New country, who dis?

I’ve managed to tick off number 67, Cyprus, thanks to a work trip, although it was fricken difficult to get to. Amazingly, there are no direct flights from anywhere in Spain to Cyprus, which meant I had to get a connecting flight. I chose to fly via Athens as it offered the shortest total flight time. What I failed to notice was that my departing flight left at 01:55 am. Brilliant.

As luck would have it, half the flight was made up of a school trip full of teenagers who were all way too excited to be going away. What made it worse was that the flight was delayed and we didn’t leave Málaga until 2:30. And those buggers wouldn’t shut up, making it impossible to sleep on the first leg of the trip.

By the time I landed in Larnaca at 11am, I was dead tired and took a one hour taxi to Limassol, where I was meant to spend a few days.

To be honest, there’s not much I can write about Cyprus, thanks to a combination of working until 5 and it being hotter than the devil’s arsehole.

The little I did see seemed interesting enough. Loads of bars and restaurants, an old town covered in beautiful murals, and a very cosmopolitan mix of nationalities. The Russians mostly seemed to be taxi drivers eager to tell you about their sports cars, which of course they bought in country X and shipped over. The Israelis, on the other hand, had a special talent for pushing past you in lifts, shops and at the breakfast buffet like you didn’t exist. A couple even had the audacity to steal my table one morning at breakfast, while I waited for my omelette at the breakfast grill. Strangely, no one seemed willing to say they were Cypriot. Every person who sounded remotely local was adamant they were Greek, just born in Cyprus. Patriotic, right?

One thing I found interesting was the groups of men strolling along the promenade. Usually in groups of two or three, they would casually walk, chit-chat or lay out on the lawn snacking and playing games. In what is a seemingly romantic setting, I saw fewer male-female couples enjoying the sunset and sea breeze than I did male-male pairings. Not saying there’s anything wrong with that, because there isn’t, but it’s just the sort of setting you’d expect to be packed with young couples rather than friends.

I stayed at the NYX Limassol, a decent hotel in a great location with a rooftop bar that delivered some incredible sunsets. The hotel staff were fantastic, but some of the guests were right arseholes.

After five days of avoiding the 35–39-degree heat by hiding in the office or hotel most of the day, it was time to head home. And naturally, it was another pain in the arse. My flight to Athens was delayed by 90 minutes and we landed with just ten minutes before I was meant to board my next flight. I literally sprinted, as best as a 101kg guy can, through the airport, running up escalators, cutting queues and sweating like a pig, only to get to the gate and find that flight was delayed too.

At first, it was delayed by an hour. Then they started asking for volunteers to give up their seats because the flight was overbooked. Knowing I was going to land at 2 am, I happily volunteered to stay the night in Athens and fly back on Sunday. The offer of a hotel and 400 euros was too good to pass up.

The guy told me I had to wait until they had boarded everyone before he could rebook me and give me the hotel. So I sat down, smug and satisfied that I wouldn’t have to drive home half-asleep at 2 am.

Of course, a couple didn’t show up, which meant they had one seat left. Guess who got it? Yep. And even better, they had given my original seat with extra legroom away. Instead, I got sat smack in the middle of the student group who were also returning to Malaga. Just me, surrounded by sweaty teenagers. My new personal nightmare.

We landed in Málaga an hour late and it took forever to get my car. I didn’t get home until 5 am.

Two lessons from this trip:

1. Always double-check the flight times offered at work.
2. Never, ever attempt to go to Cyprus again. The travel time just isn’t worth it.