Saturday 11 October 2014

Part 7 and finally......

Finally the day has come when we can make the long journey home.  We set out on the bus and collect our Scottish friends from the next resort.  This time Bill looks like a different man, bright-eyed, bushy tailed and sober.  We chat and compare notes on our experiences of Cuba. They claim the food was awful and all the flies in Cuba inhabited their resort. Really?

We stood in the check-in queue in Havana airport and watched as the check-in staff rested, ate their lunch, ignored the fact that our flight departure time had long gone and occasionally checked someone in.  We departed two hours late and it was the first time I have seen passengers burst into spontaneous applause when the stewardess shut the door!

I was squashed in a centre seat between two rather large gentlemen, one of whom had a very productive nose-blowing technique.  In fact, several people on the flight were obviously very unwell, one chap nearby had a terrible cough and was using his sick bag as a spittoon.   Somewhat inevitably, a couple of days after arriving home, I was ill for a week.

I don't have the heart, dear reader, to take you through the entire horrendous journey home.  You'd hate it and I don't think I could live through it again.   Suffice it to say, it took 24 hours in total, about five of which were spent queuing.

We eventually touch down in Malaga, I only wish we could have exited the plane the old fashioned way, down a flight of steps, so that I could have kissed the tarmac in a Popesque-stylie.  I have never been so glad to be home.
exhausted but happy to be home

Our humble home appears, to me, like a palace.  Our house sitter has kept the place immaculate and our plants alive.  The dog is overjoyed to see us.  I vow there and then, no more economy long haul flights.

I don't think we will book another secret escapes all-inclusive special offer-type holiday again.  They are all well and good, it's us that is the problem.  I realise now that we have reached a peculiar stage in our lives regarding holidays.  We're too old to go backpacking in Tibet, I loathe camping and we don't like to be told what to do.  We hate forced jollity, and don't want to learn Salsa. Maybe being too long in the tooth to fall for the odd con or tall story means that we also miss out on some adventures.  The stupid things we did and the risks we took in our younger days often resulted in some hilarious detour or memorable party.  Am I turning in to a miserable old git?  Answers on a postcard please.  Maybe we should just wait a few years, buy matching trainers and khaki shorts and go visit ancient monuments around the world.  We might fit in there.

The final word must go to Air France - I spit on your croissants.



Wednesday 8 October 2014

Part 6 almost the end

Our maid had a sense of humour, Ken had given her a 5 cuc tip on our first morning at the resort, whether this is why she decided to entertain us daily with her imaginative towel and blanket animals, we'll never know. Her first effort, waiting for us one afternoon when we returned for a siesta, was a blanket swan wearing my bikini top and flower hair slide.


This really made me laugh

followed the next day by this spooky little number,




Last night's storm has cleared the air, the humidity has dropped and the sky is blue.  We had a wonderful morning at the beach, again soothing my mosquito bites in the briny sea.  The three bites on my back have joined up to form a map of Cuba!

Later that day I was explaining to a member of staff how badly bitten we have both been despite bringing a plug-in for the room, using a vile smelling spray-on repellent on our exposed bits every evening, after-bite sticks and antihistamine cream.  'In that case it's probably not the mosquitoes' she said sagely 'It will be the tiny spiders'.  I had seen a couple of minute beige spiders here and there, but had no clue that they bite. Now every time I sit down or get into bed I have to sweep for spiderlings, bugger!

Tonight we are booked into the French Restaurant, fingers crossed it's not as 'crepe' as the rest. I can report that the 'Romantic French Restaurant' was neither.  It was a huge, featureless room, no music, no candles, no romance. It was like dining in a curtained off area of an aircraft hanger.  The food was edible but nothing a Frenchman would recognise.  For instance I had a dry rolled up piece of fish and rice, and ice-cream. The waitress offered us goat shit!  We looked at each other, stifling giggles, and asked her to repeat, 'Goat shit' she confirmed. We laughed, surely not, but then again.........

The next day we skipped lunch and instead spent the afternoon sunbathing at the 'piscina tanquila', me reading Graham Norton's laugh-out-loud autobiography and occasionally taking a leisurely swim up to the bar for a pina colada. 'Hellish darling' as my friend Sarah would say.  We had a couple of rum and cokes in the lobby bar this evening, listening to some classical music played by a trio of piano, violin and congas.  An unusual combination but appreciated by the small audience.  We retire early to our room to watch some trashy American TV - 'Fat Guys in the Woods' - genius.

Our last full day at Memories was spent in similar fashion, topping up our tans and looking forward to trying out the Italian restaurant.  We were having an afternoon rest in our room when the phone rang. It was our rep informing us that Air France pilots are on strike and our flight tomorrow has been cancelled!  Bloody typical, the times I've been on holiday having a wonderful time, not wanted to go home and wishing this would happen.  The one time I'm desperate to leave 'et voila!'

The Italian restaurant lived up to it's dreadful reputation but at least it yielded a few comedy moments. There was a starter called 'atun de conejo' which literally translates as 'tuna of rabbit'!  This confused us somewhat, so Ken asked if it was tuna or rabbit.  'Rabbit' said the waiter.  'OK I'll try that' said Ken.  When it arrived it was a few tiny shreds of chicken.  'Is this chicken'? Ken asked the waiter.  'Yes chicken' he confirmed.  'But it says rabbit on the menu' Ken replied.  'It say tuna, but it's not that either' said the waiter .  You couldn't make it up!

Next morning I met with our holiday rep in the lobby.  She confirmed we would not be flying home this afternoon and so we'll be staying another night.  When we return to our room after more tan topping up, there was a note to say we would be leaving tomorrow at 8.30 am - hooray!

