Travel trauma for Bradford Bulls reporter on Toulouse trip

Flights were cancelled, people were forced to fork out hundreds of extra pounds at the last minute, and some supporters were forced to turn into an impromptu taxi service to get their fellow fans back to Bradford on Sunday night from whichever airport they landed at.

London Broncos followers will be hoping to avoid the same fate when they travel out to Toulouse for the Million Pound Game tomorrow.

As for last weekend, naturally, me being me, I have my own travel trauma to relive…

Things got off to a bad start in midweek. I had arranged to stay at a friend’s in Edinburgh on the Friday night and fly from there, but some confusion at work led to me being booked on to the flight that landed in Toulouse at 3:55pm on Saturday, via Bristol, rather than the direct one that arrived at 11:55am.

I managed about 90 minutes sleep before my flight, on an uncomfortable airbed with my friend snoring in his own bed in the same room.

Knowing the temperature was touching 30 degrees in the South of France and only having a small cabin bag as my luggage allowance, I dressed in shorts and a t-shirt to fly, which was quite the look at 6:15am in the pouring rain, on my way to the tram to take me to the airport.

I was up bright and early to go to Toulouse, with the Edinburgh weather up to its usual tricks. (Image: NQ Staff.)

Flying to Bristol went without a hitch, but then without warning, the plane to Toulouse was delayed by 30 minutes, not ideal when the turnaround was tight anyway.

Certainly not ideal for the Bulls fans there with me who’d already had their flight cancelled from Heathrow that morning, who were relying on Bristol for salvation.

We finally boarded and set off 45 minutes late, arriving in Toulouse 90 minutes before kick-off.

Fortunately, I hopped in a taxi with those aforementioned Bradford fans to the ground, and realised my university French had not completely deserted me, even if every taxi driver I had that weekend seemed baffled that the rugby I was covering wasn’t the ongoing Rugby Union World Cup in the country.

“What is a Bradford Bulls?” seemed to be the general response.

After arriving at 5pm, the game went by with little issue, except the result of course, as I basked in the thrill and privilege of covering Bulls abroad.

I was pitchside at the Stade Ernest-Wallon ahead of kick-off, and had a lovely chat with George Flanagan Jr about his impending move to Huddersfield. (Image: UGC.)

All that effort to get there seemed worth it, and it truly was, but little did I know my travel trouble was far from over.

I was still hungry after the night before, where my tea consisted of an 11pm packet of crisps and a Mars bar from a vending machine, following a fruitless wander of the streets around my hotel looking for a food outlet.

But after wolfing down a quick breakfast of bread, cheese and a pain au chocolat, I made the airport in good time for my 10:50am flight home on Sunday.

All of a sudden, at 10:15am, just before we were due to board, an announcement confirmed a technical fault on our flight.

Initially thinking it would be resolved quickly, it soon dawned on all of us waiting that would not be the case.

The departure boards said we’d be leaving at 3:30pm, the tannoy at 5:30pm, the Easyjet app at 7:30pm.

Nice and clear then.

After that there were virtually no updates, and not allowed out of the airport having gone through security and passport control, we had to mill around our gate for hours with €13.50 in compensation vouchers as our only friend.

I got on with some work in the airport, and had finally settled in for a welcome first pint at 4:30pm when we finally got word we’d be leaving Toulouse at 6pm (French time).

Was it possible to get back to Edinburgh? I had to return to Scotland as half of my luggage was still at my friend’s, including my house keys.

Knowing Monday could consist of travelling from a Bristol hostel to Edinburgh, then back to Horsforth, I frantically checked the Easyjet website for the last flight up there.

It was at 7:45pm UK time, so it was going to be tight, but I gambled and paid the £95 for it anyway.

The cabin crew kindly allowed me to move to the back to get off my Toulouse to Bristol flight quickly, and checked the gate of my Edinburgh connection in advance.

But we did not land until 6:50pm, and the buses to ferry us to the terminal took an age to arrive.

I reached passport control at 7:14pm, one minute before the gate closed, so I feared my attempts to fly back to Edinburgh would be forlorn.

After scrambling past that hurdle, I had to leave the airport and come back in to go through security.

With plenty of electricals, I hurriedly shoved everything on to the trays, praying there would be no hitch.

There wasn’t, but I still had to run the considerable distance from there to Gate 25.

My legs were heavy, I could hardly breathe, but with 20 minutes before take-off, miraculously I was allowed through, and as the last person to board, took my spot at the back of the plane, in an awful sweaty state.

By the time I landed in Edinburgh, the last train back to York/Leeds/Horsforth had long gone, and with my friend busy first thing Monday morning, I found an eight-bed dorm in a hostel to stay in for £16.

After wolfing down an emergency chippy tea and collecting my luggage from my pal’s, I walked the 25 minutes to my hostel, checked in and had to make my own bed.

Much-needed after a day stuck in an airport. (Image: UGC.)

A midnight shower, an Irn-Bru and a Match of the Day later, I finally nodded off to sleep, before informing work of my travel drama on Monday morning.

I’ve had worse starts to the week, as I worked from a café, then my friend’s pub, all day in Edinburgh, before finally traipsing back home on the train, arriving at 10pm on Monday night and collapsing on to my bed.

Not my usual set up on a Monday morning for work... (Image: UGC.)

As weekends go, it was one I will not forget in a hurry.