The Captain’s name is Massimo Pennnisi - can you guess where he’s from? He is 39 years old (a mere baby by our standards) and has worked with Cruise Lines since he was 18. He looks very handsome in his white uniform and is fluent in at least five languages. Ho hum…isn’t everybody? He says his wife is glad to get rid of him for five or six months at a time.
At dinner the second night the damage in the Fantasia had disappeared and it was business as usual. Everything related to the dining rooms: food, service, ambiance, menu choices, quality of china and cutlery are equal to any cruise line. The dining rooms are decorated with pleasing décor and abundant with comfortable chairs, a real bonus for people on the ‘gain’ plan (more about that follows). Linen table cloths, polished glasses, charger plates, three forks, countless knives and dozens of other pieces of cutlery are scattered around each setting – only Julie & Julia know what they’re for. Each course is served on a charger plate that is set on top of the permanent charger plate which is not taken away until desert is served. For example, a simple bowl of soup involves a large plate, a small plate, the bowl and the main charger. 2300 passengers times 3 meals a day plus tea, snacks, pizzas, occasional deserts and whatever else equals seven to ten thousand meals per day. Each meal involves countless plates, bowls, glasses, saucers, cups and cutlery. 750 staff from 80 countries times tree meals a day, many cooked specific to ethnicity – it just gets so complicated we often rush to the buffet just for comfort. Even with 25 full time dishwashers, how do they keep up? Mark, our head waiter and Philippe, our server produce five star service in white tux and tie every night and almost never make a mistake – no one knows how they do it. The crispness of their service makes us shudder at how wrinkled and unpolished we must appear, and how refined they are in their impeccable, supercilious way. A serious rubbing of Silvo would do budget travellers like us a world of good. On the other hand, no one knows the history behind these gentlemen when they are not working. Philippe is from Brazil and his contract will end in Buenos Aires. Mark is from the Philippines and his contract was also up in BA, but Costa asked him to stay on for another two months – a very hard decision because he is so exhausted and has not seen his wife and child for many months.
The dinner menu is presented in leather binding with the insert printed in a script similar to that of William and Kate’s wedding invitation. It takes time to read a menu printed in six languages filled with fancy words in sinuous script and unheard of ingredients. Course after course just for the asking and since it’s an Italian line, can you imagine the bread and pasta? We are being conservative at all times and try to keep food consumption, no matter how delicious, down to about 1,000 pounds per person, per day. It’s not that easy but we are determined. Remember the joke about my cruise clients coming onboard as passengers and leaving as freight? Well we don’t want to be lifted off by a crane…
What is not so much fun is the ‘butting in’ by the astonishingly aggressive Italians. It is something to see how they push or reach in front of you into a line or stop dead right in front of you when walking for no apparent reason. If two or three are walking abreast they will not move over but will ‘innocently’ ram you and carry on like nothing happened. Maybe it’s because Costa is Italian so they have first rights to everything. We notice some Germans and French are a little like that too so maybe it’s just people in general in small spaces. Breakfast is served in three areas, two are huge buffets. You should see what people shove into themselves, and we’re not kidding. All restaurants close for 1 ½ hours then lunch is served in three places with the same result. Afternoon tea with fancy food is served in two places and then of course, there’s dinner which is served in two or three places, depending on the day. One night we didn’t eat dinner in the dining room, we chose instead to go to the pizza parlour at 10pm. We could not believe the number of people who had eaten a fancy dinner and were there eating again! During breakfast with our Aussie friends, Allan and Margo, we were joking about the pushing and shoving Italians. Then the conversation wandered to the subject of crime and express kidnappings in Brazil, and Richard dryly added that the Italians would probably struggle and push to be at the head of that line too, ‘get out of my way, I wanna be first to go to the bank with these people’.
We share our table with some mighty interesting folk. One couple, Kevin and Shirley, (married 30 years) are from Durban, South Africa, very knowledgeable about the itinerary and ports because this is their third Trans Atlantic sailing between Europe and South America. When they finish this cruise they will fly to Florida from Buenos Aires and do a sailing on the Oasis of the Seas, Royal Caribbean’s massive new floating city. Another couple, Paul and Lindsey (in their 20’s), from California, are on an extended honeymoon and celebrated their 2nd anniversary on December 6th. By the time they boarded the Victoria in Savona they had been travelling the world for seven months, and I mean the world – high energy adventure travel with amazing accomplishments on mountains and seas on almost all continents, a result of immense planning and budgeting the bucks. They worked several jobs and saved religiously to pay for their one year journey and plan to be home in April 2011. Only young people make that kind of travel look easy. We should kill them.
Lindsey and Paul mentioned they were in Paris when they decided to book this cruise, so they went to the Brazilian consulate to apply for the visas. They had to give up their passports for a week which meant they could not leave Paris. OMG, stuck in Paris??!!! What bothered them about applying in Paris - apparently Brazil has a ‘pay back’ clause with the US and although it is not called a visa fee, Brazil charges US citizens US$140.00 per passport plus shipping for permission to enter Brazil – that’s if the application is made at a consulate in the US. Well of course they applied in Paris so the fee was in euros – 140 euros X 2 equals about US400. For Canadians the Brazilian visas are good for five years (because passports are only valid for five years), but not in their case. Theirs is ten. Bonus.
Lindsey and Paul told us that when they were checking in for the cruise in Savona they met a Russian couple from Florida who did not have the Brazilian visas. They were denied boarding and advised to take the first train to Milan, fly to Barcelona and find a hotel, taxi to the Brazilian consulate the next morning and see if the officials would expedite the visas, then transfer to the port and board the ship before it sailed at 5pm. Tremendous Travel Terror! They stood to lose everything. We later learned that twenty people in total (mostly Americans) were denied boarding because of the visa problem. Of the twenty, nine gave up in Savona and forfeited the cruise. Eleven did fly to Barcelona from Milan and they all went together to the Brazilian Consulate the next day. The queue outside the consulate was already huge by the time the doors opened so their chance of success was almost nil. Two more dropped out. After hours of dread and uncertainty and much later in the day the consulate decided to grant the visas. The remaining nine were able to make the ship in time for sailing. These folks paid the same for their visas, 140 euros, but they were only valid for 90 days. Imagine the collective sigh of relief when they set foot inside their cabins.
Third night at dinner the two empty chairs at our table were occupied by Tom and Tom. They are two wonderful guys from the Tampa area and wow, did they have a story to tell. They rented a car to drive three hours from their home to the Miami airport, cheaper than leaving their car in paid parking. They slowly moved through the queue and were asked for their passports at Air France check in. Well. Tom remembered he did not have his; he had left it in the photocopier at home. They knew there was no way they could make the flight so they rented another car and drove home, heartbroken and deflated because everything was lost, the cruise, the airfare, hotel and car expenses, everything. Then Tom realized they still had one chance – the Victoria’s first port of call was Barcelona and she would remain there until 5pm December 3rd. Tom searched for internet options and considered buying two new tickets on a routing that involved two changes, one in Warsaw, Poland, if you can imagine - about as far in the wrong direction in Europe as you can get. Then he called Delta and spoke with an agent who said, let me see what I can do. The agent was off the line for awhile and returned to say he had found a way to get them to Barcelona. It would involve only one transfer and Delta would only charge them a ‘change fee’ of $150.00 per ticket. YeeHaa! The Delta rep became the hero of the century. To make a long story short, they arrived in Barcelona and were at the port when the Victoria arrived - two of the happiest and most excited men on the planet.
December 4, 2010 the Victoria was abuzz with the news. Spanish air traffic controllers went on strike that day and shut down all of the airports (every single one!) in Spain for the entire day…
Horseshoes! Every one of those delayed people had horseshoes, that’s all we can say!
That’s it for now. Stay tuned, there’s more to follow – some if it may even be true.
Hugs from R and D adrift off coastal Brazil.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Savona - Victoria day
December 2, 2010, 6:30am Victoria day. We walked briskly through the dark to the train station in Nice. There was no talking. We knew the way; we knew what had to be done. As if the first one to speak would spoil the dream. Our roller bags, Thelma and Louis, droned noisily behind, humming and bumping over every irregularity. Quiet, deserted streets still wet and glistening from their nightly wash seemed to welcome our early arrival and enticed us to stay with a remarkable cabaret of luminous black shine pierced by long reams of colourful reflections, so French, so hypnotic. So lost and lonely. It was two tall shadows passing through the foreground of a Toulouse Lautrec painting.
This is exactly what we bought with 35 euros – two 2nd class one-way tickets on two SNCF commuter trains and one Intercity Italian train from Nice to Savona. The two-tier French trains were clean and smooth and shiny and busy as hundreds of commuters disembarked in Monaco. The Italian train, well, it was just another graffiti filled rattling story. The scenery from the French to the Italian Riviera was picturesque and appealing and we clung to the coastal cliffs like sticky flies, flashed through dark tunnels and over bridges and paused in small romantic towns where people went about their business like they owned the place. The cadence of each train blended easily into the rhythm of the land and seemed at ease with the people and the houses and the farms, but cars and congested roads, traffic lights and parking lots did not belong.
We were surprised to see so much snow in the high mountains in France and Italy – no wonder it was so cold. The last thing we did before we checked out of the Hotel New-York was watch the BBC news. We were shocked to learn that much of England was under heavy snowfall and Gatwick Airport had been closed for more than 24 hours. Thank goodness we flew out of Gatwick a few days early. But were other Costa cruise passengers stranded there?
In Savona we set out for the port immediately at 10:30am. We walked past the queue of taxis outside the station with our noses high in the cool morning air. Thelma and Louis did the same. No thank you. A glimmer of a smile settled lightly on our lips. There’s something a little bit naughty about aging budget travellers being able to outsmart the extravagance of taxis and expensive hotels and the high cost of food in France and finding emergency bathrooms in five star hotels and…. We didn’t even notice if the drivers cared about our impecunious whimsy, we were so excited and so full of ourselves. Savona is a lovely city centered around shoe stores, little tiny cups of coffee and Italians. We would love to have lingered for a couple of nights but we could not find an affordable hotel. Expedia.ca listed only three in the city, but dozens along the Italian Riviera which was not what we wanted. Richard stopped at a travel agency to ask about hotels for our next visit, but they quickly referred him to the Tourist Office in the city centre. Anyway, Savona was our loss. We stopped at a coffee shop for a little teensy cup of coffee. The cup and saucer were like toys from Barbie’s kitchen – one large gulp and the cup would be empty. You could stick your tongue into the bottom of the cup and it would double back so far you would choke. So we practiced the sip. As thin as a lick of the lips. But it was ohhh so delicious. Savona is filled with exotic Italian things and as Richard pointed out, ‘we’ve been on the loose in Italy for well over an hour and haven’t even been robbed yet’.
As we approached the port a section of the road ahead was well under construction which meant a detour; walking along the side of the motorway in single file. Thelma and Louis were scared. At no time, as cars whizzed past only inches from our healthy future, did either of us shout out the word ‘taxi’ like it was a curse, or a death wish or any other kind of profanity, but the expression ‘What were we thinking?’ started cartwheeling across our sugary smiles like…and suddenly there it was! The Costa Terminal. And looming high into the sky above, the Costa Victoria. Sudden Death ha! Sudden Euphoria come on in! Our bags were taken over by eager handlers outside the terminal – tagged and carried off by conveyor into the belly of the ship. ‘Hope we meet up with you kids in the cabin later’, I whispered. Scenes from an old black and white movie flickered in my mind where the distraught wife and her angry husband were denied boarding and left at the dock while for some bleak and unknown reason the savvy luggage, Thelma and Louis, stood waving white handkerchiefs at the rail. ‘Goodbye Richard and Donna. See you when the war is over. We’ll write every day!’ ‘Bon voyage Thelma and Louis, ya dirty rats’.
I think about the following true story every time we take a cruise. During my years in the travel industry, a disaster happened to one of my best cruise clients, a very large, robust lady. She and her companion were booked on a Princess Cruise that included air from Calgary and transfers from LAX to the port in San Pedro. They flew Air Canada and to make a long story short, her luggage never arrived with the flight. Frantic searching by the AC baggage department produced no results and eventually the transfer company would wait no longer. Angry and upset she boarded the ship with nothing but her carry-on. Her bags never did show up because the ship was in a different port or at sea every day and the airline would not keep track. So she faced the 10 day cruise with just the clothes on her back. Because of her large size she couldn’t even buy new underwear at the various ports, let alone suitable cruise attire, bathing suit, etc. Negotiation with the airline resulted in a small stipend, which she spent on cosmetics and whatever clothes she could find. She received her luggage a few days after returning home, but of course it was too late. As further compensation, she was given two 50% discount vouchers for a future cruise. She had better luck on that one.