No more restaurants to try out so we settle for the open buffet, where I watch one guy eat 2 half-litre tubs of ice-cream in about 5 minutes flat.  I saw him again ten minutes later leaving the dining room with six more. Either this guy had brought his own freezer on holiday or he intended to eat the lot in the next half hour. We have an early start tomorrow so we have a couple of rum and cokes and retire early, hoping for one more episode of 'Fat Guys in the Woods'.


Friday 3 October 2014

Part 5 - Memories may be beautiful and yet.....

We checked in for our 7 nights of bliss and were given our 'Diamond Club' wristbands. Membership gives us a few perks;  daily replenishment of 2 beers, 2 soft drinks and a bottle of water in our mini-fridge, an air conditioned side-room at the open buffet and the privilege of five opportunities to sample the A la Carte Restaurants. Not bad for a free upgrade.  The down side is that the flies only inhabit the air-conditioned room, it's far too hectic and humid for them in the main dining room, where the food is!  The mini-fridge did get replenished most days, and the restaurants? Well, keep reading!

Our room was in the block closest to the Lobby and furthest from the beach.  This turned out to be a lucky break because most days start at the Lobby with a good coffee, the open buffet is nearby and it's a nice place to chill out.  Our room was spacious and colourful with a small balcony.

One of the best features of the resort, by far, is the beach, an endless strip of white sand and crystal clear, almost fluorescent, turquoise sea. We spent our first morning there and it was great to relax.  We have never been very beachy people, but the salty sea was a balm to my bites.  More on my bites later.



There are two swimming pools at Memories; the activity pool and 'la piscina tranquila' (the quiet pool) both with swim up bars.  So, that's the good stuff.

In all honesty I was ready to go home after five days, although I dreaded the journey.  There have been highs and lows, mostly lows.  I could write an entire book about how bad the food was but 'The Cuban Restaurant' was stand out disgusting.  We ordered our food and decided to treat ourselves and buy a bottle of wine, after all it was our first full day and our first A La Carte dinner.  We should have stuck to the perfectly adequate (and free) wine by the glass.  We paid 15 cuc for some alcoholic battery acid!  We gave it to a group of girls at the next table when we fled soon after our food arrived.  I don't really remember what I ordered because the image of what Ken was served obliterates all else.  It was described as 'Beef in his own juice', when it arrived it was a dollop of wet fibres stuck together with smelly, gelatinous goo.  Que aproveche!

The next night was better at the Japanese 'Red Dragon'.  The chef did some knife juggling and we were seated around him in a group of 10.  This was more what we had hoped for, a chance to meet people and enjoy some good food.  We met a charming Canadian couple, originally from Poland, who were in their seventies, interesting and fun.  Although the food wasn't very adventurous, it was freshly cooked to order and not bad at all.

The following night, being Saturday, was the 'Memories Special Dinner' by the piscina tranquila, followed by a Michael Jackson tribute show. Unfortunately for me the previous day I had been talking to a couple from Essex on their last night in the resort, and shared with them that we had a reservation for this special event.  They told me they had attended the week before and it had been the best food they had eaten during their entire stay except.... and then they stopped.  'Except what'? I asked. 'Don't tell her' said the husband. 'You can't do that' I cried 'you have to tell me now'.  'It's just that it was teeming with rats' said the wife.  Aaarg!  'They weren't near the food' she said by way of reassurance.  I wish I'd never asked, this kept me awake, tossing and turning, all night.  Luckily for me it was a wash-out due to torrential rain and the electricity going on and off like a whore's drawers, phew. The Michael Jackson show was off, too.  I blame it on the Boogie!

We spent that evening in the Lobby watching sheets of rain fall and and the sky lighting up as the storm raged, not every body's idea of fun but we loved it.  Ken had secretly been hoping for a hurricane. We passed the night chatting to a young Canadian couple who were great company.  She had moved to Canada from Brazil and he was of Portuguese descent.  We talked about life and we told them about some of our past projects, the successes and the failures.  That made them laugh.

Here I have to digress and vent spleen on the most annoying aspect of our trip so far, the Canadian tourists. They are the life-blood of tourism here - it's a very cheap holiday for them and a mere three hour flight.  In the same way that not all British tourists are lager louts or football hooligans, there are of course, many Canadian visitors that do not belong in this category of loud-mouthed, obese slobs.  I am no light-weight myself but here I looked like an anorexic on a crash diet!  I never thought I was 'fattist' but when confronted with gluttony 'en masse' like this, it made my blood boil. The all-you-can-eat buffet was a sight to see, someone should put a sign up explaining that doesn't mean 'all it's humanly possible to consume'.  I don't think it has ever occurred to any of them to eat when they're hungry.  One small example of this was a woman with 22 pieces of cake on her plate, she was tempted by a 23rd, but realised it was an architectural impossibility.

They are easy to spot, they don't have limbs, they appear as enormous 25 stone (350 pounds) flesh mountains with hands and feet stuck on and sunglasses on the back of their fat necks - and that's just the women!  They're like some weird tribe, and they've come prepared, carrying barrel-sized flasks so that they can get 3 litres of beer or Pina Colada at a time and save themselves having to waddle to the bar too often.  I wanted some photographic evidence but realised it was just wrong and I might get my skinny arse sued.

It occurs to me that the cushiest job here must be working in the fitness centre.  They should offer liposuction, they'd be able to fuel the whole resort on the yield.  Phew - I feel better for getting that off my puny chest.