Memiors – The Wrong Homecoming

Posted on April 2, 2022 Updated on August 28, 2026

Words (1538)

The Spanish island of Ibiza was a captivating place with great sunshine/beaches, amazing people/friends, many bars/clubs, and impassioned times for 8 weeks. Despite feeling haggard from many nights out, I did not want to leave and my experience to finish. However, there had to be a time when the time was up, and I had to use the plane ticket that I had bought. Luckily, through early morning discussions, I found out there was a little bar in the back streets of San Antonio: a little town on the edge of the island. This bar, I was told, was the place that sold flight tickets for those people that wanted some cash. I decided I was going to stay and sell my plane ticket. The next day, I made my way over to the bar up a nondescript side street. The barman was a man of about 50; he looked like a sixties dropout. He told me to leave my ticket and come back in a couple of days to see if someone wanted it.

I arrived back at the bar two days later, the same barman sat behind the bar looking as he did not have a care in the world. To my surprise, he told me the ticket was taken just before the final day; I was to meet the buyer at 7 pm the following evening at the bar. I was hoping everything would go well as I had not got any money yet for my ticket. The next day soon came around, and I was back at the bar. I looked around and spotted the buyer at the arranged meeting point. I introduced myself; his name was Steve and he was with his mates who were all in a Volkswagen campervan to take us to the airport. I was soon in the back of the scruffy-looking campervan having a laugh and a joke with Steve and his mates on the way to the airport.

The reason I had to go to the airport was to get Steve’s baggage through the check-in and show my passport to the check-in staff. The journey to the airport took about half an hour in the beat-up Volkswagen. I could not believe they had driven it from England. It felt like it only just made it to the airport. We parked up and made our way into the airport foyer. I approached the check-in desk alone and completed all the formalities. Everything went off without concern. I gave Steve the boarding pass and soon he was out of sight towards departures and off home. That was it, I was staying, starting off with a few drinks with Steve’s mates back in San Antonio.

I picked up my ticket money from the bar the next day as there had been no complications. Steve was off home back to England. I enjoyed myself for the next four weeks. I wished it was longer, but my money had to run out sometime. I was also not getting any casual work. So now, it was my turn to get that cheaper ticket home. I went to the same bar; there was the same barman, cigarette in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. I wondered if he just propped up the bar all day. He seemed content with his lot. I spoke to him and purchased a ticket home with the very last of my money. However, this time I was to meet the seller at the airport. The flight was at 10 pm that night, so I was in a rush to get ready. I quickly said my goodbyes and got in a taxi in anticipation of the underhand experience I was to have at the airport.

The seller of the ticket was at the pre-arranged meeting point near check-in. The airport was very busy, I thought, for the time of day. Anyway, I gave my bag to the seller and waited for my boarding pass after he had checked in. I had to wait for about 10 minutes, but he soon arrived back before I had time to wonder if there were going to be any complications already. I said goodbye and the man soon disappeared into the crowd of travelers. The flight was not for another 40 minutes, so I made my way into the departure hall. This gave me time for a few alcoholic drinks to calm my nerves. To my surprise and joy, I recognised two women I knew who were on the same flight. We sat and chatted about good times until the flight was ready to board.

It was now time to board. The women and I got up and joined the boarding queue. This was an edgy time for me. I had looked at the front of the queue and ground staff were checking tickets and what looked like passports as well. Was this just for a few people or was this a change from when I sold my ticket? It was not that I did not have a ticket; just that it was not my name on it. What could I do, I was penniless and I had decided to properly leave this time? The focus was on what to do when I got home, my mind was not on going back. The queue steadily got shorter until it was my turn to show my boarding pass. The ground staff looked then looked again at my passport and the boarding pass; pointing out they were not the same. What could I do or say? I knew I had no reply or excuse.

I was told to sit to the side. I sat down somewhat stunned as my two friends walked past with other curious passengers passing a glance at me. What could my friends say, what could they do? I knew this might happen, so I was not totally bewildered, but I had not thought of a way out of this eventuality. I sat and waited for about 20 minutes while everyone boarded their plane. I was soon on my own apart from the ground staff. I wondered what the authorities were to do with me. I had to accept that I could be in serious trouble. I was asked to follow two security guards. They looked like policemen and might well have been. They took me through what seemed like a maze of corridors and doors; ending up on the ground floor of the airport. The thought was that I was being put in a cell or holding room.

The guards and I made our way out of the building. The guards pointed to a car and told me to get in. Was it now off to the police station? We were now going round the terminal heading past planes and towards more planes. The noise was deafening, and I sat there in the back seat of the car in silence. As I looked out of the window, I could see planes taxiing to the runway and watched as we approached what I soon worked out was the plane that I was supposed to take home.

I was now made to get out of the car by the guards. The wind and the noise took me aback as much as the size of the plane looking from underneath it. I was asked in broken English what my bag looked like. They talked to the ground staff and proceeded to look for it in the back of the plane. It took about 10 minutes in which I waited back in the car. I was soon being asked if this was the bag. They had found it. The two guards got back in the car. They were constantly talking in Spanish which did not help because my Spanish was not anyway near to the level needed to understand what was going on. I had to sit there and wait for whatever would happen next.

The guards kept looking at me and further chatting. It was now a trip back to the terminal where they let me out of the car. I was fully expecting to be handcuffed and taken away to the police station. I was not even sure what the offence would be or how I would be punished. I just kept quiet as not to antagonise them. We walked as if we were walking out to the airport. I uneasily followed them with my bag over my shoulder. They then looked at me and pointed to the exit door. Were they letting me go? I did not question anything and kept walking, maybe quicker than normal. I exited the building and found somewhere to sit, to breathe, and basically to hide. I hoped that was the end of the guards. I was now at the front of the airport looking at holidaymakers getting ready for their holiday with taxis and airport buses buzzing by. I pondered what to do and what my next move would be. My mind was all over the place. Did they really just kick me out of the airport without any charge? Despite the elation of avoiding any charges, I still needed to get home.