This week’s trip back from Spain was the most stressful we’ve ever had.
We’d set off in good time for our 17:25pm flight, leaving time to get a little fuel (we were on a ‘return half full’ policy), to drive the 20 minutes to the airport, to drop the car off at Malagacar.com and be through security 90 minutes before the gate opened. No worries.
However, once we dropped down the slip road at Los Boliches we saw that the A7 (just at the point where it is joined by the AP7) was blocked solid and only moving very, very slowly. We could see that this continued right up the hill towards Benalmadena and decided therefore to come straight off (there are three slip roads at this point and the final one returns to Los Pacos/Finlandia/Torreblanca) and take the coast road through Benalmadena and Torremolinos to the airport.
For almost 30 minutes we thought that this was a BIG mistake. The coast road was crawling along even slower than the motorway. At first we thought that this was because others had taken the same decision as us, to take the N340 and avoid the motorway.
Then we came across the JCB!
The coast road hold-up was caused by a JCB! Nothing more.
The rest of the journey was as uneventful as any journey on that road (I got lost just the once, near the airport and not in Torremolinos, which would have been a nightmare) and luckily it was siesta time, or it might have been more eventful.
Security at the airport was a breeze but the plane took off 35 minutes late. This was unannounced; we suspect because the crew were (possibly) delayed by the incident on the motorway. However, the pilot made good time and we could have landed just a little later than planned – but – we were forced to abort the landing because of ‘debris on the runway, possibly birds, probably dead birds by now’ and go around again. This made us very tight for our 20:20pm train home. We’d also been forced to put Sharon’s on-board bag in the hold because the flight was full (they brooked no argument – ‘don’t fly then!’), so that delayed us at the airport in Manchester.
We ran like the wind to catch the train. Really, we did.
We were on the platform when the guard closed the doors, in fact we were nearer than that: one second earlier and we would have had our hands on the doors! However, a sad smile and a whistle was all we got from the guard – plus a missed train.
Fortunately, there was another train slightly later, which meant a change in Manchester and a missed connection in Huddersfield. However, despite all of the above we were home only 35-40 minutes later than planned. Phew.