The five day forecast for Alicante had predicted rainclouds. The day time temperature was to be in the late teens and it was to be cool in the evening. Our apartment’s owners had testified that, on a recent visit, the region had been cool at night. This perturbed some of our travelling group. Still, in comparison, I'd only to consider a rainy day in Stockport with its steady drone of traffic and kerbside sprayed water, some of which I’m usually at pains for me and the boys to avoid. Besides, much of the Spanish region looks like it could do with a bit of rain.
It was a fraught time in the run up to catching the plane. While returning from picking up Jan's Mum (who was also travelling), Ed was sick in the car. Did he have a tummy bug? If so, we may have had to rule out getting on the plane. When everyone arrived back, I took Ed for a bath and washed his removed clothes. An hour passed with no further signs of illness from him. The holiday was on but this hiccup took away some momentum. The taxi arrived early, and in the rush, I forgot Sam’s turtle shell ruck sack which was to be debuted on this holiday. Parts pinged off the fabric car booster seat, also newly ordered. At an airport lift, while I was holding Sam’s hand, the closing lift doors came close to catching the cusp of his heel. For the first time, I heard a critical utterance from J's Mum.
On the plane journey, J's Mum spoke to her co-passenger, with too much enthusiasm, of how it's set to be a rainy set of days ahead. By the time we left the plane, they looked like they were anticipating the holidays a little bit less. We collected our bags and, as we left, there was a traveller left looking concerned in the direction of the one remaining bag doing laps on the carousel circuit, not a bag that was hers. J's Mum said to her ‘I lost my bag on a plane once – it ended up in Singapore’.
Our taxi driver dropped us off to the apartment, we off loaded our baggage and headed for an evening meal at the local Mexican restaurant, EL Texicano. A solitary member of staff was running the show here. Indeed, with the holiday season just beginning, this would be the case for most restaurants within the town. I was forced on my feet more that I'd have liked but he waitress was relaxed about Ed’s habit of collecting and lining up table restaurant numbers. J's Mum spilt some red wine my way which splashed over my top. I waved off apologies and thought I’m happy to take this if it lifts the Mum in Law critical commentary just a little. However later, while reading today’s newspaper in bed, a complaint came from the next room: Mum in Law said the rustling was keeping her awake.
Monday April 2nd 2012
The best introduction to Gran Alicante is to catch the road train. We weren't able to do it at first attempt. A choo choo sound careering away indicated that we missed our intended timetable stop so we called in at O Duill’s. The Irish bar has some competition from Molly Malone’s (‘est. 2011') having recently opened at the other end of the block. However, O Duill’s proved to be well placed as the would be passenger’s convenient stop gap when the train was missed or didn’t turn up. We discussed the weather with the barmaid. The predicted rainfall hadn’t yet materialised. ‘It’s a micro-climate here’ the barmaid said. An hour later, the road train turned up and we lugged our things on. Ed smiled, happy to be reacquainted with the train and there were similar responses when the driver waved to people out and about the town, including some holidayers unloading their car, their broad smiles anticipating the week ahead.
After a tapas lunch in the town centre (where Ed gave notice that sitting still might be a challenge over the holiday), some pay rides and a shop we caught the longer journey back via the beach. In the evening, after an evening tea at the under-rated Sand Hills, I found myself having to change a rather explosive nappy of Sam’s. Jan lamenting how I handled the changing and bagging of this nappy hardly made the point with precision and laid on layer after layer of rather abject analysis. My response was to suggest that there were discredited world leaders who get a more congenial hearing at the Hague War trials that the damming tone that greeted my nappy changing. I listed some at which point J's Mum roared ‘That’s enough nations’ and declared that she was going to bed. It was 9:30pm. I thought to myself that I mustn’t allow myself to answer back from criticism, however withering. Take it on the chin for the sake of having a harmonious holiday with all family members.
Tuesday April 3rd 2012
We visited the nearest park. It was still well maintained with visible gardeners, exercise equipment and, especially pleasing, an open kiosk that served beer in frosted glasses. On the way back we called at the supermarket where much word of mouth is generated at the latest round of soft warm baguettes brought out of the bakery. We bought two of these but on the way back down the hill, I let one slip out of my hands onto the pavement. I remembered my vows from last night and took the laugh free withering criticism that followed. Jan's gritted teeth utterances suggest a career as a ventriloquist if able to muster up some good humour. Why not some whimsy here I wondered, something like ‘I would say you dropped a bloomer there, Mike, but in fact you dropped a French loaf’.