The excitement inside the terminal where hundreds of people were waiting to board their trip of a lifetime was disappointing. Everyone looked so unenthused, so bored. Eventually our group number was called and the check-in process began. There were more layers of security and regulations than a song has words but of primary importance to Costa were the Brazilian visas. The visas had to be inside some passports (depending on the country) ready for inspection. Some nations, for example citizens of the UK and South Africa, did not require visas because of homeland agreements with Brazil, but most European countries, Russia, United States, Canada, well…you better have that visa or there’s gonna be trouble! We were ready. In October Richard applied for a visa from the Brazilian consulate in Vancouver and was relieved to see, when he got his passport back, that his request had been granted. Visa cost for Canadians including courier in both directions, CA$105. Donna travelled with two passports, Canadian and United Kingdom, as per advice of the same consulate, and therefore did not need a visa.
More about Brazilian visas later.
We passed all the check-in tests as did thousands of others whom we later encountered at the welcome aboard lunch buffet. We were surprised at how conniving and muscular the Europeans can be when it comes to food. We entered Cabin 90218, Tosca Deck 9. Months of research had uncovered a lot of things about this cruise besides the extremely low price. First concern was stars. Costa Victoria only rated three, about as low as you can go in the cruise world today. So when we agreed to ‘book it’ we made up our minds that no matter what, the cruise was going to be amazing. I mean, if you knew about some of the bad hostels in some of the dodgy cities in our past, you would agree that a three star Costa cruise is a constellation.
Do you want to hear the real truth or do you want me to make something up about 90218 (so like 90210, isn’t it?). It was the rhythm of the rumba, it was the energy of the cha cha, it was the beauty, flash and glitz of the tango. It was ‘eat your heart out you expensive restaurants in Nice’! It was ‘take that, you ridiculously expensive taxi, I’m riding as a passenger on a three star ship to Buenos Aires instead of in the back seat of your one star worn out car. Oh, and by the way, how much would you charge to take us from the port in Savona, Italy to the port in Buenos Aries, Argentina with two pieces of luggage and a chip on each shoulder’? Okay, okay, perhaps the dance comparison was a little overstated but the cabin was absolutely lovely. King bed, fresh crisp linens, fluffy towels, in room safe, shower, ensuite toilet – you name it, we had it including the charming Elena, our cabin steward who promised to look after us faithfully and clean our cabin twice a day and supply us with ice and fix our bed and bring us news and more. Way more.
Or do you want the truth about ‘W’? Dubya. We only had two windows in our cabin, one of opportunity and the other running my computer. When we looked around 90218 there was no other W. Not that we weren’t aware of that in advance – we didn’t pay for a W. One can always hope, can one not? W’s cost twice as much, sometimes even more. Did Donna want a window? Although a window would have been nice the Victoria far exceeded our expectations? The constantly moving horizon would have made Richard seasick? The sun shining into the cabin all day long would have made it too hot? The sunrise would have been too bright? Too many people from passing ships would be staring inside our cabin? Rough seas would have made the window dirty anyway? Looking outside all the time is hard on your eyes? You can’t see anything at night so what’s the use?
Thelma and Louis were waiting for us in 90218. Lucky us. Lucky them.
Did I mention the weather? In Savona the sun was shining but it was cold, and I mean it. Lots of snow in the mountains nearby. Mean. We were wearing all the warm clothes we owned and we were still two miles short of being warm. Wait a minute, weren’t we on the Italian Riviera? Well not for long. At 5pm three long whistle blasts announced to all of Europe that the Costa Victoria was moving out. It was very chilly on deck when the bow thrusters revved up passengers fled indoors as soon a possible. In no time at all though, everyone was called back outside to pre-assigned life boat stations for the emergency drill. By that time the Vic was well under way and creating even more cold wind. More than two thousand passengers stood freezing on deck for about thirty minutes. Everyone had to participate in the drill - that’s the law.
First seating for dinner was at 6:30 and the dress was casual. There are two main dining rooms on the Victoria; we did not know we were in the wrong line. After waiting patiently the doors opened and seconds later we were kicked the heck out because we were at the wrong restaurant. So we and dozens of others stampeded over to the Fantasia – in case the more savvy and muscular Europeans had already eaten everything in sight. Whew! The doors of the Fantasia were still closed. And that’s how they stayed. About 400 frustrated people waited for almost an hour before they opened. Poor Costa. They had an opening night nightmare. A worst case scenario. Apparently a broken pipe inside the ceiling in the dining room flooded the carpet over a large area. They had to quickly cordon off the space, suck up the water and expedite repairs – but for hygienic and safety reasons they could not use that part of the dining room. The maitre de had to frantically redo his table lists to condense all first seating guests into a much smaller area. Members of the dining room staff were completely knocked off balance working from the wrong stations and in much tighter quarters, but they went about the business of serving late dinner to hundreds of grumpy guests. They did an amazing job. We felt sorry for Costa on the first night of a 20 night cruise because second seating would also be delayed. We shared a table with a French couple from Marseille, his name was Michelle and he looked exactly like the actor who played the part of the contractor in the series ‘A Year in Provence’, and an Australian couple, Allan and Margo from Canberra. Turned out Allan does contract work for the Australian Navy and Margo was a former Australian champion free-style skier. She was one of the Australian judges at the Calgary Olympics in 1988.
That’s all for now, ciao!
This is exactly what we bought with 35 euros – two 2nd class one-way tickets on two SNCF commuter trains and one Intercity Italian train from Nice to Savona. The two-tier French trains were clean and smooth and shiny and busy as hundreds of commuters disembarked in Monaco. The Italian train, well, it was just another graffiti filled rattling story. The scenery from the French to the Italian Riviera was picturesque and appealing and we clung to the coastal cliffs like sticky flies, flashed through dark tunnels and over bridges and paused in small romantic towns where people went about their business like they owned the place. The cadence of each train blended easily into the rhythm of the land and seemed at ease with the people and the houses and the farms, but cars and congested roads, traffic lights and parking lots did not belong.
We were surprised to see so much snow in the high mountains in France and Italy – no wonder it was so cold. The last thing we did before we checked out of the Hotel New-York was watch the BBC news. We were shocked to learn that much of England was under heavy snowfall and Gatwick Airport had been closed for more than 24 hours. Thank goodness we flew out of Gatwick a few days early. But were other Costa cruise passengers stranded there?
In Savona we set out for the port immediately at 10:30am. We walked past the queue of taxis outside the station with our noses high in the cool morning air. Thelma and Louis did the same. No thank you. A glimmer of a smile settled lightly on our lips. There’s something a little bit naughty about aging budget travellers being able to outsmart the extravagance of taxis and expensive hotels and the high cost of food in France and finding emergency bathrooms in five star hotels and…. We didn’t even notice if the drivers cared about our impecunious whimsy, we were so excited and so full of ourselves. Savona is a lovely city centered around shoe stores, little tiny cups of coffee and Italians. We would love to have lingered for a couple of nights but we could not find an affordable hotel. Expedia.ca listed only three in the city, but dozens along the Italian Riviera which was not what we wanted. Richard stopped at a travel agency to ask about hotels for our next visit, but they quickly referred him to the Tourist Office in the city centre. Anyway, Savona was our loss. We stopped at a coffee shop for a little teensy cup of coffee. The cup and saucer were like toys from Barbie’s kitchen – one large gulp and the cup would be empty. You could stick your tongue into the bottom of the cup and it would double back so far you would choke. So we practiced the sip. As thin as a lick of the lips. But it was ohhh so delicious. Savona is filled with exotic Italian things and as Richard pointed out, ‘we’ve been on the loose in Italy for well over an hour and haven’t even been robbed yet’.
As we approached the port a section of the road ahead was well under construction which meant a detour; walking along the side of the motorway in single file. Thelma and Louis were scared. At no time, as cars whizzed past only inches from our healthy future, did either of us shout out the word ‘taxi’ like it was a curse, or a death wish or any other kind of profanity, but the expression ‘What were we thinking?’ started cartwheeling across our sugary smiles like…and suddenly there it was! The Costa Terminal. And looming high into the sky above, the Costa Victoria. Sudden Death ha! Sudden Euphoria come on in! Our bags were taken over by eager handlers outside the terminal – tagged and carried off by conveyor into the belly of the ship. ‘Hope we meet up with you kids in the cabin later’, I whispered. Scenes from an old black and white movie flickered in my mind where the distraught wife and her angry husband were denied boarding and left at the dock while for some bleak and unknown reason the savvy luggage, Thelma and Louis, stood waving white handkerchiefs at the rail. ‘Goodbye Richard and Donna. See you when the war is over. We’ll write every day!’ ‘Bon voyage Thelma and Louis, ya dirty rats’.
I think about the following true story every time we take a cruise. During my years in the travel industry, a disaster happened to one of my best cruise clients, a very large, robust lady. She and her companion were booked on a Princess Cruise that included air from Calgary and transfers from LAX to the port in San Pedro. They flew Air Canada and to make a long story short, her luggage never arrived with the flight. Frantic searching by the AC baggage department produced no results and eventually the transfer company would wait no longer. Angry and upset she boarded the ship with nothing but her carry-on. Her bags never did show up because the ship was in a different port or at sea every day and the airline would not keep track. So she faced the 10 day cruise with just the clothes on her back. Because of her large size she couldn’t even buy new underwear at the various ports, let alone suitable cruise attire, bathing suit, etc. Negotiation with the airline resulted in a small stipend, which she spent on cosmetics and whatever clothes she could find. She received her luggage a few days after returning home, but of course it was too late. As further compensation, she was given two 50% discount vouchers for a future cruise. She had better luck on that one.
The excitement inside the terminal where hundreds of people were waiting to board their trip of a lifetime was disappointing. Everyone looked so unenthused, so bored. Eventually our group number was called and the check-in process began. There were more layers of security and regulations than a song has words but of primary importance to Costa were the Brazilian visas. The visas had to be inside some passports (depending on the country) ready for inspection. Some nations, for example citizens of the UK and South Africa, did not require visas because of homeland agreements with Brazil, but most European countries, Russia, United States, Canada, well…you better have that visa or there’s gonna be trouble! We were ready. In October Richard applied for a visa from the Brazilian consulate in Vancouver and was relieved to see, when he got his passport back, that his request had been granted. Visa cost for Canadians including courier in both directions, CA$105. Donna travelled with two passports, Canadian and United Kingdom, as per advice of the same consulate, and therefore did not need a visa.
More about Brazilian visas later.
We passed all the check-in tests as did thousands of others whom we later encountered at the welcome aboard lunch buffet. We were surprised at how conniving and muscular the Europeans can be when it comes to food. We entered Cabin 90218, Tosca Deck 9. Months of research had uncovered a lot of things about this cruise besides the extremely low price. First concern was stars. Costa Victoria only rated three, about as low as you can go in the cruise world today. So when we agreed to ‘book it’ we made up our minds that no matter what, the cruise was going to be amazing. I mean, if you knew about some of the bad hostels in some of the dodgy cities in our past, you would agree that a three star Costa cruise is a constellation.
Do you want to hear the real truth or do you want me to make something up about 90218 (so like 90210, isn’t it?). It was the rhythm of the rumba, it was the energy of the cha cha, it was the beauty, flash and glitz of the tango. It was ‘eat your heart out you expensive restaurants in Nice’! It was ‘take that, you ridiculously expensive taxi, I’m riding as a passenger on a three star ship to Buenos Aires instead of in the back seat of your one star worn out car. Oh, and by the way, how much would you charge to take us from the port in Savona, Italy to the port in Buenos Aries, Argentina with two pieces of luggage and a chip on each shoulder’? Okay, okay, perhaps the dance comparison was a little overstated but the cabin was absolutely lovely. King bed, fresh crisp linens, fluffy towels, in room safe, shower, ensuite toilet – you name it, we had it including the charming Elena, our cabin steward who promised to look after us faithfully and clean our cabin twice a day and supply us with ice and fix our bed and bring us news and more. Way more.
Or do you want the truth about ‘W’? Dubya. We only had two windows in our cabin, one of opportunity and the other running my computer. When we looked around 90218 there was no other W. Not that we weren’t aware of that in advance – we didn’t pay for a W. One can always hope, can one not? W’s cost twice as much, sometimes even more. Did Donna want a window? Although a window would have been nice the Victoria far exceeded our expectations? The constantly moving horizon would have made Richard seasick? The sun shining into the cabin all day long would have made it too hot? The sunrise would have been too bright? Too many people from passing ships would be staring inside our cabin? Rough seas would have made the window dirty anyway? Looking outside all the time is hard on your eyes? You can’t see anything at night so what’s the use?
Thelma and Louis were waiting for us in 90218. Lucky us. Lucky them.
