Holiday From Hell

I hope this makes you laugh. I can look back now and really chuckle. 

Spain. My second visit. The previous year I had spent a wonderful holiday on the Costa Brava with my friend Cathy R. I mentioned her when I wrote about my holiday in Switzerland. We loved Spain so much the first time that we vowed to go back the following year. Alas for me, Cathy had found the love of her life and did not want to be parted from him. It looked as though I would not be visiting Espana after all. However, all was not lost. I happened to mention it to another friend - GD and she said that she would like to go. I showed her all my previous photographs, told her of the fun we had being “wooed” by all those handsome young Spaniards . That sold her on it. I had not known her as long as Cathy but we worked together,  we had become friends, she had spent a weekend at my home and I had been to stay with her and her family. We had been to the cinema and to shows together in London. I foresaw no problem. How wrong I was!

The holiday was duly booked and I eagerly waited for the weeks to pass. A couple of weeks before we were due to fly out, GD announced to me that she had decided to ask her family to go as well. Her family consisted of her mother, father and brother! I tactfully tried to point out that this was meant to be a holiday for the two of us, that her family would cramp our style so to speak (I was a good girl so that did not mean sexual romps) that it would not be the same. Then she told me that she had already been to the agent and booked them in! This was many years ago when package holidays were not the norm so it had been easy for her to have her family included. My heart sank, but what could I do? My only option was to back out myself but I so wanted to return. I told myself that everything would be alright.

We met up in London, took a coach to the airport and things went well with the flight. It was a different story the moment we touched down in Spain. I think they had assumed that we would walk a few yards to our hotel although I had pointed out previously that a coach trip was involved. Well, we were a couple of hours on the road and during that time the coach broke down. That was when the moaning started. First with her mum, then her dad, then her brother and finally her. Well, it was annoying but never mind, we would soon be there. We got to the hotel, they moaned again - it was not right on the beach, they had expected everyone would speak English, they did not like the view from their window. I put it down to the tiredness caused by the journey.  Next day would be better.

The next day the moaning continued. It was too hot! Well, yes, this is Spain, of course it is hot. They countered that they had not expected it to be as hot as it was. The whole family were red-headed and pale skinned. They could not stand the sun! Out we ventured, me bare shouldered and loving it and them buttoned up to the neck with thick cardigans, scarves around their heads, caps for the men. We explored the town, they did not like the dusty streets, they could not get the hang of the money, why were the cakes in the bakery so different to our cakes in England, why did everyone have to speak Spanish?

Mealtimes were no better. We did not have a dining room. We had an open courtyard in the centre of the hotel where the chairs and tables were arranged. There were climbing plants and ornamental vases all around. It was charming. But, it was in the sun - oh no! They did not like the food, demanded to know why they could they not have fish and chips and a good old English fried breakfast?  Why did everone have to speak Spanish?!! (I heard this so many times).  Evenings were the worst. I thought it magical. Romantic lamps were lit and we sat under the starlight to eat. The insects came out. I had warned them to take plenty of repellent but they had ignored me. So I sat demurely eating my dinner whilst they were slowly eaten alive. Every mouthful was accompanied by flailing arms and slaps as they hit themselves trying to kill the mosquitoes. Nothing pleased them, it was a non-stop litany of continual gripes and moans. I was beginning to lose my temper.

The atmosphere became strained and got worse because the waiters flirted with me. I loved it. I have always been one to smile, always been warm and friendly and the staff sensed that. I knew it was all harmless fun, well apart from the head waiter, whom I shall come to later. I gave the waiters nicknames, one I called "Omo" after a well-known brand of washing powder of the time. Not because he was so clean - no,on the contrary, you could tell what was on the menu just by his jacket alone. It started off clean and spotless but in a short space of time it was covered by a variety of different stains. Then there was "Speedy Gonzalez", so called because he moved at the pace of a snail on tranquillisers. He was so afraid to drop things that he shuffled alongand the food was cold by the time it reached us. Anyway, when they served me they would lean in close, beaming at me and whispering in my ear. GD and her mother were not pleased. Sitting there stiff and rigid, sweating under their cardigans and gazing down their hawk noses, they looked at the waiters with stares that would turn men to marble. It crossed my mind then what Medusa might have looked like!

The moaning continued. The beds were uncomfortable, the English newspapers were not available early enough. You name it, they disliked it, they whinged about it. If whining was an Olympic sport - three gold medals. A fortnight stretched ahead of us and I did not know how I was going to get through it.

The head waiter was called Carlo, he was middle-aged and married but that did not stop his wandering hands. He always tried to get as close to me at mealtimes as he could and I mean close. GD’s mother accused me of encouraging him. Boy, if there was one man that did not need encouraging it was him. I always slapped his hands away and refused his offer of coming to my room in the middle of the night. He was the only one that knew some English. He took it in good part, maybe he considered it all part of the service. However, one night he did chance his luck and knocked on our door at about 2 a.m. I soon sent him packing. GD and I were sharing one room, her parents another and her brother had a little room in the annexe which was the only place he could be fitted in due to the late booking.

I did managed to get GD to myself in the evenings when we strolled along the promenade, stopping in at one or two of the bars but any dashing romeos who might have thought of approaching, were withered on the spot by one glance from my grumpy companion.

It was day four. GD had put her hair in rollers ,  had plastered on a face pack  and was lying down on the bed. I was hot after a morning spent on the beach (with them huddled under sunshades) so I decided to take a shower. The bathroom was on a higher level. The whole of the floor of our room was tiled and lovely and cool to the feet but the bathroom/toilet was a step up. So into the bathroom I went, stripped off and got into the bath. The tap was on the side wall and I went to turn it on to get the shower goingwhen the whole of the tapand fittings came away in my hand leaving a gaping hole in the wall and water gushing out in huge waterfall with no way of stopping it!

 

To be continued next time

P.S. I have already been asked whether I have any photographs. Well, yes and no.  I took all my pictures as slides in those days and years of being stored in different lofts have taken their toll and they have deteriorated very badly. I have tried playing around with them under a photographic programme to improve the quality but with little success.

P.P.S. So saddened to hear of the death of Ronnie Barker, a true comic genius who for years brought us such laughter with  The Two Ronnies, Open All Hours and Porridge. My thoughts are with his family, friends and long-time partner, Ronnie Corbett.  Sleep in peace, Ronnie and thank you.  This time it really is "Goodnight from him."