Memiors – The Wrong Homecoming

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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.

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Memoirs – A trip that goes astray

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I had been partying hard on the idyllic island of Ibiza for 3 months. It was time to go home, back to England. It was either that or lose my mind to endless sleepless nights with too much drink. I had already sold my flight ticket home and was looking for the same deal. This involved using someone else’s ticket to get home. All the ticket holder had to do was check in with their passport and your bag, then you swapped. Thus, when you went through boarding, onto the plane, they only checked your ticket, ending up you went home cheaply on someone else’s ticket.

So, the ticket seller checked in my bag and showed his passport, got the boarding pass and my flight home was on. He then gave me the boarding pass, I paid him the money, and he left leaving me to catch the flight. On the way to the terminal I bumped into a girl friend of mine and told her the trick, she laughed. We both walked through the airport chatting about special Ibiza times without a care in the world.

It was now time to board, so I walked up to get on the flight. Unfortunately for me this time was like no other. The usual drill of just checking the ticket had gone, maybe they had cottoned on to the deceit. They were now checking tickets and passports together. What could I do? I had paid the money for the ticket and had to chance my luck. Moreover, I had already decided it was time to leave or risk further crazy problems. So, I walked up to the ground staff, they looked and looked again at the ticket and passport. There was a discrepancy. They pulled me to one side. My friend worryingly looked over, but there was nothing she could do.

The police arrived in no time, I was in trouble. They spoke no English and marched me away; all I could do was to accept the possibility of jail. They took me down the out of the main concourse and down flights of stairs. This was a long walk, where was I going? It was all getting louder. I could see the planes. It was then that I realised this must be the plane I was supposed to be on. I was marched up to the side of the plane and lifted up to find my bag. This was found in no time; at least it felt like that. I was certainly in a daze. Now, it was time to face the consequences of my actions. I thought my next move would be in the police car and kept overnight in some rough jail. They again marched me though the airport and then through a set of doors near the exit. It was then that they pushed me away and showed me the exit. I just walked half expecting this was not my chance to go. I was now outside; I kept walking then ran a little just be free of what just happened. I jumped in a taxi and was soon back to where I started all those hours ago.

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