Did I mention the weather? In Savona the sun was shining but it was cold, and I mean it. Lots of snow in the mountains nearby. Mean. We were wearing all the warm clothes we owned and we were still two miles short of being warm. Wait a minute, weren’t we on the Italian Riviera? Well not for long. At 5pm three long whistle blasts announced to all of Europe that the Costa Victoria was moving out. It was very chilly on deck when the bow thrusters revved up passengers fled indoors as soon a possible. In no time at all though, everyone was called back outside to pre-assigned life boat stations for the emergency drill. By that time the Vic was well under way and creating even more cold wind. More than two thousand passengers stood freezing on deck for about thirty minutes. Everyone had to participate in the drill - that’s the law.
First seating for dinner was at 6:30 and the dress was casual. There are two main dining rooms on the Victoria; we did not know we were in the wrong line. After waiting patiently the doors opened and seconds later we were kicked the heck out because we were at the wrong restaurant. So we and dozens of others stampeded over to the Fantasia – in case the more savvy and muscular Europeans had already eaten everything in sight. Whew! The doors of the Fantasia were still closed. And that’s how they stayed. About 400 frustrated people waited for almost an hour before they opened. Poor Costa. They had an opening night nightmare. A worst case scenario. Apparently a broken pipe inside the ceiling in the dining room flooded the carpet over a large area. They had to quickly cordon off the space, suck up the water and expedite repairs – but for hygienic and safety reasons they could not use that part of the dining room. The maitre de had to frantically redo his table lists to condense all first seating guests into a much smaller area. Members of the dining room staff were completely knocked off balance working from the wrong stations and in much tighter quarters, but they went about the business of serving late dinner to hundreds of grumpy guests. They did an amazing job. We felt sorry for Costa on the first night of a 20 night cruise because second seating would also be delayed. We shared a table with a French couple from Marseille, his name was Michelle and he looked exactly like the actor who played the part of the contractor in the series ‘A Year in Provence’, and an Australian couple, Allan and Margo from Canberra. Turned out Allan does contract work for the Australian Navy and Margo was a former Australian champion free-style skier. She was one of the Australian judges at the Calgary Olympics in 1988.
That’s all for now, ciao!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Bonjour Mesdames et Messieurs
Foreign languages - the most difficult aspect of travel aside from a ridiculously absurd ‘no taxi’ policy. From Spain, where we managed well and understood a little, to the UK where we managed better and understood a little more, to France where, mon dieu, people speak faster than machines and we understand almost nothing unless it’s in English. In France our ears are in constant confusion and our tongues are tied up like hostages, trying to remember a French word when there’s only Spanish. Hopefully things will improve when we pass through Italy….ha ha.
Easy Jet from Alicante to Gatwick was Easy – the hard part was adjusting to the change in weather. We quickly learned that the UK had dipped into the coldest deepfreeze in 17 years. What about our luggage full of shorts and Tilley Hats, we snivelled? We paid UKL5.40 (about CA$4.75 per ticket) for the ten minute train ride to Crawley, a town near Gatwick where many of the airport employees live. From the train station we were able to ask directions to the Holiday Inn Express and walk to the hotel. Most of England, Scotland and Ireland were under snowfall warnings but London was clear, just cold. By the time we reached the hotel we were baffled as to why we would leave a sunny place like Benidorm, where every UK citizen with a day off was currently smoking and drinking, for England where our upper lips had quickly become stiff and our faces started crackling with ice. Oh well we said, let’s just kill ourselves. Just kidding, we thawed out at the hotel and immediately did what every good red-blooded Canadian does when the weather is bad. We went to the mall. Seriously. We wanted to experience a round of pushing and shoving from the weekend Christmas crowds and thrill to a jolly good price thrashing. Even Santa Claus was shopping, we saw him in one of the stores. Crawley has an excellent mall with adjacent pedestrian shopping streets and all of the stores have heat. Mmm. Heeeat. We bought nothing.
It was fun to spend a little time in a London suburb where there are few tourists because we realized while we were bumping around like ping pong balls that the majority of older folks seemed healthy and the younger folks had kids and babies and strollers and were not like the stereotypical Brits we had seen in Benidorm. The British at home were of normal weight and size, most men seemed to have hair and the ladies appeared stylish and happy. Also to our amazement, Crawley and Gatwick had serious smoking bans; maybe all of England for that matter as we could easily breathe through the two little passages above our stiff upper lips. So I guess, just like partying Canadians at resorts in Mexico, Benidorm attracts specific types of vacationers.
We had been to Crawley several times in the past because during my travel agent years we would fly into Gatwick on a reduced fare and hang out until we found a last minute deal at a Crawley travel agency, then we would fly away that night or the next day to some exotic destination. In fact we visited Tunisia, Majorca, and the Costa del Sol on last-minute bargain packages. So here’s a tip - if you are travelling anywhere in Europe and don’t much care where it is, then fly into Gatwick and spend a night in Crawley. You too will find some mighty fine deals.
On day two in Crawley we planned to go into London and visit the Bridge and the Park and the Queen, but no, she was off travelling in the Middle East where the weather was warm. Without the Queen London was just too empty so we hung out at Crawley another day and wandered the streets as good as any homeless couple anywhere. You see, we did not have a hotel for the second night. Early morning flight to Nice with very early check in made another night at Gatwick a good option. It was fun; we got to the airport early on bus number 20 (cost UKL1.70 per ticket) from Crawley and quickly scored two of the best benches in the South Terminal. Envious people wandering around in transit daze all night stopped to covet our restful space. We came prepared. We had food and drink and a cable lock for our luggage and our Gore Tex jackets for covers. We still froze.
The miracle of travel. A few hours later, voila! Nous sommes a Nice. Like being dipped in the world’s finest chocolate and rolled in nuts. We had been to Nice many times while travelling on rail passes in 1994 and 1997 so the area was familiar. Bus 99 from the airport cost 4.00 euros each and dropped us off at the train station. We made the walk to the hotel in about 10 minutes. Yes it was overcast and cool, but not as cold as London. Well the lovely receptionist at the Best Western New-York Hotel (don’t ya just love the name - they must have run out of French cities) was so overwhelmingly French that we wanted to kiss her on both cheeks and speed away in her Renault. But non! We just stood there and paid for the room with cozy little smiles pasted on our faces. The BW hotel is very well located, couldn’t be better in fact, and fairly priced for low season in a class destination, so we were happy. It wasn’t until two days later that we learned the truth. The beautiful blond receptionist is actually not French at all; she’s from Slovakia and speaks four languages, Slovak, French, English and German. Well la di da…she seemed French!
The first problem we encountered in Nice was a big one. We couldn’t afford to eat. A coffee and croissant cost more than our entire Costa Cruise. Restaurants, even the bad ones, charge more for dinner that the GNP of some small countries. And that’s without frills like cutlery and napkins. More about food later if we haven’t starved to death…
And what about Nice, you ask? Well aside from the language, architecture, culture, epicurean cuisine, designer clothes, exotic wines and quaint little idiosyncrasies like low body weight and large determination, the French in Nice are just the same as people everywhere. And just a note about dogs - there are way more Yorkshire Terriers sniffing the poles of Nice than poodles. We have enjoyed all the sights on our walking tours, especially the architecture. Nice does not have a lovely sandy beach like Benidorm, her classy shores are miles of gravel and not so photogenic but she is being prettied up for Christmas and new decorations appear each day. Even the huge Ferris wheel is lit up at night.
Now let’s return to our lovely front desk receptionist, Nella, because she can help us understand why the French are so damned French better than any adjective or noun. We received our Costa Cruise documents online and some pages had to be printed for presentation to the cruise line at check-in. We wandered around Nice for an hour looking for an internet café. Finally down in old town we found a smoke filled dingy hole in the back of a small café. We agreed on a price with the owner for internet use and for printing (rule number one) before we started to log on. ‘Well, look at that’, Donna said to Richard. ‘At what’? Richard asked. ‘The keyboard’! Donna replied. ‘Some keys are in the wrong place. I can’t use this computer’. Could not believe it! So we left after trying to explain why to the owner. We resumed the search and later found an area with three internet cafes. Sure enough, all the keyboards were the same as the first. We decided to return to the Best Western and see if they could help us. We explained our keyboard problem to Nella, who said, ‘yes because I am from Slovakia I know the keyboards are different in France. I had the same problem when I arrived’. Then she hesitated for a second and said, ‘there is something about the French that is always different. In fact they HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT!’ Richard and Donna got it. They HAVE to be different, that is the law in France. Nella printed the pages for us, no problem.
And now a word about dining. Don’t know if you remember an earlier post where we could buy an English breakfast in Benidorm for 2 euros. We stopped at the Four Points Sheraton in Nice to use the washroom during our walk. We saw the sign, Petit Dejunner 21.50 euros. 21.50 X 2 = CA$60.00 for breakfast! What about lunch? What about dinner? And a snack with a café noir? A couple with an unrestricted budget could spend more on food in Nice in a week than a one week all-inclusive package with air from Gatwick to Benidorm. We truly do not understand how the French can afford to live in their country. Pretty sure we will never complain about the price of groceries in Calgary again.
One of our favourite finds in Nice was really very special. Estandon 2009 vin rouge. The nicest wine I think we have ever tasted. Another favourite was a lovely crepe lunch at a cozy little restaurant in old town. Run by a handsome Frenchman who had no problems with English and went about the business of serving up the best crepes in France. The petit café had eight tables inside (more outside) that would each seat two people. Most of them were full; two were pushed together to seat four young girls in their late teens or early twenties. You should have seen them. So absolutely, radiantly movie-star beautiful you have to wonder how it would be possible that so much splendour could fit into such a small space. They chatted and laughed with each other and the owner like they were regulars. Why them? Donna wondered without intending to stab them over and over with her crepe encrusted fork of jealousy. Well, it’s because the French are different. They HAVE to be different. That’s why.
And finally it’s time to talk about boots. In Spain if a lady doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, she’s not Spanish. In France if a lady doesn’t have a scarf around her neck and high boots on her legs she’s not French. You should see them - the boots I mean, sashaying down the rue below the slimmest designer clothes imaginable. Just like on the runway, and I don’t mean Gatwick. So much fun to watch it is worth the trip just for that! Meanwhile, I know people in France have been talking about Richard as well. This trip he is wearing the same plum coloured Gore Tex jacket he wore when he was here in Nineteen Ninety Four - sounds so Orwellian, doesn’t it - 1994? I think we’ve seen some French designers whispering with each other as we pass, ‘Mon Dieu, regardez cette jakat, now zair ees a fashion statement!’
Au revoir mon amour
Easy Jet from Alicante to Gatwick was Easy – the hard part was adjusting to the change in weather. We quickly learned that the UK had dipped into the coldest deepfreeze in 17 years. What about our luggage full of shorts and Tilley Hats, we snivelled? We paid UKL5.40 (about CA$4.75 per ticket) for the ten minute train ride to Crawley, a town near Gatwick where many of the airport employees live. From the train station we were able to ask directions to the Holiday Inn Express and walk to the hotel. Most of England, Scotland and Ireland were under snowfall warnings but London was clear, just cold. By the time we reached the hotel we were baffled as to why we would leave a sunny place like Benidorm, where every UK citizen with a day off was currently smoking and drinking, for England where our upper lips had quickly become stiff and our faces started crackling with ice. Oh well we said, let’s just kill ourselves. Just kidding, we thawed out at the hotel and immediately did what every good red-blooded Canadian does when the weather is bad. We went to the mall. Seriously. We wanted to experience a round of pushing and shoving from the weekend Christmas crowds and thrill to a jolly good price thrashing. Even Santa Claus was shopping, we saw him in one of the stores. Crawley has an excellent mall with adjacent pedestrian shopping streets and all of the stores have heat. Mmm. Heeeat. We bought nothing.
It was fun to spend a little time in a London suburb where there are few tourists because we realized while we were bumping around like ping pong balls that the majority of older folks seemed healthy and the younger folks had kids and babies and strollers and were not like the stereotypical Brits we had seen in Benidorm. The British at home were of normal weight and size, most men seemed to have hair and the ladies appeared stylish and happy. Also to our amazement, Crawley and Gatwick had serious smoking bans; maybe all of England for that matter as we could easily breathe through the two little passages above our stiff upper lips. So I guess, just like partying Canadians at resorts in Mexico, Benidorm attracts specific types of vacationers.
We had been to Crawley several times in the past because during my travel agent years we would fly into Gatwick on a reduced fare and hang out until we found a last minute deal at a Crawley travel agency, then we would fly away that night or the next day to some exotic destination. In fact we visited Tunisia, Majorca, and the Costa del Sol on last-minute bargain packages. So here’s a tip - if you are travelling anywhere in Europe and don’t much care where it is, then fly into Gatwick and spend a night in Crawley. You too will find some mighty fine deals.
