'Tis the season to get cheap flights

Flying anywhere in late November is a pleasure easily comparable to shuffling through piles of dead leaves

By Jeremy Atiyah

Published: 19 November 2000

When everything is dark and meaningless, and people are too depressed to think about going away, air fares become ridiculously cheap. That's why I like the end of November.
When everything is dark and meaningless, and people are too depressed to think about going away, air fares become ridiculously cheap. That's why I like the end of November.
The owners of airlines, by contrast, must hate this time of year. The sight of the last yellow leaves clinging feebly to the treetops means empty seats in planes. Because what customer in their right mind is going to plan a holiday four weeks before Christmas? The only consolation for Go, Ryan Air, Buzz et al is that this low-season also gives them the opportunity to trumpet some absurdly cheap fares.
In six months' time, when the leaves are green and bees are buzzing in the sunshine again, some of that favourable publicity will begin to pay off. People will get up in the morning and ask each other: "Where did I see that advertisement for flights to Barcelona for £49?" By then, of course, the price will have doubled or tripled, but that won't matter: the seed of the idea that flights to Barcelona are cheap will have germinated in the spring warmth.
Anyway, right now, I can't get enough of these feeble yellow leaves. There are some at the bottom of my garden which I have been staring at fixedly for a fortnight. I am willing them to drop. It's a kind of superstition I have: cherry-tree leaves a-dropping, flights a-going cheap.
During the past week I've seen tickets to Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, Sardinia and Calabria all advertised for under fifty quid, including taxes. I couldn't help picking one up, almost as an involuntary reaction, like wiping a drop from the end of my nose. I regard buying tickets at this time of year as a seasonal rite, even if one has no intention of travelling. What do you lose after all? Well, £50, I suppose. But the gains are enormous: namely, the possibility of flying south, when everyone else is too depressed to move.
By the way, buying tickets merely on the grounds that they are extremely cheap (regardless of whether or not you will be able to use them) is another of those special pleasures that I associate with dark afternoons and mulch underfoot. It makes you realise how much of the joy of travel is in the anticipation.
Try it yourself: buy a ticket to Lisbon for £50 and carry it around in your pocket for a week. If you are feeling well-off, buy two or three tickets simultaneously to different destinations. Ask yourself how much pleasure the experience has given you. Then throw away the tickets.
Of course if you actually decide to get on one of your flights, then so much the better. Flying anywhere in late November is a pleasure easily comparable to shuffling through piles of dead leaves.
What I especially like, as soon as I get off the plane, is the sight of Latins dressed up for November: vast padded coats designed for Siberia - just bought for the season - tend to come out whenever the temperature drops below 15C.
And it's those giant autumn coats that help people, sitting over their correspondingly tiny coffees, to look serious. Before the atmosphere goes downhill in January with the addition of silly hats, these coats add to the general gravitas; to the sense of creativity, depth and intelligence.
Basically, they give you all the reassurance you need, that you are not completely out of your right mind taking a holiday four weeks before Christmas.
When everything is dark and meaningless, and people are too depressed to think about going away, air fares become ridiculously cheap. That's why I like the end of November.


The owners of airlines, by contrast, must hate this time of year. The sight of the last yellow leaves clinging feebly to the treetops means empty seats in planes. Because what customer in their right mind is going to plan a holiday four weeks before Christmas? The only consolation for Go, Ryan Air, Buzz et al is that this low-season also gives them the opportunity to trumpet some absurdly cheap fares.


In six months' time, when the leaves are green and bees are buzzing in the sunshine again, some of that favourable publicity will begin to pay off. People will get up in the morning and ask each other: "Where did I see that advertisement for flights to Barcelona for £49?" By then, of course, the price will have doubled or tripled, but that won't matter: the seed of the idea that flights to Barcelona are cheap will have germinated in the spring warmth.


Anyway, right now, I can't get enough of these feeble yellow leaves. There are some at the bottom of my garden which I have been staring at fixedly for a fortnight. I am willing them to drop. It's a kind of superstition I have: cherry-tree leaves a-dropping, flights a-going cheap.


During the past week I've seen tickets to Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, Sardinia and Calabria all advertised for under fifty quid, including taxes. I couldn't help picking one up, almost as an involuntary reaction, like wiping a drop from the end of my nose. I regard buying tickets at this time of year as a seasonal rite, even if one has no intention of travelling. What do you lose after all? Well, £50, I suppose. But the gains are enormous: namely, the possibility of flying south, when everyone else is too depressed to move.


By the way, buying tickets merely on the grounds that they are extremely cheap (regardless of whether or not you will be able to use them) is another of those special pleasures that I associate with dark afternoons and mulch underfoot. It makes you realise how much of the joy of travel is in the anticipation.


Try it yourself: buy a ticket to Lisbon for £50 and carry it around in your pocket for a week. If you are feeling well-off, buy two or three tickets simultaneously to different destinations. Ask yourself how much pleasure the experience has given you. Then throw away the tickets.


Of course if you actually decide to get on one of your flights, then so much the better. Flying anywhere in late November is a pleasure easily comparable to shuffling through piles of dead leaves.
What I especially like, as soon as I get off the plane, is the sight of Latins dressed up for November: vast padded coats designed for Siberia - just bought for the season - tend to come out whenever the temperature drops below 15C.


And it's those giant autumn coats that help people, sitting over their correspondingly tiny coffees, to look serious. Before the atmosphere goes downhill in January with the addition of silly hats, these coats add to the general gravitas; to the sense of creativity, depth and intelligence.


Basically, they give you all the reassurance you need, that you are not completely out of your right mind taking a holiday four weeks before Christmas.