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A Journey to Rhodes

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A Journey to Rhodes I was about to embark upon an adventure. Just five hours away from my arrival at a destination of great culture, and of course, unbearable heat, yet I was standing in a drab, despairing environment teeming with screaming five year olds and ignorant Mancunians: I was in Manchester Airport. The cuatomary delay of our plane was something in the region of an hour and a half. The over priced Arcades and Cafes provided moderate relief from the monotony, but surely �1:50 for a bottle of Diet Coke is a step too far? I also perused the shelfs of the "special branch" chain stores, which charges extortortionate prices even when compared to their high street relatives. Despite the Manchester United bias in the sports shops, I amazingly excavated the brand new Everton away shirt, from amongst a disturbingly large amount of "Beckham no.7" merchandise. The price was suprisingly reasonable, so I became the owner of my 11th Everton shirt, and strolled away, pleased with my purchase. The many minutes in between my purchase and the boarding of my plane, as my father and I each had reading material, so soon, I was boarding the flight to Rhodes... ...read more.


The receptionist was an archaic man, with milk-white hair, and he seemed strangely subdued. Perhaps this was because he was forced to sit at a desk through the night with nothing but a fan for company, I thought. As soon as I entered our hotel room, I felt the heat, which was something of an amazing sensation, which even made me feel quite ill. My father recogised my suffering, and proptly passed me some water, which I gulped gratefully. I then went to sleep. The next morning, my father woke me up, and instructed me to have a shower in order to freshen up. After that, we descended into the main reception area, where there was a dining hall/cafeteria. We were greeted by a chirpy native, who had a TERRIBLE haircut. I remember him being very courteous, as he guided us to our table. Unfortunately, the breakfast service was abysmal: warm milk and stale cornflakes doth not a good breakfast make. I protested this point to my father, but he, to my amazement, admonished me, so I simply sat there, arms crossed, and silent. ...read more.


We struck up a decent friendship over our stay, if only because we couldn't do anything else. He was a hard-working, honest, and likeable man, and one whom I missed after we went home, as his helpful manner began to grow on me. The days of book reading and crossword solving passed relatively quickly, and soon we were heading back home. On the final day, I said my goodbyes to the locals, and my father and I began purchasing gifts for relatives, and getting rid of any spare Greek coins. In the evening, the coach arrived on time, and I realised that I had wasted a holiday that had so much potential. My neck had healed from a "pain" stand point, but my friends are, to this day, still mocking me for the scar everytime we visit the swimming baths, and I still regret my naivety to this day. Overall, I do have positive reflections of my holiday. Instead of making friends with some Mancunian for the sake of it, I had a more relaxing, thoughtful experience, although, not by choice. The sunburn ruined the holiday, but also made it what it was, so in that way, I enjoyed it. By John Beesley, 10Bingham ...read more.

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