On day two in Crawley we planned to go into London and visit the Bridge and the Park and the Queen, but no, she was off travelling in the Middle East where the weather was warm. Without the Queen London was just too empty so we hung out at Crawley another day and wandered the streets as good as any homeless couple anywhere. You see, we did not have a hotel for the second night. Early morning flight to Nice with very early check in made another night at Gatwick a good option. It was fun; we got to the airport early on bus number 20 (cost UKL1.70 per ticket) from Crawley and quickly scored two of the best benches in the South Terminal. Envious people wandering around in transit daze all night stopped to covet our restful space. We came prepared. We had food and drink and a cable lock for our luggage and our Gore Tex jackets for covers. We still froze.
The miracle of travel. A few hours later, voila! Nous sommes a Nice. Like being dipped in the world’s finest chocolate and rolled in nuts. We had been to Nice many times while travelling on rail passes in 1994 and 1997 so the area was familiar. Bus 99 from the airport cost 4.00 euros each and dropped us off at the train station. We made the walk to the hotel in about 10 minutes. Yes it was overcast and cool, but not as cold as London. Well the lovely receptionist at the Best Western New-York Hotel (don’t ya just love the name - they must have run out of French cities) was so overwhelmingly French that we wanted to kiss her on both cheeks and speed away in her Renault. But non! We just stood there and paid for the room with cozy little smiles pasted on our faces. The BW hotel is very well located, couldn’t be better in fact, and fairly priced for low season in a class destination, so we were happy. It wasn’t until two days later that we learned the truth. The beautiful blond receptionist is actually not French at all; she’s from Slovakia and speaks four languages, Slovak, French, English and German. Well la di da…she seemed French!
The first problem we encountered in Nice was a big one. We couldn’t afford to eat. A coffee and croissant cost more than our entire Costa Cruise. Restaurants, even the bad ones, charge more for dinner that the GNP of some small countries. And that’s without frills like cutlery and napkins. More about food later if we haven’t starved to death…
And what about Nice, you ask? Well aside from the language, architecture, culture, epicurean cuisine, designer clothes, exotic wines and quaint little idiosyncrasies like low body weight and large determination, the French in Nice are just the same as people everywhere. And just a note about dogs - there are way more Yorkshire Terriers sniffing the poles of Nice than poodles. We have enjoyed all the sights on our walking tours, especially the architecture. Nice does not have a lovely sandy beach like Benidorm, her classy shores are miles of gravel and not so photogenic but she is being prettied up for Christmas and new decorations appear each day. Even the huge Ferris wheel is lit up at night.
Now let’s return to our lovely front desk receptionist, Nella, because she can help us understand why the French are so damned French better than any adjective or noun. We received our Costa Cruise documents online and some pages had to be printed for presentation to the cruise line at check-in. We wandered around Nice for an hour looking for an internet café. Finally down in old town we found a smoke filled dingy hole in the back of a small café. We agreed on a price with the owner for internet use and for printing (rule number one) before we started to log on. ‘Well, look at that’, Donna said to Richard. ‘At what’? Richard asked. ‘The keyboard’! Donna replied. ‘Some keys are in the wrong place. I can’t use this computer’. Could not believe it! So we left after trying to explain why to the owner. We resumed the search and later found an area with three internet cafes. Sure enough, all the keyboards were the same as the first. We decided to return to the Best Western and see if they could help us. We explained our keyboard problem to Nella, who said, ‘yes because I am from Slovakia I know the keyboards are different in France. I had the same problem when I arrived’. Then she hesitated for a second and said, ‘there is something about the French that is always different. In fact they HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT!’ Richard and Donna got it. They HAVE to be different, that is the law in France. Nella printed the pages for us, no problem.
And now a word about dining. Don’t know if you remember an earlier post where we could buy an English breakfast in Benidorm for 2 euros. We stopped at the Four Points Sheraton in Nice to use the washroom during our walk. We saw the sign, Petit Dejunner 21.50 euros. 21.50 X 2 = CA$60.00 for breakfast! What about lunch? What about dinner? And a snack with a café noir? A couple with an unrestricted budget could spend more on food in Nice in a week than a one week all-inclusive package with air from Gatwick to Benidorm. We truly do not understand how the French can afford to live in their country. Pretty sure we will never complain about the price of groceries in Calgary again.
One of our favourite finds in Nice was really very special. Estandon 2009 vin rouge. The nicest wine I think we have ever tasted. Another favourite was a lovely crepe lunch at a cozy little restaurant in old town. Run by a handsome Frenchman who had no problems with English and went about the business of serving up the best crepes in France. The petit café had eight tables inside (more outside) that would each seat two people. Most of them were full; two were pushed together to seat four young girls in their late teens or early twenties. You should have seen them. So absolutely, radiantly movie-star beautiful you have to wonder how it would be possible that so much splendour could fit into such a small space. They chatted and laughed with each other and the owner like they were regulars. Why them? Donna wondered without intending to stab them over and over with her crepe encrusted fork of jealousy. Well, it’s because the French are different. They HAVE to be different. That’s why.
And finally it’s time to talk about boots. In Spain if a lady doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, she’s not Spanish. In France if a lady doesn’t have a scarf around her neck and high boots on her legs she’s not French. You should see them - the boots I mean, sashaying down the rue below the slimmest designer clothes imaginable. Just like on the runway, and I don’t mean Gatwick. So much fun to watch it is worth the trip just for that! Meanwhile, I know people in France have been talking about Richard as well. This trip he is wearing the same plum coloured Gore Tex jacket he wore when he was here in Nineteen Ninety Four - sounds so Orwellian, doesn’t it - 1994? I think we’ve seen some French designers whispering with each other as we pass, ‘Mon Dieu, regardez cette jakat, now zair ees a fashion statement!’
Au revoir mon amour
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Spain - Si Bueno
Well life goes on, doesn’t it? Whether you are here, there or somewhere else. Whether you are paying particular attention to the line of a million sparkling diamonds spread across the sea or just paying the phone bill online, life goes on. Most of the people visiting Benidorm stroll along the stunning promenade, play in the sun, drink a frothy pint, sip a café con leche, have a laugh or two, and then fly away home. The best of their Benidorm days are only a whimsical manifestation of who they were and what they did during that moment in time, but now, this morning back at home, they have to pioneer themselves back from the comfortable folds of escapism to the tough stretch of reality. Soon enough, only a single jiffy later so it seems, even the strongest happy memories of Benidorm begin to fade – and that’s the beauty of it. Benidorm is just a happy dream. You cannot roll it up and take it home like a wet towel; you have to leave it drying in the sun. You cannot export the sensation of life in Benidorm to another time and place, you can only export yourself. You cannot own the aura no matter how much time you have or money you pay; you can only enjoy temporary immersion because permanent residency would never be the same. So life in Benidorm goes on, new people arrive all the time while others roll up their towels and leave – but we’re still here. For the moment anyway. Can you spot us in the crowd? We’re over here – walking along the promenade.
We also spend time in our apartment on the 14th floor of the Levant Lux. Yes, we changed homes after eight days. All the apartments on the 2nd floor are in the shade most of the time and feel cold. When we asked Mourad at the front desk about changing rooms, he wanted to know why. We replied that apartment 2c is very nice but not enough sun. He spent a few seconds on the computer and then phoned the head housekeeper. Between the two of them, they found an apartment that would be available for the duration. He said, almost apologetically, we have only the 14th floor available, apartment 14C. Can you move on Saturday? We don’t know why he was apologetic; we could not have done better because, even though we didn’t know it at the time, fourteen is the top floor. So we moved. Planta catorce has views of fireworks, glimpses of the sea, shoreline and Alicante, people walking, pubs, lovely deluxe and delicious sunshine, mountains and more. What took us so long, we wondered? Well, it was The Elevator. On two we could climb the stairs. On catorce we ride in one of two little tiny elevator cars that are so small they have to have mirrors on the ceilings to double the space. They lurch and jerk and rattle and bounce (can you please come and fix them, Byron?), but in actual fact the ride is a small price to pay because, as it turns out, now we are dead even with the locals. Seagulls. They glide past our balcony when we are fine dining on baguette and cheese and laugh at us in their special laughing way, always with a keen eye on our victuals. During a fly-by this morning Richard commented that it’s a good thing birds aren’t afraid of heights. I said, ‘you could be a British comedian with an observation like that’. You see, Tony Scott, the fellow we saw two weeks ago said, ‘what did one bird say to the other while they were sitting on a perch?’ The answer is, ‘do you smell fish?’ Of course neither of us or anyone else in the audience got it until Tony repeated it about catorce times. Well, do you get it now? Another joke he told was about the woodworm that went into a bar and asked, ‘is the bartender here?’ Of course we didn’t get that one either until he repeated it catorce times. Oh well. We’re Canadian…
Most people working in hotels and restaurants in Benidorm speak more languages than sharks have teeth. Of course, everyone speaks Spanish, but many also speak English, Dutch, German or French. Front desk representative, Mourad, the fellow I was just telling you about, came to the Levante Lux Apartments from Algeria a few years ago, fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish and English. He looks so normal, standing there behind the counter, doing his job. This unassuming, polite and handsome man. He studied at university for a degree in graphic arts, but he could not find a job in that field in Benidorm so he went to work for the Levante Hotel Group. His language skills alone put him at the top of amazing. He is married to an artist, also from Algeria, and they have a three year old daughter who goes to Spanish school. They have applied to the Canadian Government for the right to live and work in Quebec, because French is his first language after Arabic, and because he has a friend who lives there who told him Canada has the best life.
My first unfortunate discovery in 14c happened the day after the move. When I tried to use the shower the whole contraption fell off the wall and crashed noisily into the bathtub - nozzle, hose and bracket. No matter what, I could not re-attach the bracket, so I took a bath instead. The issue was soon reported to Richard that we would have to ask the front desk for maintenance. Well after a few tapping and drumming minutes Richard said, ‘I think your problem is solved’. ‘What the sam hill’, I said, ‘did you fix it?’ Sure enough, the bracket was tight on the wall with the hose nestled perfectly inside and at the proper angle. ‘How did you do it?” I asked, amazed. “Well I used the screw driver that I always carry with me, then I had to make a spacer for a washer and I put it all back together’. Note to self: What do we really ever know about people? I have been travelling with this man on overseas trips since the mid ‘80s. I did not know he carried a screwdriver. No wonder he is my hero.
My second unfortunate discovery came later that week. And it was big. High floor, sunshine, lovely view indeed. Benidorm weather took a nasty turn. Fog, mist, low clouds, rain, cold, windy. Even an entire tool kit couldn’t fix it.
We’ve had time to explore a few nearby coastal towns; there are many and some are lovely. Number one on our list of course, was Calpe - about ½ hour away. We just had to go back. We first visited Calpe in January, 1997 and stopped for lunch at a gorgeous little outdoor café called the Peanut Bar, right on the promenade with brilliant sea view, fabulous location and drop-dead-gorgeous owners. The restaurant was quite new and the proud owner husband told us that a seaside life in Spain had been their dream. He said that his wife was from France and he was from Belgium, and between them they spoke seven languages (I said seven!). He was hopeful that they could handle the slow season in Calpe, which was when we were there, because in the busy season he knew their business would take off. Our lunch was charming, delicious and downright memorable. How could it not be when the food was prepared by a beautiful French chef who inherently knows about croissants and cheese and wine and poodles? And the table faced the promenade where dozens of Europeans strolled by on a beautiful sunny day. So the mood of the place seared into the ‘favourite travel memory’ section of our brains like a branding iron. When we left the Peanut Bar, Richard and Donna agreed that if a person could live and work anywhere in the world and had the intelligent advantage of seven languages, then Calpe, on the sunny, upscale coast of Spain was as good as it gets. We were envious. In fact we were downright jealous. So from that day forward the Peanut Bar received the highest rating on our ‘living a good life’ measuring stick. We told everyone about it.
We next visited Benidorm in January, 2000 and took the train to Calpe to see if the Peanut Bar still justified the highest rank. We stood aghast. The place was closed out, grown over, abandoned – like a western movie scene where the tumbleweeds bounce along the dusty road and the swinging doors of the saloon sway mindlessly in the wind. We know that restaurants come and go all the time, all over the world. We know that many businesses in resort areas are vulnerable and as unstable as Calgary weather. But the Peanut Bar was special to us and we were counting on continued success for our own reasons. It was very depressing. It still is.
So this trip, almost eleven years later, we again returned to Calpe on the first of our visits to surrounding towns. At the place where the Peanut Bar had been we recognized that someone else (and who knows, maybe even more) had opened a restaurant at some point - but it had long since closed. Sadness came upon us again, not for the loss of the replacement restaurant but because of the cold wind that blew through one of our favourite sunny daydreams. We will always wonder about that lovely couple. What happened to them? And where are they now?
