Organising a holiday is no day at the beach

WELL, they would, wouldn’t they? Just when the mammies of Ireland thought they might have escaped, this year, the thankless stress of organising a family holiday abroad, the Government goes and publishes the famous Green List. And so my best excuse to avoid the annual trawl through last-minute deals – a mid-summer ritual in our house, almost as dependable as the traditional bout of recriminations/comparisons with other people’s parents who snapped up a fab Spanish villa and booked the flights for buttons last January – has vanished.

So now we can go to Greece, or Italy or Malta, all super destinations with good Covid stats, endless sunshine, amazing beaches, terrific food, and no need to quarantine when we get home.

The cost of the flights has been hiked up, for sure, but then Michael O’Leary’s kids need shoes, too, the airlines have been having a lean time of it, so it’s hard to blame them for making hay when the sun doesn’t shine here.

And let us never forget that Ryanair single-handedly rescued us from an era when a flight to London on Aer Lingus cost a whole week’s wages. Also, when you hear tales of shameless scalping and gouging by hoteliers in popular Irish destinations, with reports of €4,000 being quoted for four-day family stays in Kerry, the option of a cheap Greek island break has a definite appeal.

It’s just the actual business of getting there that’s such a turn-off and this year, for once, those of us who’ve always shouldered the responsibility for organising family holidays finally thought we were getting a break.

This year, for once, we’d be spared the countless micro-hassles that go with transporting several humans from one country to another for a fortnight’s holiday. Apart from the hunting, discussing, comparing, agreeing and booking a trip, apart from trying to find dates that suit everyone and a destination that is generally acceptable, there’s all the niggly bits you forget.

Like the annual passport hunt, and the heart-thumping, panicked checking of expiry dates on the night before you’re due to fly. And if you’ve teenagers who use them as ID, good luck tracking them down, with hours to spare, and finding them in a presentable state. A friend recently told how her teenage son’s passport disintegrated, when he produced it at the airport, because it had been laundered in his jeans pocket: damaged passports are invalid, so there was nothing for it but send him home alone for the fortnight. And you can just imagine the peace of mind his parents enjoyed on that particular ‘holiday’...

Who gets the job of farming out the dog, making sure a neighbour has the keys and the alarm code, arranging to have the bins put out, and using up/giving away all the perishable food in the fridge so you don’t come back to find it looking like a petting zoo for small, furry creatures?

WHO HAS to keep an ear out for the boarding call, while everyone else browses the duty free, and herd them all to the right gate in time? And whose fault is it, tell me, if somebody has brought a 250ml bottle of their favourite shampoo/perfume/ cleanser, which is then confiscated at security?

Or if you didn’t check that everyone had packed the right phone charger, or you forgot the continental adaptors? Who gets the blame when the shuttle bus from the long-stay car park takes ages to arrive? Who spends the first morning stocking up on sun-screen and bottled water, while the rest of the family has a lie-in? Who has to remember to ring the bank to tell them you’ll be using your debit card overseas, so you don’t find it’s been cancelled for security reasons when you’ve finally reached the check-out at the discount Converse outlet?

And those were just the pre-Covid realities of a family holiday. Now factor in the extra hours to be spent in the airports at both ends of the trip, standing in lengthy queues made doubly long by social distancing and temperature checks, and making sure everyone has enough masks and hand sanitiser, disposable gloves and antibacterial wipes.

I’m sure lots of people were thrilled at the publication of the green list, and are already anticipating their holidays on sunny foreign beaches. But I’ll bet they’re not the people who actually have to book, organise, plan and pay for these trips. I bet they’re not the people who were looking forward, this year, to a holiday where the only thing you had to remember, before you locked the front door and got in the car, was to make sure everyone had a final pee...