The taxi (from Pryors) picked up Trish first, after he found her home and then us. Traffic was thin, and it wasn’t raining too hard, so the ride was comfortable and quick (a Mercedes E Class 220 taxi. Ian dropped us off in good time, and after Di had another cigarette, we proceeded inside.
Check-in was a breeze after a helpful chap escorted us around the not too long lines and dropped us at the Assistance desk. We stopped for stamps for Trish to mail a few letters and Di for some Twiglets and proceeded through Security — a short line that early in the morning. We could have gone to the BA lounge and sat down and had some breakfast, but, no, Di and Trish had to shop some more and I cooled my heels with our carry-ons.
Eventually they finished (and had with them still another bag to carry on the plane), and we entered the lounge. (Di and I had club class tickets and Tricia was flying coach, but the check-in attendant told us to have Tricia accompany us as Di’s “caregiver.” Who were we to question that advice?) We had a bit of breakfast and boarded the plane without trouble — Di’s scooter being stowed in cargo but leaving me with the 17-pound battery again.
The plane, a BA A-320, however, was not able to leave on time. Some passengers had not been able to fly today (reason not given), but their luggage was aboard. Therefore, their luggage had to be removed before we could depart. A “ten-minute job,” the pilot said. A “thirty-five minute job,” chuckled the ground crew. But, eventually, after the tower found us a new place in the takeoff queue, we were on our way.
The flight was smooth, and we landed in Corfu after a two hour and forty-five minute flight. We had to deplane on the tarmac and then take a bus to the terminal. Charlie had a bit of a slow climb down the stairs with Trish’s assistance from the airplane to the bus but made it with me following with too many articles of carry-on baggage.
When we got to the main terminal, there was no one to help Charlie with a wheelchair. I found one a ways off and pushed her up the, rather, steep and long ramp into the terminal. Customs was short — mine was the only passport the inspector really looked at.
Twenty minutes later we had our luggage and Charlie’s scooter had been delivered, and I’d put it together. We were off.
Our drivers were there to meet us and, after a little discussion, they, the drivers and Charlie and Trish, settled on one. It turned out to be a sixteen-passenger bus with five riders — the three of us and two other women from our flight. Just before we left the other two women figured out they were on the wrong bus, got their bag and boarded the bus next to us with the rest of their party.
Charlie had wanted to rent a car and have me drive to the villa. I convinced her not to. Boy, am I glad I did — after all, I couldn’t speak the language nor could I read the road signs — it was all Greek to me. There is no way on God’s Green Earth that I’d have been able to successfully follow the directions we had to the villa through the city and out to the north. But the driver seemed to have no trouble, and included a stop at a “supermarket” for supplies.
When we arrived at Villa Andonis, Nissaki, Corfu, Eirini and Dora were there to greet us and show us around. It’s a “nice” place. Pictures to follow.
(to be continued)