My 4.50 EUR ticket cost me a kidney

I do like going on holiday. By car or on a boat or maybe on a train or as a last resort on foot but by plane... I would rather be flung out of a catapult knowing the landing spot would be covered in broken glass and angry hedgehogs.

It all starts when you know you want to go on holiday. A warm place...in February....or March...you know you will have to fly since Holland is either flooded or frozen over and France...well is France...

You go to the travel agent, since al-Qaida you can not walk up to a plane and take it anymore, and have the nice lady explain that a seat to your very warm and 65 star resort only costs you 4,50 euro.

And then it starts. "Do you have luggage sir?" well yes..."That's 50 euro handling charges"... What?? For 5 pair of shorts and a toothbrush?......"Have you heard from the fuel tax sir?"... No but I am about to am I?....Long story short, 50 euro to get that piece of horror into the sky... "What room do you want sir?" and then the tricky part begins.... I would like one with a double bed, ocean view and away from the elevator. There is always 1 guy during your holiday who thinks it's funny to do an Aerosmith drum solo against the elevator wall when riding up or down...so no sleep if you are close to one of those... "Ok, we do not have a room available in this category"... Ok what do you have then?..."A penthouse presidential suite overlooking the pool, the chimney and the neighboring 5 islands or a single room next to the elevator with no view at all except for the one overlooking El Corrida des Kaka."... No thank you, from a previous trip I learned that that was an open sewage waste pipe and not actually a parrot sanctuary...

So you end up paying for your 4,50 euro ticket with the deed of your house and the promise that, if the lady ever needs a new kidney she can have yours, and start packing.

Driving to the airport does not get me in the holiday mood, walking around on an airport neither so how anybody would think it's fun to drive around on an airport parking lot for 5 years looking for a space to park and then when you found one figuring out that you are parked in zone 6542 with the yellow funny looking turtle logo and that you have to walk back 5 years with luggage in tow, I do not know....

You check in your luggage and it's of through the custom office. Passport check and a quick probe by a big hairy bloke called BorisGzmirnkov to see if you do not make funny noises when he puts his metal stick up your wazoo and you are in the tax free zone...I learned not to buy anything while leaving because I once bought an 80 piece puzzle andby the time I was back home 7 days later.... I only had 7 pieces left. The rest was on it's way to some African country together with my suitcase... So you wait, sweat, wait and sweat some more and then, like a call from Death himself: "Plane with destination not-France is now boarding"... Quick trip to the loo for some clean shorts and then a brave face and of we go.

Strange crackling noises, a strange wind and smell and that is only the person in the seat next to you...I am on a plane...the horror...no way back now. Better start remembering what to do. Chew gum, ok, I start chewing gum like an idiot, 4, 5 pieces at once. Take-off... I start chewing even harder, so hard my eyes start blinking in sync with my chewing. My eardrums feel like they are about to exit my body via a way that would leave me in need of another pair of clean shorts. Then I remember that yawning can help. Ever tried to yawn with 5 pieces of mashed up gum stuck between your teeth...not easy. I blew a bubble so big they thought I smuggled an inflatable bouncy castle on board. After the worst 15 minutes of my life you hear a "ping" and a little indicator that says it's ok to unbuckle your seat belt. No way...when that plane explodes at least I want to fall, sitting comfortably towards my death.

Then it's lunch time. Thanks to Mr Bin-Laden I now need to cut my half frozen piece of pate with a plastic knife that breaks when you try to open the plastic wrapper it comes in. So after finishing my pate snow cone I watch on a small screen the route of the plane and the expected time of arrival. The agony...a blue map, which I can only presume is water, or some kind of error page, which I do not want to think about... and in the middle of it a small dot...still 2h to go... 5 packets of chewing gum, 6 apologies for exploding bouncy castles later another "ping"... The "put on your seat belt" sign went up. Finally....another 15 minutes and the sweatiest armpits you have ever seen later, I was kissing the tarmac...not like the pope but in my rush to get out of there I tripped and bounced my way down the landingstairs....

And the worst part....7 days, an indigestion and a sun tan later the thing starts all over again...