Travels with my Aunt. Part one. High Tea (approx 30,000ft)

I don’t think I have ever flown on a double-decker plane before. I remember the first time I saw a train with an upstairs in France and I had that same feeling of being quite amazed when we boarded the plane today. Luckily I was with a seasoned traveller, who laughed at my naivety. Last night Auntie A had ensured that every single email containing correspondence with regards to flights, transfers and accommodation had been printed, stapled and appropriately filed; a large suitcase had been packed with items that included organic cereal, non-toxic sun cream and dairy free milk; and Mr E (resident lodger) had been reminded to lock the doors and water the flowers. And here we were taking our seats on a Virgin Airways flight to Montego Bay.

Sadly though I don’t think the plane was quite so virginal as its company name made it out to be, this was my first time on a craft so large, but it was far from being this plane’s maiden voyage. After a rather bumpy take off (which I quite enjoy – I like the feeling of my tummy flipping when the wheels leave the ground) I discovered that my in-flight entertainment system didn’t work – the picture was ok but the earphones made the people sound like they were underwater. I opted instead to read one of the many complimentary magazines I had taken from the departure gate.

They attendants in their vintage red uniforms promptly came round with the menus for the journey including a ‘welcome cocktail’ and were followed by the drinks trolley. In the top drawer of a chest of drawers in my bedroom at home I still have a couple of miniature bottles of spirits from a flight I took to Kenya nearly 2 years ago, and with the intention of replenishing my supply I asked for a rum and coke. However, on the Virgin flight the spirits don’t come in individual bottles, they get poured from a bar selection, so slipping the alcohol into my bag whilst sipping my soft drink wasn’t so easy. But, given I had no immediate plans to operate heavy machinery or drive any vehicles I took a sip of the hard stuff and hoped it would make the 9 hour flight pass a little faster.

You can always tell on a plane when they are getting ready to serve the meals. The smell floods the cabin and though it is not a particularly nice smell, it resembles food enough to make you feel hungry and impatient, peering down the aisle to check the progress of lunch. It smells how I imagine the inside of a microwave might start to smell when used too much and cleaned little, the beeping alert of the seatbelt sign signalling it’s ready. I went for the coconut chicken and my aunt, having opted on check-in for the vegetarian option was given Mediterranean pasta. Both meals have the same soggy texture and lack of taste and the bread rolls they come with are typically dense. The salad had a few leaves of rocket in it though, that was classy. Meals on planes never take more than about 5 minutes. Facing the seat head in front of you and trapped by your tray so that you cant turn even if you felt inclined to stop watching whatever film to talk to your neighbour. It is an en masse TV dinner, and you are as impatient for it to be cleared away as you were for it to be brought to you.

A couple of hours after lunch they brought round little ice creams, a delicious surprise. I was impressed they had managed to keep them frozen up here. More impressed in fact than that we were in a giant vehicle flying at over 500mph. A couple of hours before we landed we were served High Tea: crustless finger sandwiches and scones with clotted cream and jam, much more enjoyable than lunch had been.

After a final reshuffling of bodies and queuing for the loo, the plane turned its nose towards the ground and we got our first glimpse of Jamaica. It was just the time of day (local time) when the sea turns the same colour as the sky: both a blue-grey and the last of the sun glowed amber over the crests of the mountains.

I love the smell of foreign airports; the smell of heat. After an inconveniently long wait for our bags (during which auntie stood, hands on hips and feet apart, like Robin Williams when he finally realises he was in fact once Peter Pan) we came outside where that smell gets stronger with hot tarmac and possible urine (very third world A mutters) and see a sign with our names on. Another first for me.

Our driver, George, drove us down the ‘hip strip’ of downtown Montego Bay and we asked him whether celebrities ever stayed at Round Hill. Oh yes, sometime he replied, like dat Mr Bean. He bin here. Oh he make me laugh just lookin’ at him. We drove up the drive lined with old willow trees, though not weeping ones like in England, the land is too dry for them to waste water with tears.

Our room is a seafront room, and we’ve left the windows open. From where you lie in your bed you can hear the waves rushing up the beach and the frogs singing to each other. Such a great noise, says Aunt A as she pushes in her ear plugs and pops a sleeping pill. I am sure, as my head hits the pillow, that I can smell marijuana in the air. Welcome to Jamaica man.