Meanwhile, life in Calpe goes on. It is a lovely world-class destination that has attracted long-stays and inventors for years. The resort areas spread along two beaches, one that parallels the city centre and the other that faces the sea in a gorgeous resort setting filled with massive and modern condominium development. Both have up-scale, well maintained promenades. The second beach is quite deserted in the winter months but even then it is popular with Dutch, German and French Europeans, many of whom winter in Calpe every year. Unfortunately this is where the Peanut Bar was located. Ifach Rock is Calpe’s grey signature statement - it sits at the corner of the two beaches and towers high into the sky. It is visible for miles and can easily be seen from Altea and Albir. Calpe is accessible from Benidorm and Alicante by Alsa Bus Lines and the tram train.
A few days later we rode in comfort to Denia on the tram train which leaves once an hour from Benidorm. We had never been to Denia before and were quite amazed to see how ‘Dutch’ the city centre looked. Reminded us completely of being in Holland, in Gouda for example. We wandered around and found the port where the ferries leave for Ibiza. Hmmm, tempting…but for another time. Denia’s boast is a massive castle on the mountain right in the middle of the city, similar to Alicante and Malaga. We stopped at a quaint little coffee house for café con leche and croissants that you would swim the Med for – they were sooooo delicious. Denia, a lovely but unremarkable city that we wouldn’t want to move to. The best part of the day was the tram train which hugged the coastline for miles and provided exquisite vistas of life in coastal Spain.
The route for city bus number 10 takes you to Albir and Altea, two lovely little resort towns that are connected to Benidorm by a very interesting half hour bus ride. A & A are bedroom communities that are separated from each other by a span of pebbly beach. You can easily walk from one promenade to the other along a gravel sidewalk. Altea is just lovely with dozens and dozens of seaside restaurants that are busy day and night. We noticed that meals are a little more expensive.
The tram train that runs from Benidorm to Alicante is not diesel, it is electric. It departs twice an hour and the trip takes about 1 hour 20 minutes. This trip to Alicante was our fourth (over the years) and while we were there we stopped by the Hotel Rambla to see what happened with our reservation. When we cancelled the booking online in Calgary because of the flight delay, the cancellation confirmation said we would be charged for the room because we were already inside the penalty period. The gorgeous young lady at the Rambla front desk went into the office and checked for us. ‘No’, she said, ‘everything is okay. You were not charged’. Good to know. That left us with a clear conscience to source out delicious food for lunch somewhere in central Alicante. And find it we did. Bet you could never guess where we ate. It was outdoors in the middle of Alicante’s remarkable pedestrian boulevard that runs parallel to the harbour. We shared a footlong sandwich – vegetarian, lightly toasted. Yes, we chose Subway, if you can imagine. And it was delicious. So much for sampling exotic Spanish tapas. Oh well, it’s only food, right?
Alicante boasts a large harbour with hundreds of yachts and sailboats – glamorous accessories of the wealthy. In fact the contrast takes your breath away, the stunning rows of expensive white fibreglass set against the expanse of shimmering blue sea. But who are those people that can afford to pay for parking in a harbour in a downtown parking lot? Where did they come from and what do they do? Everyone in Calgary has been complaining about the high cost of parking for years. Well we say, ‘ha!’ You should see the size of the stalls in Alicante harbour if you think downtown Calgary is expensive!
The day we were there the sun streamed down to earth with legendary brightness and we couldn’t think of a single reason why we should be anywhere else on earth at that moment – except for one thing. Grandkids.
That’s all for now. Hasta luego!
We also spend time in our apartment on the 14th floor of the Levant Lux. Yes, we changed homes after eight days. All the apartments on the 2nd floor are in the shade most of the time and feel cold. When we asked Mourad at the front desk about changing rooms, he wanted to know why. We replied that apartment 2c is very nice but not enough sun. He spent a few seconds on the computer and then phoned the head housekeeper. Between the two of them, they found an apartment that would be available for the duration. He said, almost apologetically, we have only the 14th floor available, apartment 14C. Can you move on Saturday? We don’t know why he was apologetic; we could not have done better because, even though we didn’t know it at the time, fourteen is the top floor. So we moved. Planta catorce has views of fireworks, glimpses of the sea, shoreline and Alicante, people walking, pubs, lovely deluxe and delicious sunshine, mountains and more. What took us so long, we wondered? Well, it was The Elevator. On two we could climb the stairs. On catorce we ride in one of two little tiny elevator cars that are so small they have to have mirrors on the ceilings to double the space. They lurch and jerk and rattle and bounce (can you please come and fix them, Byron?), but in actual fact the ride is a small price to pay because, as it turns out, now we are dead even with the locals. Seagulls. They glide past our balcony when we are fine dining on baguette and cheese and laugh at us in their special laughing way, always with a keen eye on our victuals. During a fly-by this morning Richard commented that it’s a good thing birds aren’t afraid of heights. I said, ‘you could be a British comedian with an observation like that’. You see, Tony Scott, the fellow we saw two weeks ago said, ‘what did one bird say to the other while they were sitting on a perch?’ The answer is, ‘do you smell fish?’ Of course neither of us or anyone else in the audience got it until Tony repeated it about catorce times. Well, do you get it now? Another joke he told was about the woodworm that went into a bar and asked, ‘is the bartender here?’ Of course we didn’t get that one either until he repeated it catorce times. Oh well. We’re Canadian…
Most people working in hotels and restaurants in Benidorm speak more languages than sharks have teeth. Of course, everyone speaks Spanish, but many also speak English, Dutch, German or French. Front desk representative, Mourad, the fellow I was just telling you about, came to the Levante Lux Apartments from Algeria a few years ago, fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish and English. He looks so normal, standing there behind the counter, doing his job. This unassuming, polite and handsome man. He studied at university for a degree in graphic arts, but he could not find a job in that field in Benidorm so he went to work for the Levante Hotel Group. His language skills alone put him at the top of amazing. He is married to an artist, also from Algeria, and they have a three year old daughter who goes to Spanish school. They have applied to the Canadian Government for the right to live and work in Quebec, because French is his first language after Arabic, and because he has a friend who lives there who told him Canada has the best life.
My first unfortunate discovery in 14c happened the day after the move. When I tried to use the shower the whole contraption fell off the wall and crashed noisily into the bathtub - nozzle, hose and bracket. No matter what, I could not re-attach the bracket, so I took a bath instead. The issue was soon reported to Richard that we would have to ask the front desk for maintenance. Well after a few tapping and drumming minutes Richard said, ‘I think your problem is solved’. ‘What the sam hill’, I said, ‘did you fix it?’ Sure enough, the bracket was tight on the wall with the hose nestled perfectly inside and at the proper angle. ‘How did you do it?” I asked, amazed. “Well I used the screw driver that I always carry with me, then I had to make a spacer for a washer and I put it all back together’. Note to self: What do we really ever know about people? I have been travelling with this man on overseas trips since the mid ‘80s. I did not know he carried a screwdriver. No wonder he is my hero.
My second unfortunate discovery came later that week. And it was big. High floor, sunshine, lovely view indeed. Benidorm weather took a nasty turn. Fog, mist, low clouds, rain, cold, windy. Even an entire tool kit couldn’t fix it.
We’ve had time to explore a few nearby coastal towns; there are many and some are lovely. Number one on our list of course, was Calpe - about ½ hour away. We just had to go back. We first visited Calpe in January, 1997 and stopped for lunch at a gorgeous little outdoor café called the Peanut Bar, right on the promenade with brilliant sea view, fabulous location and drop-dead-gorgeous owners. The restaurant was quite new and the proud owner husband told us that a seaside life in Spain had been their dream. He said that his wife was from France and he was from Belgium, and between them they spoke seven languages (I said seven!). He was hopeful that they could handle the slow season in Calpe, which was when we were there, because in the busy season he knew their business would take off. Our lunch was charming, delicious and downright memorable. How could it not be when the food was prepared by a beautiful French chef who inherently knows about croissants and cheese and wine and poodles? And the table faced the promenade where dozens of Europeans strolled by on a beautiful sunny day. So the mood of the place seared into the ‘favourite travel memory’ section of our brains like a branding iron. When we left the Peanut Bar, Richard and Donna agreed that if a person could live and work anywhere in the world and had the intelligent advantage of seven languages, then Calpe, on the sunny, upscale coast of Spain was as good as it gets. We were envious. In fact we were downright jealous. So from that day forward the Peanut Bar received the highest rating on our ‘living a good life’ measuring stick. We told everyone about it.
We next visited Benidorm in January, 2000 and took the train to Calpe to see if the Peanut Bar still justified the highest rank. We stood aghast. The place was closed out, grown over, abandoned – like a western movie scene where the tumbleweeds bounce along the dusty road and the swinging doors of the saloon sway mindlessly in the wind. We know that restaurants come and go all the time, all over the world. We know that many businesses in resort areas are vulnerable and as unstable as Calgary weather. But the Peanut Bar was special to us and we were counting on continued success for our own reasons. It was very depressing. It still is.
So this trip, almost eleven years later, we again returned to Calpe on the first of our visits to surrounding towns. At the place where the Peanut Bar had been we recognized that someone else (and who knows, maybe even more) had opened a restaurant at some point - but it had long since closed. Sadness came upon us again, not for the loss of the replacement restaurant but because of the cold wind that blew through one of our favourite sunny daydreams. We will always wonder about that lovely couple. What happened to them? And where are they now?
Meanwhile, life in Calpe goes on. It is a lovely world-class destination that has attracted long-stays and inventors for years. The resort areas spread along two beaches, one that parallels the city centre and the other that faces the sea in a gorgeous resort setting filled with massive and modern condominium development. Both have up-scale, well maintained promenades. The second beach is quite deserted in the winter months but even then it is popular with Dutch, German and French Europeans, many of whom winter in Calpe every year. Unfortunately this is where the Peanut Bar was located. Ifach Rock is Calpe’s grey signature statement - it sits at the corner of the two beaches and towers high into the sky. It is visible for miles and can easily be seen from Altea and Albir. Calpe is accessible from Benidorm and Alicante by Alsa Bus Lines and the tram train.
A few days later we rode in comfort to Denia on the tram train which leaves once an hour from Benidorm. We had never been to Denia before and were quite amazed to see how ‘Dutch’ the city centre looked. Reminded us completely of being in Holland, in Gouda for example. We wandered around and found the port where the ferries leave for Ibiza. Hmmm, tempting…but for another time. Denia’s boast is a massive castle on the mountain right in the middle of the city, similar to Alicante and Malaga. We stopped at a quaint little coffee house for café con leche and croissants that you would swim the Med for – they were sooooo delicious. Denia, a lovely but unremarkable city that we wouldn’t want to move to. The best part of the day was the tram train which hugged the coastline for miles and provided exquisite vistas of life in coastal Spain.
The route for city bus number 10 takes you to Albir and Altea, two lovely little resort towns that are connected to Benidorm by a very interesting half hour bus ride. A & A are bedroom communities that are separated from each other by a span of pebbly beach. You can easily walk from one promenade to the other along a gravel sidewalk. Altea is just lovely with dozens and dozens of seaside restaurants that are busy day and night. We noticed that meals are a little more expensive.
The tram train that runs from Benidorm to Alicante is not diesel, it is electric. It departs twice an hour and the trip takes about 1 hour 20 minutes. This trip to Alicante was our fourth (over the years) and while we were there we stopped by the Hotel Rambla to see what happened with our reservation. When we cancelled the booking online in Calgary because of the flight delay, the cancellation confirmation said we would be charged for the room because we were already inside the penalty period. The gorgeous young lady at the Rambla front desk went into the office and checked for us. ‘No’, she said, ‘everything is okay. You were not charged’. Good to know. That left us with a clear conscience to source out delicious food for lunch somewhere in central Alicante. And find it we did. Bet you could never guess where we ate. It was outdoors in the middle of Alicante’s remarkable pedestrian boulevard that runs parallel to the harbour. We shared a footlong sandwich – vegetarian, lightly toasted. Yes, we chose Subway, if you can imagine. And it was delicious. So much for sampling exotic Spanish tapas. Oh well, it’s only food, right?
Alicante boasts a large harbour with hundreds of yachts and sailboats – glamorous accessories of the wealthy. In fact the contrast takes your breath away, the stunning rows of expensive white fibreglass set against the expanse of shimmering blue sea. But who are those people that can afford to pay for parking in a harbour in a downtown parking lot? Where did they come from and what do they do? Everyone in Calgary has been complaining about the high cost of parking for years. Well we say, ‘ha!’ You should see the size of the stalls in Alicante harbour if you think downtown Calgary is expensive!
The day we were there the sun streamed down to earth with legendary brightness and we couldn’t think of a single reason why we should be anywhere else on earth at that moment – except for one thing. Grandkids.
