Binter - a proper airline

Just had the fortune to take to the skies with one airline that I actually enjoy flying with – Binter Canarias. This little island-hopper takes me back to the days when passengers weren’t considered to be a disturbance in the routines of cabin crew, a thorn in the arse of check-in staff and generally herded around like particularly dumb cattle. So why do I like them?

1. They make an effort to make the (short) flight an enjoyable experience
2. The cabin crew don’t treat the passengers like unwelcome gatecrashers at some insider party
3. Although you’re only in the air for a short while, they still have time to hand out chocolate wafers, sweets and water
4. Call me sexist but all the crew are attractive and make an effort with their appearance (unlike some other airline crews who could do with more than a bucketful of slappy

Shame they don’t do UK flights as I’m pretty darned sick of being treated with disdain by the likes of the infamous no-frills airlines. If they carry on the way they are doing, and keep winning the award… who knows, perhaps they will expand their routes and more people can see how airlines should treat their passengers… and get free chocolate wafers.

Well done Binter.

Anyhows, check out this page (I’m at the bottom) on hotels recommended by travel writers, to see which hotel I did recommend – and it’s not on Tenerife.

In the wake of yesterday’s news of the collapse of Globespan and its low cost airline Flyglobespan, Turismo de Tenerife is liaising closely with Ashotel (Tenerife Hoteliers Association) , Aena, (Spanish Aviation Authority),  APAV (Provincial Association of Travel Agents ),  the company itself and tour operators who operate with it in order to ensure that any affected passengers who are currently holidaying in Tenerife will be able to enjoy their holiday to the full before returning to the UK.

Globespan flights scheduled from Tenerife Sur are as follows: one today Thursday [17 December] and a further three for Saturday [19], bound for the Scottish cities of Glasgow, Aberdeen and Edinburgh.  All these passengers will be offered accommodation at special ‘contingency rates’, independent of any agreements they may reach with Globespan for their return to the United Kingdom.

The island councillor for tourism Tenerife, José Manuel Bermúdez, stresses: “This is unexpected news but we believe that the number of seats, which amounts to around one per cent of the total airline capacity from the UK to the island , will be covered in the near future by other airlines operating to Tenerife.

“As well as the action being implemented by Turismo de Tenerife, companies like Easyjet and Ryanair have already offered special prices for these passengers, so we are confident that they will be all able to fly home in the next few days.”

There is a customer helpline 0044 141  332 3233, and an official statement with useful information on their web: www.flyglobespan.com.  Passengers affected by Globespan’s failure can also check out the British Civil Aviation Authority’s web: www.caa.co.uk

Locally, the Spanish Aviation Authority AENA at Tenerife Sur airport has activated a customer helpline for stranded passengers: 922 759 027 or 922 759 028, where they can get information on extending their stay until they have been able to make alternative travel arrangements.

The Sir A, as it’s now tagged, is an oasis of tip-top styling at the heart of Playa de las Americas. Cheap it ain’t – but damn fine it is.

Picture private rooftop plunge pools, smoked glass windows, a pillow menu that divides into chapters and al fresco massages amidst the shade of leafy palms. The staff are totally on the ball, even housekeeping knew it was Joy’s birthday and cheerily reminded her whenever they passed.

The restaurant is also fab. A private lawn-side pagoda had been decked out with starched linen and shiny silverware, surrounded by flickering oil lamps and an assortment of stray cats. I don’t think the cats were supposed to be there, but they were good company and fully appreciated the scallops in puff pastry, fillet steak in red wine and the foie gras.

Fair play too with the breakfasts. Yes, there was the full english variety if you cared to venture for it. But every day they also invent a selection of creative alternatives, such as smoked bacon on crispy noodles, and goats cheese with apple and cranberry parfait.

Although there’s a barrow-load of facilities and amenities at the four other neighbouring Mare Nostrum hotels, including a gym and wellness spa, they’re all hidden away behind the Sir A so you wouldn’t even know they were there.

