect me shortly. You should also remember that this is the UK. Where people just do not rush. They inevitably end up finishing all tasks in hand (an admirable habit if nobody's desperately waiting for you) and only then turn their heads to the next job in queue. It panned out that a very gay guy came in three-quarters of an hour later, led me to the Immigration Desk (the one that folks go through on landing at Gatwick), through the Customs and back to the Ticket Office. A late night flight by Ryanair was the cheapest option available and I took it (after confirming with my hotel that they're open 24 hours and there will be plenty of taxis available past midnight to the hotel).

Now I'm left with seven hours to while away. I call my friend and she's more than willing to change her Saturday plans so we can meet (Bless her!). But she happens to disclose in passing that Brighton is just a couple of stops from Gatwick. An idea is planted in my head and it only takes a few moments to germinate. I find out it costs just £9 for a return ticket and half-hour to get to Brighton. Crowded train apart, the next thing I know, I'm navigating my way around the wonderful town, its delightful Saturday Street Market, its Dome, the magnificent Royal Pavilion, the jam-packed seafront, not to mention the innumerable cafés - essentially all things "bright" and beautiful in Brighton. (Please excuse the pun! Oh, and more on Brighton in my photo album.)

This was one of the several times I was glad to be travelling by myself. I get asked loads of times why I travel alone. And I retort, a) I don't get company and b) it cuts down on all the time spent arguing and saying "I told you so!" Do you now see what I mean? Going to Brighton was an impromptu decision - no votes taken (impossible when there are only two of you travelling), no helpless acceptance of the most forceful assertion and no egos hurt.

By the time I had checked-in (For the records, I was mildly infuriated by the way there was no signage for Ryanair customers dispelling all doubts that yes, this is the counter where non-EU flyers have to get their visa checked. In its stead, on top of the counters, there is just a marquee element which keeps switching between 'Bag Drop' and 'Visa Check'.) I was too tired to even be excited about finally getting to Spain. All the same, I couldn't help noticing there were STEPS between the gates and aircraft, whereas the walkway was left unused and suspended in mid-air. What's more they have FREE SEATING - no wonder they can afford to issue boarding passes a fortnight before travel. One last thing: their seats don't recline - so much for straight-backed ergonomics! I didn't follow a word of the air hostess' English and before I drifted off to sleep, I spotted her standing on one of the seats to adjust the luggage in the overhead storage area. Phew!

I awoke to the sound of clapping and the now-familiar sensation of a flight landing. My first thought was that the captain had maneuvered around a particularly difficult storm, we'd landed in a farm in the middle of nowhere and that people were just happy at the miracle of survival. I turned to the lady sitting next to me and asked her if this was indeed the case. Her son almost set my mind at rest by letting me know this was a tradition in Spain, before going on to add cheekily that yes, there was a thunderstorm and we all narrowly escaped. His mother laughed indulgently while I resisted the urge to slap him.

But that brat turned out to be quite right. I mean, I exited to the place where near and dear (and very often taxi drivers) wait for the arrivals. And I was greeted with applause. I turned around to see if I was followed by a celebrity with an entourage but no, it was for me that the total strangers were happy - woohoo! I was already loving Spain!!