Check in takes slightly longer than at Terminal 5, with Paphos airport being less than a third of the size. At security there is a brief pause, mere moments after I remark that I am usually randomly selected, where I am randomly selected for drug swabbing. We shop in the duty free. My plastic carrier from earlier has stained my hands red, so I take the opportunity to purchase another cat related tote bag, and then later a Cypriot cookbook filled with recipes for cured meats I cannot eat. My friend ponders the ethics and logistics of getting fresh halloumi onto the plane to take home fore her husband, but opts for safer, non-chilled items in the end.
In the departures lounge, I sip an uncultured Costa Coffee iced tea, and eat half a panini prepared for me by a woman with a name take bearing the name ‘Queen’. One thing that I will not miss from Cyprus is the no-loo-roll-flushing toilets. I have not managed to get used to the concept at all, though I have managed to not block any loos either.
Our flight is delayed only after the gate is called, and we stand in line for around 45 minutes, before being bussed over to the plane. We later learn that the delay is due to the original plane’s air conditioning breaking, so they switched to an entirely new aircraft. I have never been so thankful to be delayed. The air temperature is still over 30 degrees in the dark.
For this flight, my friend and I are on opposite sides of the aisle. I have never flown at night before, and instantly find it unnerving, despite the sensation now being even more akin to being on a coach than the flight out. I don’t sleep, likely due to a mixture of heartburn and nerves, but I do make it through 5 back-to-back episodes of Andor, before lightning from a nearby storm out of the right side window draws my attention. The clouds over Venice flash red and orange, and at one point I wonder if the wing is on fire, the light is shining so brightly. Lightning viewed from above, in a god’s eye view, is quite relaxing, like natural fireworks.
Shortly after this, the seatbelt lights come back on, and we have some small turbulence. We are being diverted over Paris to avoid the storm. It is a slow landing into Gatwick, with the breaks of the plane seeming to screech for minutes before we come to a halt. It is 3am Cyprus time, but only 1 am in the UK, and it takes a full hour to disembark, find our bags, and shuttle over to the North Terminal Premier Inn.
The room is ostensibly only booked for one, but despite two people arriving at the desk, we are waved up to the eighth floor, and find a full double and single bed. I crawl out of my dungarees and under the covers of the single bed whilst my friend is in the bathroom. My train home has been cancelled, in a mirror image to my journey day one, and so at nearly 4am Cyprus time I am requesting a refund, and booking a new ticket, slightly earlier in the hope I might miss some of the cancelled train crush.
We both wake up around 6am UK time, disgusted to find that we have only slept for 4 hours, we both close our eyes again until 8am. I dunk myself under the shower, scrubbing off the cemented on sun cream, still in place after our exploration of Paphos the day before. I wave goodbye to my friend at the hotel lifts. She is going for breakfast before her flight back Ireland, and I am taking the shuttle back to the South Terminal to collect my new train tickets. By this point I am desperate to get home, even though only the cats will be there to greet me.
I call my mother as I wait for the train, and then spend a full hour reading with my eyes as wide as possible to ensure I don’t fall asleep. I have an hour wait for my connecting train, so I hunt for some breakfast. I settle on a mozzarella panini, which for some reason boasts the inclusion of Hellman’s Light Mayonnaise. It makes the whole experience sour, as light mayo is a truly heinous invention. I do have a soft spot for fast food hot chocolate however, and relish the sugar bomb whilst I await my platform. I sit next to a cleaning caution sign, which is in the shape of a standing banana peel.
I have to stand the whole way back on my final train, right next to the toilet, novel number 5 on my Kindle just 2 inches away from my face to keep me standing upright. A drunk man in 90s sunglasses pushes by three times in the hour to pee, and fourth time bringing along his wife as well, accidently punching me in the stomach on his way by. I have no energy to do more than emit a soft ‘ouch’, and he turns to wail ‘sorry’ in my face, or at least my neck, as he is not a tall gentleman.
We arrive late, of course. Outside the station I pour myself into an Uber, which is not a Tesla, and am driven, in blissful silence, Home.
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