Fuerteventura

So, it’s nearly three months since we got back from our week in the winter sun.

I keep checking out the place where we stayed on tripadvisor. It shocks me that so many people, few of them from this end of the country, I’m relieved to discover, are impressed by grubby unswept rooms, basic factory canteen quality food with menu choices that get predictable on day two of seven, and a town on a Spanish island with nothing Spanish about it other than the language. And we won’t even mention the bar which doubled as the children’s entertainment centre. Oh, we mentioned it. It was the only bar there. You want an evening drink whilst a group of gobby parents are cheering on their vile children in a dance off at ten in the evening while the Birdy Song’s blasting at 110 dB? It wasn’t my idea of entertainment. It shocks me even more that there are people from places like Derbyshire and Yorkshire who go back two or three times a year for fifteen, or twenty years.

I’m committed to cutting down on the swearing but Fuck! how bad are these people’s lives, how shite is their everyday diet, that they are happy to pay good money to go to places like that and then post four or five star reviews for the world to see? It wasn’t that it was a bad hotel, it simply wasn’t very good. I doubt that we’ll go all inclusive anywhere ever again.

The fear. One morning at breakfast they temporarily ran out of the admittedly tasty bacon substitute, which I enjoyed every morning draped over a couple of churros with grilled tomatoes on the side and a heap of scrambled eggs. The continental choices just didn’t look appetising. And breakfast was the only hotel meal I looked forward to. I was stuck next to an obese tattooed Scotsman, who turned to me and hissed “ae gwannae tsset a doowaen awe waaart!” through a spittle flecked gap in the row of black stubs which passed for teeth. I couldn’t tell if it meant he was about to slaughter me or simply maim me in a horrible fashion in revenge for having teeth which weren’t ruined.

He kind of smiled as he said it, I didn’t have a clue what he meant but I nearly shit my pants when his equally obese but thankfully slightly more hairy wife came up and started talkingĀ to himĀ and spraying spittle over me. I think she was talking to him anyway. Her eyes weren’t both looking in the same direction. What did they want? I was never to know, for the ersatz bacon appeared then, so I took my chance and grabbed some and ran back to my table, hoping never tae see my new acquaintances again.

Other than the crushing disappointment of a holiday almost wasted, life is good. I suppose it wasn’t really so bad after all, we explored round the island and parts were beautiful. And we found a lovely Portuguese restaurant in town, for the evenings when we really couldn’t face looking at more trays of chicken in sauce, fish in sauce or beef in sauce. Or the people who were grateful to eat it. Yes, it was the food that did it.

 

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