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!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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!!!!!
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