That’s all for now. Hasta luego!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Benidorm
Benidorm
November 13, 2010
18:00
Well, we have endured a week and a half of good and bad weather, good and bad food, cheap beer in delightful British pubs that are so filled with cigarette smoke we cannot stand being inside and several visits to the state of the art gym in the new Levante Beach Hotel (sister property). When we are not gasping for air, either from the smoke or the work-out, we have been walking, walking, walking. Things have changed in Benidorm since our last visit almost eleven years ago. There are dozens of new high-rise hotels and condominiums stacked up the hillsides as well as spiffy new roads, pubs and shopping centres. Change is also apparent in the small tourist shops that line the busy streets because most of them are now run by Chinese, who are not that fluent in Spanish. Nothing wrong with that, just different. Also, almost all the goods in those and many other shops have been imported from China, a grand testament to Chinese marketing but a sad reality for Spanish industry, whose fine leather purses, jackets and shoes we used to covet everywhere in Spain. On the other hand, Spain now grows and markets mandarin and clemintine oranges along with their Valencias and other varieties.
More changes are evident. Bangers and mash. Shepherd’s pie. Chip butty’s. English breakfasts. Fish and chips...all things Union Jack are mighty and visible and competition for the British euro (pound) is fiercely apparent, but now there are new additions - like Chinese restaurants, Chinese buffets, Indian restaurants advertising chicken or beef curry with rice or chips or both, chips with curry and so on. A decade ago there was not a single taste of curry anywhere in Beni, now it is everywhere.
Benidorm now sports a world class shopping centre called Marina Mall, on the Northern outskirts that is easily accessible on new roads and with great bus connections. That’s another thing; the city busses are clean and modern and seem to run on time. A single ticket costs 1.25 euros. While we’re on the transportation subject, the old rattle-trap, narrow gauge train has been replaced by a modern new diesel tram which runs regularly from Alicante to Denia. A return ticket from Benidorm to Alicante costs 5.25 euros, not bad!
Some things have not changed at all since we first visited in 1997. Europeans in general flock to Benidorm and the Costa Blanca to live and to holiday. Many spend up to six months in Spain every year, like snowbirds in Arizona and California, but the majority fly in on one or two week packages from home airports. We have never been to Benidorm in summer or at Christmas, but in November, January and February, the seaside promenade is full day and night with strollers. Our personal promenade stroller calculation - about 40% are from the British Isles, 40% are Spanish and the rest are from Holland, Germany, France, Belgium, Canada, USA, Asia, North Africa…you name it. The majority are retired but there are also families, young couples, yuppies, wannabe’s and people with dogs. Now here’s the interesting part: the retired Spanish dress exactly the same as they did when we were here thirteen years ago. The majority of aging Spanish ladies are dark haired, short and solidly rectangular. They wear reasonably sensible shoes, nylons, straight skirts, blouses and sweaters. The majority of the men are also short but not as solid. They wear dress pants and nice shirts and almost always have a sweater tied neatly around their shoulders. For some reason their hair shows a lot more grey than their female companions. Aging Spanish women seem to wear a lot of black, but this year more than ever we notice lots of red too – shoes, jackets and purses. If you pass an elderly Spanish lady on the promenade and she doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, then someone just lifted it because scarves are definitely the defining factor. A huge percentage of retired Spanish are smokers, and they love to dine late and dance even later. They also enjoy a glass of brandy with their morning coffee, or their afternoon coffee, or with their night coffee. When they are talking together in little groups in restaurants or in coffee shops, we understand almost nothing they say.
Now…moving right along…please do not confuse the aging Spanish with their children, young and old, because they are not like their parents. As in most countries, young people wear timely clothes, sometimes timely to the extreme and to the ridiculous extreme. Young Spanish women do not have short, dark hair; they have hair in all shapes, lengths and colors. They wear tight jeans, short skirts, short shorts and very high heels – just like females everywhere. They also wear scarves around their necks, large earrings, and many are absolutely beautiful. And the young men? RrrrWow! Enough said about them, winners of the World Cup are winners, period.
So now we get to the next interesting part. The other strolling majority on the promenade are from the UK and some of them are retirees who look young and robust. But they are with friends and relatives who are not. It is clearly visible how injured and/or disabled many of the British are as they roll up and down the streets on rented scooters (the four wheel kind), or lumber slowly along with canes, or walkers, or are pushed along in wheelchairs. Benidorm has done a good job of adapting itself to the handicapped, and there seem to be hundreds of them. The British Isles come in all shapes and sizes and many of the retirees are in good physical condition, but the majority seem to be largely out of shape, particularly the ladies, even young ladies. British men are an interesting study; for a lot of them the style seems to be ‘no hair’ at all, so young and old have fairly close shaved heads. Of course there are always exceptions, but British males are taller, broader, and thicker through the upper body than Spanish males, and they have muscular legs, wear muscle shirts that show off miles of tattoos, they hug their girls when they walk, and they laugh out loud - oh, I could go on and on - they wear sports shorts that hang down below their knees and big, expensive running shoes, and they seem to enjoy themselves totally while on vacation. I know it’s hard to believe but we have seen with our own eyes, Brits that wait until 9:00 or even 9:02 am before they start drinking beer. We realize now there really is a connection between Winston Churchill and the Proper British Bull Dog. But you know what? While we cannot speak for their behaviour at home, in Benidorm, this large and sparsely dressed portion of the population seem to be having fun all the time. Delightful, rowdy, good to know you, fun! They laugh and drink and smoke and party and sing and shout and have a first-rate time. Every evening they trickle into the pubs, nightclubs and discos and before you know it, every chair is occupied with high expectations and smoke that coils around thicker than a Manchester accent. They love British comedians, who are as common in Benidorm as whitecaps on the Med. These comedians (if you can understand them) can be outrageously, stomach twisting funny, but they border on lewd and vulgar, and claim emphatically that the British own Benidorm so the Spanish should just f*** off.
On many November nights in the Costa Blanca, after the sun has gone down, a bit of a wind pushes the damp air around the bay in a chilly circle. When that happens, Richard and Donna immediately run for sweaters and long pants. The Spanish run for sweaters, long pants and scarves. But what about the British? Well they’re still strolling along or sitting outside at pubs, wearing shorts, flip flops, ladies in string tee’s, men in muscle shirts, tattoos, bare skin, heads, legs and shoulders exposed, chatting and laughing, most of them enjoying a wee smoke with their wee pint. My God they are tough! We Canadians have no idea whatsoever about survival, and have a lot to learn about staying ‘warm’ from the inside out. One more thing, when they are talking together in little groups in pubs or in coffee shops, because of their diverse regional accents, we really understand very little of what they say.
And finally, a weighty but thoughtful conclusion - our own opinion, of course, nothing official. It is harsh but true that Spain subjugated and colonized most of the land in the Americas from Mexico south to Peru. There are a few exceptions of course, the biggest being Brazil, which is Portuguese. But after living in Mexico for almost three years - Mexico, with its Spanish language, architecture, devout Roman Catholic religion, inherited corruption and disturbing poverty - it is inconceivable and almost impossible for us to understand that the small, solid Spanish women, with or without scarves, who are strolling the Benidorm promenade today, descended from their mothers, who came from their mother’s mothers, and so on...all the way down to the very mothers who gave birth to the conquerors of millions of indigenous peoples in Mexico and Central and South America. In 1519, half a world away!
Conclusion Part II. And what about the British?
November 13, 2010
18:00
Well, we have endured a week and a half of good and bad weather, good and bad food, cheap beer in delightful British pubs that are so filled with cigarette smoke we cannot stand being inside and several visits to the state of the art gym in the new Levante Beach Hotel (sister property). When we are not gasping for air, either from the smoke or the work-out, we have been walking, walking, walking. Things have changed in Benidorm since our last visit almost eleven years ago. There are dozens of new high-rise hotels and condominiums stacked up the hillsides as well as spiffy new roads, pubs and shopping centres. Change is also apparent in the small tourist shops that line the busy streets because most of them are now run by Chinese, who are not that fluent in Spanish. Nothing wrong with that, just different. Also, almost all the goods in those and many other shops have been imported from China, a grand testament to Chinese marketing but a sad reality for Spanish industry, whose fine leather purses, jackets and shoes we used to covet everywhere in Spain. On the other hand, Spain now grows and markets mandarin and clemintine oranges along with their Valencias and other varieties.
More changes are evident. Bangers and mash. Shepherd’s pie. Chip butty’s. English breakfasts. Fish and chips...all things Union Jack are mighty and visible and competition for the British euro (pound) is fiercely apparent, but now there are new additions - like Chinese restaurants, Chinese buffets, Indian restaurants advertising chicken or beef curry with rice or chips or both, chips with curry and so on. A decade ago there was not a single taste of curry anywhere in Beni, now it is everywhere.
Benidorm now sports a world class shopping centre called Marina Mall, on the Northern outskirts that is easily accessible on new roads and with great bus connections. That’s another thing; the city busses are clean and modern and seem to run on time. A single ticket costs 1.25 euros. While we’re on the transportation subject, the old rattle-trap, narrow gauge train has been replaced by a modern new diesel tram which runs regularly from Alicante to Denia. A return ticket from Benidorm to Alicante costs 5.25 euros, not bad!
Some things have not changed at all since we first visited in 1997. Europeans in general flock to Benidorm and the Costa Blanca to live and to holiday. Many spend up to six months in Spain every year, like snowbirds in Arizona and California, but the majority fly in on one or two week packages from home airports. We have never been to Benidorm in summer or at Christmas, but in November, January and February, the seaside promenade is full day and night with strollers. Our personal promenade stroller calculation - about 40% are from the British Isles, 40% are Spanish and the rest are from Holland, Germany, France, Belgium, Canada, USA, Asia, North Africa…you name it. The majority are retired but there are also families, young couples, yuppies, wannabe’s and people with dogs. Now here’s the interesting part: the retired Spanish dress exactly the same as they did when we were here thirteen years ago. The majority of aging Spanish ladies are dark haired, short and solidly rectangular. They wear reasonably sensible shoes, nylons, straight skirts, blouses and sweaters. The majority of the men are also short but not as solid. They wear dress pants and nice shirts and almost always have a sweater tied neatly around their shoulders. For some reason their hair shows a lot more grey than their female companions. Aging Spanish women seem to wear a lot of black, but this year more than ever we notice lots of red too – shoes, jackets and purses. If you pass an elderly Spanish lady on the promenade and she doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, then someone just lifted it because scarves are definitely the defining factor. A huge percentage of retired Spanish are smokers, and they love to dine late and dance even later. They also enjoy a glass of brandy with their morning coffee, or their afternoon coffee, or with their night coffee. When they are talking together in little groups in restaurants or in coffee shops, we understand almost nothing they say.
Now…moving right along…please do not confuse the aging Spanish with their children, young and old, because they are not like their parents. As in most countries, young people wear timely clothes, sometimes timely to the extreme and to the ridiculous extreme. Young Spanish women do not have short, dark hair; they have hair in all shapes, lengths and colors. They wear tight jeans, short skirts, short shorts and very high heels – just like females everywhere. They also wear scarves around their necks, large earrings, and many are absolutely beautiful. And the young men? RrrrWow! Enough said about them, winners of the World Cup are winners, period.
So now we get to the next interesting part. The other strolling majority on the promenade are from the UK and some of them are retirees who look young and robust. But they are with friends and relatives who are not. It is clearly visible how injured and/or disabled many of the British are as they roll up and down the streets on rented scooters (the four wheel kind), or lumber slowly along with canes, or walkers, or are pushed along in wheelchairs. Benidorm has done a good job of adapting itself to the handicapped, and there seem to be hundreds of them. The British Isles come in all shapes and sizes and many of the retirees are in good physical condition, but the majority seem to be largely out of shape, particularly the ladies, even young ladies. British men are an interesting study; for a lot of them the style seems to be ‘no hair’ at all, so young and old have fairly close shaved heads. Of course there are always exceptions, but British males are taller, broader, and thicker through the upper body than Spanish males, and they have muscular legs, wear muscle shirts that show off miles of tattoos, they hug their girls when they walk, and they laugh out loud - oh, I could go on and on - they wear sports shorts that hang down below their knees and big, expensive running shoes, and they seem to enjoy themselves totally while on vacation. I know it’s hard to believe but we have seen with our own eyes, Brits that wait until 9:00 or even 9:02 am before they start drinking beer. We realize now there really is a connection between Winston Churchill and the Proper British Bull Dog. But you know what? While we cannot speak for their behaviour at home, in Benidorm, this large and sparsely dressed portion of the population seem to be having fun all the time. Delightful, rowdy, good to know you, fun! They laugh and drink and smoke and party and sing and shout and have a first-rate time. Every evening they trickle into the pubs, nightclubs and discos and before you know it, every chair is occupied with high expectations and smoke that coils around thicker than a Manchester accent. They love British comedians, who are as common in Benidorm as whitecaps on the Med. These comedians (if you can understand them) can be outrageously, stomach twisting funny, but they border on lewd and vulgar, and claim emphatically that the British own Benidorm so the Spanish should just f*** off.