The only thing you do notice is the golden stuff on Compostela Beach, a mere arm’s length from the lawned gardens. In fact there’s no other hotel in Tenerife within such close proximity from rooms to sand.

Can’t help but recommend the Sir Anthony and will definitely return, only if to rest my weary head on the other 130 different pillows on offer.

In Tenerife, if you’re looking for a romantic break, a flirty fling or just a bit of high class pampering in unpretentious yet gorgeous surroundings, check into the Sir A, you’d be a fool not to.

Answer: Go and find Hollywood in Tenerife. Yip, we’d heard that the film set for the Clash of The Titans re-make was being built in the wilds of Teide National Park, so off we set to have a ganders. Joy plastered on her best lippy in hope that they’d had a casting disaster and urgently needed to pluck a complete stranger from the crowd of gawpers. Bit of a dreamer, our Joy.

Anyways, it was easy to find the set. Clearly marked by miles of Crimewatch style ticker tape, a scrum of equipment vehicles and two roadside security guards looking clearly baffled as to why they were there.

The actual set building was roped off just at a great vantage point metres from where the painters were dabbing ochre onto God-world pillars. ‘What’s a pillar?’ you can hear Molly ask in the video. I was tempted to answer the question ‘what’s a pillock?’ as there was clearly one standing in front of the set in a yellow vest, wagging a finger at anybody who dared lift a camera.

“No picture, no picture,” he barked 20 metres across the volcanic wasteland. Most people lowered their cameras and skulded off bewildered. A few, like us, waited till his back was turned then snapped away anyway.

“It’s Teide National Park, for goodness sake,” Joy rightly points out in the video. “I’ll take a *&88ing picture if I want.” The observant amongst you will spot that we didn’t use that particular take. Sky Travel is a family channel, after all.

Anyways, depite Joy mithering the life out of various members of the production crew, they all refused to be interviewed, those in postitions of authority tutting about ‘something has to be done about all these people taking pictures, it’s supposed to be a closed set.”

Well don’t stage a Hollywood set in the middle of a national park then, for *&%^’s sake! Or at least build it further than 50 goddam metres from the roadside of Spain’s most visited National Park. And cover it up. A shower curtain, a pair of Ann Widdicombe’s knickers. Anything!

Anyway, here’s the Tenerife Clash of the Titans video, including Joy’s (toned down) rant. Enjoy.

The Canary Islands under the sea from Rafa Herrero on Vimeo.

Very much liking this new Tenerife video – Tenerife in a day and a bit… stunning visuals.
We need more of these great videos that show Tenerife in its Sunday best.

Why are the people who deal with paperwork so damn awkward? Is it because they’ve been breathing in teeny particles of paper dust? Is it because they’re sick and tired of all the paper cuts they get?

No. It’s because they’re all self-important numpties who love nothing better than to bark a stern ‘No!’ across obsessively ordered desks.

Just 20 seconds of being with this race whooshed me back in time to when we had a bar and had to battle with the paper police on an almost daily basis. No wonder my fringe fell off.

