My snowy weekend starts on the Friday 16th December 2011 in the 28 degree heat of Las Palmas, Spain. I was working down there for a couple of years and the weather in the Winter was always late 20's and early 30's. The summer got even hotter. It's why not many people leave the Canary Islands. It is paradise there. I was opening a store down there for a former employer. The store opened in December so we had 50 UK & Irish staff arrive down with us in November training the Spanish workers on how we do stuff. It was like a 2 month holiday for these guys. They spent their days working and their nights partying and the we were always excited to see them. We would pick our own team so you have some loyalty and a couple of buddies down with you and everyone would just have a great time. I was in charge of these guy's welfare which included flights home. I had heard from some of the staff that the weather started getting bad in Ireland. A proper snowstorm so I rang HR back home and they said they were monitoring it. They had bolster staff in the Canaries, Gelsenkirchen Germany and also Belgium. Flights were booked for 21st December for most of the staff and myself. I was quite liking the beautiful weather at Christmas time and wasn't looking forward to going back home.
Some of the younger staff were getting a bit nervous and homesick when flights started getting cancelled into Ireland. I got a phonecall on the Sunday 18th telling me that all staff were booked to go home that night and I was to gather them up and head straight to the airport. It took a bit of organising but I did it. We hired a convoy of taxis and off we went.
I had a cousin in the airport in Ireland and he text me saying that there wasn't a hope the airport would be opening for the next few days. He was right. Flights all cancelled and people started to panic. The next couple of days were the same. We were now into Tuesday 20th December and again all flights cancelled to UK and Ireland. Wednesday 21st was the same. Thursday 22nd the same.
I went for a drink with some of the bolster on Thursday night. Cocktails on Las Canteras beach. Beautiful sunset. I was full sure I was spending Christmas Day here. It wouldn't be so bad. We would have spent the day eating and drinking in a restaurant by the sea or in the hotel. Around half the group thought like this but the other half were devastated that they could not get back home. For some it was their first trip abroad but what could they do.
On Friday the 23rd the cousin text me saying there may be some flights back running so I gathered the pack and decided to make one last dash for it. It was like planes trains and automobiles. We arrived up at the desk and asked the staff member if there were any flights out. She said there was to Scotland and the flight was half empty. I got onto HR.
BOOK THE FLIGHTS!!
It was Scotland. The British could then make their way home by rail. The Irish were in the wrong country but we were closer to home. Scotland is practically Ireland. HR rang me to say get on the flight and they would sort us with a connection whether it was boat or flight to Ireland. I had to turn the phone off because we were boarding. Some of the staff were not happy we were heading to Scotland but fuck them. It was my problem to get them home. That or put up with moaning and whinging all Christmas. We boarded the flight. 5 hours later we arrived in Glasgow.
HR rang me telling me if we ran we could get the connecting flight so it was like the scene from home alone with everyone running for the flight. The connecting flight had 30 spare seats. There were 32 Irish. Two brave souls had to get their connection the following morning. Two of the staff asked if they could stay having started a relationship in Spain and one last night in a nice hotel was just perfect so they waved us goodbye. We made it to the connecting flight. It was to bloody Belfast. The only airport still opening. We arrived into Belfast on 10pm on the Friday 23rd December 2011. It was -22 degrees. One of the coldest days ever recorded in Ireland ever. I wasn't dressed for the occasion having been in 30 degree heat all year. I never forget it. But we were all back on the Island. We had one great night out in Belfast that night while outside there was a sound of coldness. An eery sound. It was mad.
On Christmas eve we got the train down from Belfast and then said our goodbyes in Dublin. Dublin to Tipperary was not so fun. The car I owned was rear wheel drive and a bastard to drive in cold weather. I bearly got home alive but I arrived back on 8pm on 24th December and joined the family in the pub. They were delighted to see me on this snowy weekend like no other. It was an epic journey but we made it in the end. I took one photo after I arrived back in Ireland and this was it.