On many November nights in the Costa Blanca, after the sun has gone down, a bit of a wind pushes the damp air around the bay in a chilly circle. When that happens, Richard and Donna immediately run for sweaters and long pants. The Spanish run for sweaters, long pants and scarves. But what about the British? Well they’re still strolling along or sitting outside at pubs, wearing shorts, flip flops, ladies in string tee’s, men in muscle shirts, tattoos, bare skin, heads, legs and shoulders exposed, chatting and laughing, most of them enjoying a wee smoke with their wee pint. My God they are tough! We Canadians have no idea whatsoever about survival, and have a lot to learn about staying ‘warm’ from the inside out. One more thing, when they are talking together in little groups in pubs or in coffee shops, because of their diverse regional accents, we really understand very little of what they say.
And finally, a weighty but thoughtful conclusion - our own opinion, of course, nothing official. It is harsh but true that Spain subjugated and colonized most of the land in the Americas from Mexico south to Peru. There are a few exceptions of course, the biggest being Brazil, which is Portuguese. But after living in Mexico for almost three years - Mexico, with its Spanish language, architecture, devout Roman Catholic religion, inherited corruption and disturbing poverty - it is inconceivable and almost impossible for us to understand that the small, solid Spanish women, with or without scarves, who are strolling the Benidorm promenade today, descended from their mothers, who came from their mother’s mothers, and so on...all the way down to the very mothers who gave birth to the conquerors of millions of indigenous peoples in Mexico and Central and South America. In 1519, half a world away!
Conclusion Part II. And what about the British?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
We Held Our Breath...
Oct 30, 2010
10:30am
We held our breath. Did we have everything? Were all the appliances unplugged? Toilets flushed? Widows closed? Heat down? Were the keys in the right place for our return? Tickets? Passports? Credit cards? Cash?
Oh, there are no tickets anymore. Only ‘e’ Tickets.
We left Axxis at 10:30am and excitedly walked to the C-Train. Roller bags followed noisily, like they were complaining about a long, long lack of use. The train was waiting at the 10th Street Stop. I gallantly held the doors while Richard purchased the tickets – total cost $5.50 – then we took our seats. I looked around at the assortment of Saturday morning travellers, expecting some of them to nod in envious encouragement because we were travelling to the North East with luggage. Get it? Luggage? Airport? Vacation? No one noticed. In fact the entire Calgary Transit network didn't give a hot @#$%. The City Centre train moved out of the station. Our journey had finally begun. This, our fifteenth journey of a life-time. This, the trip we spent more time planning than the travel would actually take.
At Whitehorn station the up escalator was exactly where I remembered but the last time we were there it was not Out Of Order. We lugged our bags up three large flights of stairs while my heart flailed around like a punctured balloon. But there was some good news. We hardly had time to succumb to cardiac arrest before bus 157 arrived to take us to the airport. Imagine! Such a good connection. The driver carefully inspected our C-Train tickets and waved us aboard.
YeeHaa! Next Stop, London.
Check-in at Air Transat (code share Thomas Cook Airlines) wasn’t that busy – we were only about 4,000 people away from the agent. The line moved slowly along. Then the dreaded announcement ripped into our smooth connection like an irascible buzz saw. It screamed pleasantly about how very sorry they were - they being Air Transat and Thomas Cook – because the plane we were in line for was somehow still in Iceland. Iceland!!? Yes, the calm voice went on, Iceland. The voice then explained that a passenger on the flight from London to Calgary had become ill (a stroke) and the pilot had to make an unscheduled landing in Reykjavik (try shouting that after climbing three flights of stairs with luggage). Of course, in order to make a premature landing fuel first had to be jettisoned over the ocean. Well too bad for us, the pilot did not jettison quite enough and consequently got himself involved in a ‘heavy’ landing. While that may not mean much to many of us most of the time, unfortunately in this case, ‘heavy’ meant blown tire. Well if you have a flat tire, fix it, Richard, my motorcycle mechanic, has always said. Even the Queen of England would agree with that. But no. Air Transat concluded that they didn’t actually have a replacement tire in Reykjavik and subsequently would have to fly in a tire and a mechanic to install the tire from England. No tires in Iceland? No qualified mechanic for an A330 Airbus in Iceland? Why a load of horse… No blood… I instantly realized that the tire difficulty probably arose because the Brits cannot spell the word tire correctly, they spell ‘tyre’ so how could the Icelanders, who are a little frozen at the best of times, understand what was needed? But wait! The buzz saw was still screaming. ...by the time the tyre and the mechanic arrive, well it will be way past the legal working hours of the flight crew so everyone, including all the passengers, will have to go to a hotel for a nice little night night in Iceland. We stood there with our mouths open. Unable to breathe. facing an extensive delay, the voice said... departure time unknown... will not be leaving Calgary until at least tomorrow morning... call a specified telephone number for updated information... Then we heard the most cherished and prized word in our vocabulary. Free. Free taxi vouchers for passengers who needed them, free dinner vouchers, free to leave now...
A manageable disappointment. But what did the sudden change of plans really mean to two very excited people just starting their fifteenth trip of a lifetime? People who had only moments before made the smoothest train/bus connection in the history of Calgary transit? Life is full of unexpected pleasures. Free vouchers...
Taxi from the airport to home - $41.25 (bus and train for two, $5.50). Dinner vouchers for the Hotel 5 Restaurant were worth $50. Late in the afternoon Transat’s voice message clearly stated that they hoped the flight would leave at 8:30am Sunday and check-in would begin three hours prior. We had to do damage control when we arrived home because we would miss our Easy Jet connection to Alicante. We would not be able to keep our hotel reservation in Alicante either. Two hours later we had revised those plans and left for dinner. Yes the new plans would cost us money, most of which we would try and recover from cancellation insurance.
Dinner was interesting – as per the voucher we had a choice of two downtown restaurants. We chose Hotel 5 because they offered two menu items we love – a Thai Rice Curry Bowl and Beef Vindaloo. We followed orders and ‘just sat anywhere’. Then we noticed how truly busy the place was, and how few staff members they had. We also noticed that most of the people in the restaurant had the same voucher we did. The waitress took our order. No, the waitress asked what we would like. Beef Vindaloo, we both said. Oh, she said, I’m sorry but we are out of the Vindaloo as well as the Rice Curry Bowl. Hmmmm, we said. ‘Other’ dishes took about forty minutes to arrive and the restaurant added a mandatory 18% gratuity to the bill, more than $8.50, so the vouchers didn’t even cover the cost. Oh well, unexpected things happen when you travel, we reminded ourselves. Hey, wait a minute, we left home at 10:30am, it was now 9:30pm and we were still in downtown, only six blocks from our condo. What kind of travel was that? At that rate the fifteenth trip of a lifetime would take about fifteen years.
A check with Air Transat when we got home confirmed that the flight would leave at 8:30am and check in would begin at 5:30. We set the alarm for 3:30am and booked a taxi for 4am. The taxi back to the airport cost $32.00, paid by the second voucher. Check-in opened at 5am and we were among the first in line. The nice lady assigned us good seats and gave us two breakfast vouchers. Happy. The maximum weight on free checked luggage was 20 kilos per person. Richard’s bag weighed 19.1 k’s. We ate at Kelsey’s. They were really busy at 6:30am, short staffed and people were flashing vouchers like they were winning LottoMax tickets. Richard ordered crisp bacon with his eggs and was upgraded to two sausages. No worries…at least we were in the airport and had boarding passes in hand.
October 31, 2010
10:30am
Hard to believe but after another small delay our A330 Airbus finally rose into the air at 10:30am – exactly 24 hours after we boarded the C-train for the airport. Quarters inside the aircraft drew comment from Richard. He said there was no room for his legs. I replied that if he expected to bring his legs along then he needed to pay more money for his ticket. The person next to me roared with laughter. She was a large lady from Medicine Hat who was moving to England to be with her husband. She had a ffine sense of humor.
The nine hour flight was smooth and considerate and really quite enjoyable. The pilot announced that this aircraft was the newest in the Thomas Cook fleet and had the most state of the art entertainment system of all TC planes. In fact we had to agree – movies, movies and more movies that you could start anytime. Movies and shows that could be fast forwarded and rewound as well as maps, radio and comedy, even the stopper for the kitchen sink. The flight attendants served food a couple of times - we wanted to pay extra for the meals but they said it was included in the miniscule price we had paid. No problems, man. We arrived Gatwick November 1st at 12:30 am (London time), an hour earlier than we thought simply because the UK went off daylight saving time while we were in the air. Insult or Injury? For some reason there was a problem with the luggage. A delay of almost an hour before the conveyor belt showed up with everyone's bags – one final, last, flashing red light at the end of many problems with that flight. At least we were not stressed about the delay, we had to wait several hours for our Easy Jet connection anyway.
Easy Jet – our original scheduled departure was 2:50pnm, October 31st; our revised departure, 6:50am, November 1st.
In our temporary home at Gatwick we lived with a very interesting assortment of mismatched humanity for several hours. Of course, anyone who scrutinized us thought the same because we had been enroute to Spain for something like 192 days and we were not about to take a shower in an airport toilet. Note to self: don’t worry about anything at all, nothing whatsoever, absolutely not one single thing, ever again. If many of those people could make their way in life, to any destination outside of where they were at that very moment, then we could shout Reykjavik from the top of the stairs at the top of our lungs every single day for the rest of our lives.
Check-in for Easy Jet opened at 4:30am. We were there! and only a little concerned (see above) about our online ticket changes. (Why wouldn’t the revisions be okay? We paid them enough money, right?) All good. We breezed through security and into the departure area for breakfast. This time Richard got what he ordered. Man, those Brits can do anything. At lift off we were only one hour and fifty minutes away from sunny Spain (Espana).
Smooth and fast, in no time we were waiting for the conveyor to cough up our luggage again. Outside was the real surprise. Mid morning in Alicante was cold, cloudy and very windy. Everyone wore full on jackets and long pants. Yikes! We rushed to the Alsa Bus stop and waited in line, holding tightly to everything including our sanity, so it would not blow away. Later (rather than sooner) we were on our way. Tickets cost 7 Euros each. An hour later (Donna slept most of the way after being awake 2356 hours) we got off the bus on Avenida Europa, grabbed our luggage and stood there with our mouths hanging wide. The wind was gone. The sun was shining. Benidorm palm trees were high. Flowers were bright. Then we saw them, there, there, there and over there. Hundreds of well scrubbed, chubby British people walking around in small beach clothes. Hundreds of others were sitting at outdoor cafes drinking beer. Many were drinking coffee with brandy. It was only noon! Benidorm, the largest British enclave in Spain, was alive, alive, alive in the sun and filled with sinful (sunful) forgotten pleasures. YeeHaa Benidorm! This was our fourth visit, but the last was ten before. What the heck took us so long?
November 1, 2010
Noon
We only made about 100 metres from the bus before we had to pull in for fuel. Our first cold beer in the hot sun in 1,000 years (give or take). People all around were speaking British, many of them we could even understand. It was very easy and felt real nice to blend in so completely with the disproportionate many. Unlike some resorts we had visited in the past where everyone looks perfect in designer flip flops and even the bag ladies sport designer bags, Benidorm is an ‘anything goes’ kind of girl. The beer tasted better than any beer ever tasted in history. No Kidding! But we had a job to do, even though we hated to drink and run…
Before leaving home we looked online at the Google map for our apartment, so we had a good idea of where it was. Soon enough the sign outside the Levante Lux Apartments filled our eyes with cartwheels of happiness (for Shirley's sake). We had booked our stay online through a large UK tour operator called First Choice Travel. They seemed to be the only company offering such a good deal for three star accommodation, way too good to pass up. In total we prepaid UKL315.71 for 25 nights. At a 1.8 conversion rate that equals about CA$570.00 or about CA$22.80 per day, tax included. We were a little worried because it was so inexpensive. We were in for a surprise.
The L.L seemed well situated up a slight hill, about 500 meters from the beach, close to 3,254 British Pubs, grocery stores, internet cafes, markets, nightclubs and every amenity necessary to infuse ones life with the very best of British Bull Dog power. Rrruff! The building itself was not new but fairly modern with only extremely worn furniture in the lobby. Fernando, our check-in agent, was waiting and called us by the name Kane before we even identified ourselves. Now that’s ‘ready’. He was young, handsome, Spanish with English nouns, and was working his first day at the front desk of the Levant Lux. Normally, he said, he works at the Levante Beach Hotel, but today was just a little side-step to help the Levante people out. He was quick to warn us, however, that this was his last day at the Levante Lux because tomorrow he would be flying to Tenerife. Hmmm, first and last day on the same day? How do you get a job like that? Anyway, he assured us that he had a lovely room set aside for our seven night stay – room 2C. Second floor. Seven nights? We told him to look a little harder at the reservation before he finished his last day to ensure that we got all our entitlements – ie 25 nights. He gave us the room key and said to come back in an hour or so.