From More Ketchup than Salsa: Confessions of a Tenerife barman…

…the most aggravating thing about our paperwork quests up north was that more often than not, they were unsuccessful. We knew that as soon as we entered the police station or foreign office or department of health and social security, a frumpish bulldog would be assigned with the sole intention of barking a curt ‘no!’ even before we’d had the chance to explain our reason for being there.
And this was no normal ‘no’, delivered with a hint of pity and suggestions of alternative routes. The ‘no’s’ that we received were full-blooded, self-satisfying absolute refusals served with a strong side order of condescension. Apparently we had produced the wrong documentation, presented it in an unsatisfactory manner, at the wrong time, wearing the wrong clothes and with just the wrong inflection in our voices. The officials would not be moved, no matter that we had a business to run and couldn’t afford to return the following day and thereby lose a consecutive day’s profits. No matter that we had risen at 6.30, driven north for an hour and then spent another hour trying to find a parking space in a city that had none, driving on an interminably stupid one-way system that flung you back south if you accidentally missed the unmarked turn-off.
It might have made an inkling of difference if the capital was a pretty city. But in 1991 it wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination. The first monument that greeted travellers from the South was a shoreline oil refinery whose odour was twice as unpleasant as the sight of its steel intestines. Once in the centre, a hotchpotch of architectural styles sullied the pedestrian Plaza de España, a place where gypsies would charge at you waving linen tablecloths and frilly pillowcases. And that was your reward for enduring a white knuckle ride along the TF-1, a testing ground for kamikaze taxi drivers and 16-year-old rally wannabes.
This time, we entered the police station with a large sigh, a foreboding sense of doom, and a bulging folder containing every piece of paper we’d collected.
Inside, all seemed calm. The only noises were the low hum of fluorescent lighting and a periodic ‘clack’ as a large bespectacled man in the background cautiously poked at his computer keyboard. Every tap was followed by an uncertain glance up, checking that every letter typed was in fact making its way from fingertip to screen. Satisfied that it was, he would then gaze around looking for someone with whom to share his accomplishment.
‘Take a number’, the sign said. I looked up at the electronic counter – ‘13’, it read. Our ticket said 112. We sat down and flicked disinterestedly through a couple of faded Hola! magazines that had been thoughtfully provided in 1987.
The minutes moved on but the numbers didn’t. Whatever problem had befallen the elderly English couple at the desk, it was not being rectified despite their exasperated insistence in front of the shoulder-shrugging assistant. They had given up struggling with the local tongue and were now remonstrating in strong Geordie accents. The girl behind the counter had suddenly lost the ability to speak English and was having none of it. She shooed them off with a wave of her hand and summoned the next in line. The Geordies sauntered off, red-faced, clutching the wad of seemingly ineffectual forms. They had my sympathy. Several times before we had failed to impress a paper shuffler, only to return the following day with a different clerk on duty who would then process our paperwork with not the slightest of fuss.
Eventually, with a colossal leap from 18 to 112, the counter indicated that it was our turn. I passed over the bundle of papers.
‘Do you have the 123 and the 234?’
I lifted the top copy and there indeed they were. The girl scanned every detail, trying desperately to find a reason why they shouldn’t be accepted.
‘Residencia,’ she demanded, annoyance now creeping into her voice.
This we produced and frustrated again, she moved up a gear, converting back to Spanish to try and throw us.
‘Did you submit your double ‘O’ seven, fill in a 36C and receive a signed copy of the B52s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever taken an A2B, forwarded a 4-4-2 and been given a T4-2 or a 2-4T?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Last month.’
Her face lit up as if she’d tripped over a bucketful of gold.
‘Then it’s expired.’
She sat back in the chair contented. Her smug expression and folded arms evidently insinuated that she was done with me and victory was hers, but we were not giving in this time. From our folder I slowly produced another form. Our eyes locked in a Mexican stand-off. As she saw the form, her mouth dropped and we both knew I had won. We had the notorious re-submitted, double stamped, top yellow copy of form 666. A valid extension from hell. The lights flickered, horrified heads turned to stare and the girl behind the counter shielded her eyes.
‘Sign it,’ she screamed, tossing a chewed biro onto the desk. The clock chimed twelve as we flung open the doors. The daylight streamed in, causing the clerks to wince and groan. We had won. Joy was at last going to be legal; well, almost…

From More Ketchup than Salsa: Confessions of a Tenerife barman…

Copyright Joe Cawley, 2006-2009

Following in the delicate footsteps of Raquel Welch in a fur bikini, seems like Warner Bros are preparing to shoot another major epic in Tenerife with a Hollywood remake of Clash of the Titans. More Tenerife films info here.

S’all good promo for the island, unlike that splash of fantasy about the forthcoming Tenerife eruption printed in The Sun recently which has now been firmly put to bed with no supper and no songs by the Tenerife Cabildo.