In the afternoon, we visited the terrace side pool after an attendant (who initially argued that we were still in Winter) eventually agreed to open up. We expected to be the only ones at the site but some people from Stoke turned up who we remembered from the last time we were here. Jan and her Mum are usually quite adept at getting the stony faced to open up and talk but not on this occasion. The Stoke foursome appeared unmoved by this poolside reunion and recollections of last year. They lingered nearby for a moment then appeared to think better of it and moved further down the opposite pool end. I recalled that it was about Day 12 from last year when they opened up and spoke at any length.
Jan was looking forward to going to the Los Belgos restaurant tonight but we found it closed. As we debated where we could go, things got heated. We were outside a place which advertised its paella with a blown up photograph of shiny prawns within a bed of rice. ‘…and if I have to look at that any longer, I’ll be sick’ said Jan.
Wednesday April 4th 2012
When we earlier heard that there
would be rain in the first few days, we decided to pencil in one of these to go
to Elche zoo. We took a taxi to its off the beaten track destination. At the entrance we declined having our photos
taken with some animals for a fee and took a modest safari trail ride, seated
on some truck trailers. A bilingual talk
was given over a microphone on animals that we were passing.
We decided to catch a parrot show
in an outdoor amphitheatre style set up.
This was pretty good: the parrots (the one name I noted into was
introduced as ‘Michael’ from Venezuela) performed various tricks like riding on
a miniature bicycles, some of the presumably tricky penny farthing variety. The guy presiding over it, feigned eye
rolling exasperation when the parrots didn’t proceed as planned, playing it for
humour in that visual Euro style. I’d assumed I’d enjoy this more than I would
the later sea horse show. In five years
of children, we’ve seen more than our fair of mammal tricks but it was for the
children to enjoy seeing a sea lion bound out of the water and balance a ball
on the nose in between deftly catching fish treats in the blue water. Music blasted overhead to accompany the
tricks and there was some toing and froing exchanges between guys when the odd
trick didn’t proceed as planned. I’m no fan of power ballads but that Dinah
Carroll song was marginally improved by seeing a guy do some dance steps to it with a
sea lion.
We had a look at the animals, but
with our previous frame of reference being Chester Zoo, the site seemed small
and cramped in comparison. Chester Zoo’s
large enclosure funded by the car company of the same name made the one
jaguar’s roving ground here seem diminished and restrictive. A lot of the animals were only one of a type (they
would have been turned back from Noah’s Ark) which induced an air of sadness to their predicament. The large farm environment, while being as
parched as large parts of Spain, could surely have invested some of the
entrance fee on a bit of greenery for some animals. When we returned, the taxi driver said that
the local papers were saying that the zoo may be closed due to unease over the
animal’s welfare.
Later in the evening, Jan and I got
to enter a pub quiz team at the ‘Phoenix Nights’ Bar. We had a middling finish – joint second out
of four – but we entered the raffle and had our number pulled out of the
hat. This gave us the chance to unlock
the box for some rollover cash if we picked the right key which, alas, we
didn’t.
Thursday April 5th 2012
We caught the road train to town
for some shopping. In Lidl, we decided
that we needed a shopping trolley. I
tried to back out through the opening barriers but only succeeded in setting
off the alarms which sounded like a beginner trying to play the foghorn at
great volume. If any of the shoppers were to wonder who the guilty party was,
they were directed to me by J's Mum who uttered ‘Stupid Man’. When we got back to the apartment, I unclipped and lifted Sam
out of the buggy. With its handle hanging
shopping bags, the buggy collapsed backwards resulting in two broken eggs.
Besides two less eggs there were other items that we had forgotten to buy like oranges. As we
were putting out lunch in the veranda, a van pulled up outside and a guy came out and addressed
me in Spanish. My response was as uncertain and uncommitted as it would be when someone in dark glasses gets out of
a van and seeks to engage me in something I have no idea about.
However, when he pulled open his van door to reveal various native fruit
and veg, I elected to buy some oranges. Good service. What’s the equivalent in the UK? There was the ‘Corona Man’ twenty years ago
with its money back for returned pop bottles.
Friday April 6th 2012
We walked to a funfair that had
been set up nearby to mark the Easter period.
Jan and Ed went on the rollercoaster and for a euro got a loopy rollicking
rollercoaster ride. Within the rail route
someone in a Micky Mouse costume moved to the music and brushed passing kid’s
faces with his balloon. Sam was vocal in
wanting a turn but, at the end of the ride, Jan could not be swayed that he was
big enough to go on it. We had an unproductive look around the fair for anything
he could go on then returned home.