We had butterflies when we opened the apartment door. It was a surprise. Had a lovely large balcony with new furniture overlooking the swimming pool. Had a little kitchen with a hob and fridge. Hob, for you non-bulldoggers is a stove. Had a living room with a little tiny teeney weeney television. Had a separate bedroom. Had a big closet with hangers. Had bedside reading lights. Had a bathtub and shower. Had an indoor toilet. In fact it had EVERYTHING!!!
REYKJAVIK!!!!!
10:30am
We held our breath. Did we have everything? Were all the appliances unplugged? Toilets flushed? Widows closed? Heat down? Were the keys in the right place for our return? Tickets? Passports? Credit cards? Cash?
Oh, there are no tickets anymore. Only ‘e’ Tickets.
We left Axxis at 10:30am and excitedly walked to the C-Train. Roller bags followed noisily, like they were complaining about a long, long lack of use. The train was waiting at the 10th Street Stop. I gallantly held the doors while Richard purchased the tickets – total cost $5.50 – then we took our seats. I looked around at the assortment of Saturday morning travellers, expecting some of them to nod in envious encouragement because we were travelling to the North East with luggage. Get it? Luggage? Airport? Vacation? No one noticed. In fact the entire Calgary Transit network didn't give a hot @#$%. The City Centre train moved out of the station. Our journey had finally begun. This, our fifteenth journey of a life-time. This, the trip we spent more time planning than the travel would actually take.
At Whitehorn station the up escalator was exactly where I remembered but the last time we were there it was not Out Of Order. We lugged our bags up three large flights of stairs while my heart flailed around like a punctured balloon. But there was some good news. We hardly had time to succumb to cardiac arrest before bus 157 arrived to take us to the airport. Imagine! Such a good connection. The driver carefully inspected our C-Train tickets and waved us aboard.
YeeHaa! Next Stop, London.
Check-in at Air Transat (code share Thomas Cook Airlines) wasn’t that busy – we were only about 4,000 people away from the agent. The line moved slowly along. Then the dreaded announcement ripped into our smooth connection like an irascible buzz saw. It screamed pleasantly about how very sorry they were - they being Air Transat and Thomas Cook – because the plane we were in line for was somehow still in Iceland. Iceland!!? Yes, the calm voice went on, Iceland. The voice then explained that a passenger on the flight from London to Calgary had become ill (a stroke) and the pilot had to make an unscheduled landing in Reykjavik (try shouting that after climbing three flights of stairs with luggage). Of course, in order to make a premature landing fuel first had to be jettisoned over the ocean. Well too bad for us, the pilot did not jettison quite enough and consequently got himself involved in a ‘heavy’ landing. While that may not mean much to many of us most of the time, unfortunately in this case, ‘heavy’ meant blown tire. Well if you have a flat tire, fix it, Richard, my motorcycle mechanic, has always said. Even the Queen of England would agree with that. But no. Air Transat concluded that they didn’t actually have a replacement tire in Reykjavik and subsequently would have to fly in a tire and a mechanic to install the tire from England. No tires in Iceland? No qualified mechanic for an A330 Airbus in Iceland? Why a load of horse… No blood… I instantly realized that the tire difficulty probably arose because the Brits cannot spell the word tire correctly, they spell ‘tyre’ so how could the Icelanders, who are a little frozen at the best of times, understand what was needed? But wait! The buzz saw was still screaming. ...by the time the tyre and the mechanic arrive, well it will be way past the legal working hours of the flight crew so everyone, including all the passengers, will have to go to a hotel for a nice little night night in Iceland. We stood there with our mouths open. Unable to breathe. facing an extensive delay, the voice said... departure time unknown... will not be leaving Calgary until at least tomorrow morning... call a specified telephone number for updated information... Then we heard the most cherished and prized word in our vocabulary. Free. Free taxi vouchers for passengers who needed them, free dinner vouchers, free to leave now...
A manageable disappointment. But what did the sudden change of plans really mean to two very excited people just starting their fifteenth trip of a lifetime? People who had only moments before made the smoothest train/bus connection in the history of Calgary transit? Life is full of unexpected pleasures. Free vouchers...
Taxi from the airport to home - $41.25 (bus and train for two, $5.50). Dinner vouchers for the Hotel 5 Restaurant were worth $50. Late in the afternoon Transat’s voice message clearly stated that they hoped the flight would leave at 8:30am Sunday and check-in would begin three hours prior. We had to do damage control when we arrived home because we would miss our Easy Jet connection to Alicante. We would not be able to keep our hotel reservation in Alicante either. Two hours later we had revised those plans and left for dinner. Yes the new plans would cost us money, most of which we would try and recover from cancellation insurance.
Dinner was interesting – as per the voucher we had a choice of two downtown restaurants. We chose Hotel 5 because they offered two menu items we love – a Thai Rice Curry Bowl and Beef Vindaloo. We followed orders and ‘just sat anywhere’. Then we noticed how truly busy the place was, and how few staff members they had. We also noticed that most of the people in the restaurant had the same voucher we did. The waitress took our order. No, the waitress asked what we would like. Beef Vindaloo, we both said. Oh, she said, I’m sorry but we are out of the Vindaloo as well as the Rice Curry Bowl. Hmmmm, we said. ‘Other’ dishes took about forty minutes to arrive and the restaurant added a mandatory 18% gratuity to the bill, more than $8.50, so the vouchers didn’t even cover the cost. Oh well, unexpected things happen when you travel, we reminded ourselves. Hey, wait a minute, we left home at 10:30am, it was now 9:30pm and we were still in downtown, only six blocks from our condo. What kind of travel was that? At that rate the fifteenth trip of a lifetime would take about fifteen years.
A check with Air Transat when we got home confirmed that the flight would leave at 8:30am and check in would begin at 5:30. We set the alarm for 3:30am and booked a taxi for 4am. The taxi back to the airport cost $32.00, paid by the second voucher. Check-in opened at 5am and we were among the first in line. The nice lady assigned us good seats and gave us two breakfast vouchers. Happy. The maximum weight on free checked luggage was 20 kilos per person. Richard’s bag weighed 19.1 k’s. We ate at Kelsey’s. They were really busy at 6:30am, short staffed and people were flashing vouchers like they were winning LottoMax tickets. Richard ordered crisp bacon with his eggs and was upgraded to two sausages. No worries…at least we were in the airport and had boarding passes in hand.
October 31, 2010
10:30am
Hard to believe but after another small delay our A330 Airbus finally rose into the air at 10:30am – exactly 24 hours after we boarded the C-train for the airport. Quarters inside the aircraft drew comment from Richard. He said there was no room for his legs. I replied that if he expected to bring his legs along then he needed to pay more money for his ticket. The person next to me roared with laughter. She was a large lady from Medicine Hat who was moving to England to be with her husband. She had a ffine sense of humor.
The nine hour flight was smooth and considerate and really quite enjoyable. The pilot announced that this aircraft was the newest in the Thomas Cook fleet and had the most state of the art entertainment system of all TC planes. In fact we had to agree – movies, movies and more movies that you could start anytime. Movies and shows that could be fast forwarded and rewound as well as maps, radio and comedy, even the stopper for the kitchen sink. The flight attendants served food a couple of times - we wanted to pay extra for the meals but they said it was included in the miniscule price we had paid. No problems, man. We arrived Gatwick November 1st at 12:30 am (London time), an hour earlier than we thought simply because the UK went off daylight saving time while we were in the air. Insult or Injury? For some reason there was a problem with the luggage. A delay of almost an hour before the conveyor belt showed up with everyone's bags – one final, last, flashing red light at the end of many problems with that flight. At least we were not stressed about the delay, we had to wait several hours for our Easy Jet connection anyway.
Easy Jet – our original scheduled departure was 2:50pnm, October 31st; our revised departure, 6:50am, November 1st.
In our temporary home at Gatwick we lived with a very interesting assortment of mismatched humanity for several hours. Of course, anyone who scrutinized us thought the same because we had been enroute to Spain for something like 192 days and we were not about to take a shower in an airport toilet. Note to self: don’t worry about anything at all, nothing whatsoever, absolutely not one single thing, ever again. If many of those people could make their way in life, to any destination outside of where they were at that very moment, then we could shout Reykjavik from the top of the stairs at the top of our lungs every single day for the rest of our lives.
Check-in for Easy Jet opened at 4:30am. We were there! and only a little concerned (see above) about our online ticket changes. (Why wouldn’t the revisions be okay? We paid them enough money, right?) All good. We breezed through security and into the departure area for breakfast. This time Richard got what he ordered. Man, those Brits can do anything. At lift off we were only one hour and fifty minutes away from sunny Spain (Espana).
Smooth and fast, in no time we were waiting for the conveyor to cough up our luggage again. Outside was the real surprise. Mid morning in Alicante was cold, cloudy and very windy. Everyone wore full on jackets and long pants. Yikes! We rushed to the Alsa Bus stop and waited in line, holding tightly to everything including our sanity, so it would not blow away. Later (rather than sooner) we were on our way. Tickets cost 7 Euros each. An hour later (Donna slept most of the way after being awake 2356 hours) we got off the bus on Avenida Europa, grabbed our luggage and stood there with our mouths hanging wide. The wind was gone. The sun was shining. Benidorm palm trees were high. Flowers were bright. Then we saw them, there, there, there and over there. Hundreds of well scrubbed, chubby British people walking around in small beach clothes. Hundreds of others were sitting at outdoor cafes drinking beer. Many were drinking coffee with brandy. It was only noon! Benidorm, the largest British enclave in Spain, was alive, alive, alive in the sun and filled with sinful (sunful) forgotten pleasures. YeeHaa Benidorm! This was our fourth visit, but the last was ten before. What the heck took us so long?
November 1, 2010
Noon
We only made about 100 metres from the bus before we had to pull in for fuel. Our first cold beer in the hot sun in 1,000 years (give or take). People all around were speaking British, many of them we could even understand. It was very easy and felt real nice to blend in so completely with the disproportionate many. Unlike some resorts we had visited in the past where everyone looks perfect in designer flip flops and even the bag ladies sport designer bags, Benidorm is an ‘anything goes’ kind of girl. The beer tasted better than any beer ever tasted in history. No Kidding! But we had a job to do, even though we hated to drink and run…
Before leaving home we looked online at the Google map for our apartment, so we had a good idea of where it was. Soon enough the sign outside the Levante Lux Apartments filled our eyes with cartwheels of happiness (for Shirley's sake). We had booked our stay online through a large UK tour operator called First Choice Travel. They seemed to be the only company offering such a good deal for three star accommodation, way too good to pass up. In total we prepaid UKL315.71 for 25 nights. At a 1.8 conversion rate that equals about CA$570.00 or about CA$22.80 per day, tax included. We were a little worried because it was so inexpensive. We were in for a surprise.
The L.L seemed well situated up a slight hill, about 500 meters from the beach, close to 3,254 British Pubs, grocery stores, internet cafes, markets, nightclubs and every amenity necessary to infuse ones life with the very best of British Bull Dog power. Rrruff! The building itself was not new but fairly modern with only extremely worn furniture in the lobby. Fernando, our check-in agent, was waiting and called us by the name Kane before we even identified ourselves. Now that’s ‘ready’. He was young, handsome, Spanish with English nouns, and was working his first day at the front desk of the Levant Lux. Normally, he said, he works at the Levante Beach Hotel, but today was just a little side-step to help the Levante people out. He was quick to warn us, however, that this was his last day at the Levante Lux because tomorrow he would be flying to Tenerife. Hmmm, first and last day on the same day? How do you get a job like that? Anyway, he assured us that he had a lovely room set aside for our seven night stay – room 2C. Second floor. Seven nights? We told him to look a little harder at the reservation before he finished his last day to ensure that we got all our entitlements – ie 25 nights. He gave us the room key and said to come back in an hour or so.
We had butterflies when we opened the apartment door. It was a surprise. Had a lovely large balcony with new furniture overlooking the swimming pool. Had a little kitchen with a hob and fridge. Hob, for you non-bulldoggers is a stove. Had a living room with a little tiny teeney weeney television. Had a separate bedroom. Had a big closet with hangers. Had bedside reading lights. Had a bathtub and shower. Had an indoor toilet. In fact it had EVERYTHING!!!
REYKJAVIK!!!!!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
