If you’ve been following my blog, you’re already aware that I’ve been telling the story out of order. The next four posts will be no different. You’ve been warned. Xoxo.
RyanAir is a hoot.
I was making my connection from Dublin on the budget airline that every Irishman loves to hate. I kept an open mind. Their airport staff were friendly enough (despite the fact that I attempted to check in 4 hours early).
Boarding the plane, it became clear that this was not your typical airline experience. It’s not just that there’s no assigned searing. No, RyanAir runs much like a concession stand at the movies. On the short hop from Dublin to Biarritz, France, the brusque, efficient flight attendant offered beverages for sale. At 10am, they offered not just canned drinks, but beer, wine, and hard liquor. None of it complimentary.
Everything was for sale.
Out came reading material. Newspapers were hawked. Then duty-free cigarettes, perfume, even jewelry. I remembered that people who travel, complain, but the pilgrim is always grateful. Practicing gratitude, however, doesn’t mean the pilgrim must get fleeced. I watched the revolving show with interest and kept my money in my pockets.
The man who created RyanAir, I learned later from a young former intern, is actually a really nice guy who takes good care of his employees. His entrepreneurial leanings, I mused, seemed to know no bounds. I wondered how his employees felt about using their flight time to hawk everything under the sun.
When the announcement came on that lottery tickets would be sold next, I couldn’t contain a quiet but incredulous laugh. Lottery, really? If anyone had addiction issues, they’d never get out of this aluminum vice trap still on the 12 steps!
The pilot tipped his wings as we descended into the posh beach resort of Biarritz, the sun shining over the hilly, green landscape. From there, I was to take a train to Saint Jean Pied de Port, but more surprises await.