During lunch outside, the house’s cleaner,
a bloke, introduced himself over the gate.
He advised us that the cost of cleaning (something that we were
previously advised was voluntary) was fifty euros, ten euros more than what we paid
six months ago (Rise in cost of cleaning 20%; Spanish inflation 2.1%). He went on to talk about the fair (‘It’s
mainly Spanish there’) so I suppose we got something of local guidance for our
extra ten Euros.
We went to O Duills for tea. J's Mum told the waitress that she
traditionally didn’t eat meat on principle on Good Friday and asked after the
fish options. We got out the pub’s shoebox of toys for the boys and read the ex
pats produced paper. I’d expect it to be
full of columns lamenting aspects of British life and it mainly was: a front
page editorial ran pictures of this week’s snow (the sort of thing that had
members among us texting: ‘Thinking of you while we’re sitting out in the sun’)
and contrasted this with the simultaneous ‘drought’ going on in parts of the UK.
It asked how Spain can maintain a water supply with a fraction of the UK’s
rainfall. Elsewhere in the paper, George Galloway,
the ‘anti-politician’ was lauded and questions were raised over how Chelsea
could represent Britain in the Champions League with just one UK born player.
We picked our meals which were
pretty good for a pub set-up. Mum-in-Law
again relayed that she wasn’t eating meat on Good Friday in a way that suggested
Camilla, the bar maid, might argue back, rubbishing such beliefs. ‘That’s okay’, said Camilla. ‘I respect
that’.
Saturday 7th April 2012
Jan and Mum went to Santa Pola
Market, taking Sam with them. I stayed
in Gran Alicant with Ed. We called in to
O Duills while deciding what to do. In the beer garden a bloke with a pulled
down sun hat was sitting with a beer and feet up shouting in a splattergun kind
of way. Ed and I escaped his wrath
although a family arriving for breakfast were not spared - they scurried past
him and inside the confines of the pub.
Inside, staff member Lisa lamented being landed with the nutter. No-one was sure what his gripe was in Spanish
whether it was tourists, austerity cuts or his life status.
I decided to take Ed up the hill to
the park, feeling I’d inherited some of my Dad’s leaning towards walking the
kids to places through thick and thin. At the top of the hill it was exposed
and I had mislaid my shades. Figuring that I’d left them at the bar, I later
went to collect them. While there, I asked
what happened to the vocal drunkard.
Things had apparently got really out of hand when he attacked a member
of staff from next door’s Sunset Bar in the early afternoon. Camila, last night’s waitress, was just
starting her shift and was compelled to sit on the offender until the police
arrived. Not a regular incident, said
Lisa. Camila, the professional, worked
on looking very unruffled.
In the evening, Mum in Law agreed
to babysit and Jan and I went to the Dutch restaurant taking a candlelit table for
two. This seemed the most grown up, up
market place on the block. I’d imagine
staff would have looked dimly on Ed running round lifting table numbers or black
market DVD man popping his head around the door like he does at every other
eatery here. My meal, that staple the
veggie lasagne, was different to the usual shallow dish. Piercing the lasagne
was a skewer with a suspended filo pastry sheet. On top was a sesame seed layered cherry
tomato. Jan talked lyrically of her dish
in a way that I couldn't match with vegetable lasagne. The walls bared pictures of skinny canal side
Amsterdam houses which reminded us of pre family life.
Sunday 8th April 2012
I walked up the hill again with Sam
to shop at MaxCoop before it closed early for the holidays. We called in to L’Espigo greeting some staff
members for the first time since August, little blondie boy Sam still being a
big hit.
In the afternoon, I took Ed to the
funfair at the top of the street. We had several tokens left from Friday and I was
keen to have a go on the rollercoaster. Inside it was more Hammer House than
fun and frolics. As the ride took us within the public facing décor, we passed
Micky Mouse now lifeless. His grinning
head lay disturbingly on the floor and his ugg boots stood upright alone. More care had been taken with his tailed coat
and waist jacket which at least were hanging up on a hook.
Monday 9th April 2012
Temperature levels began to rise
this week and we headed to the pool.
Outside the pool confines, in the street, a small gazebo had been set up
and from it would waft the aroma of barbecued paella. Locals converged from surrounding
houses, voices rose, got animated and it all had the feel of a community bank
holiday occasion. Back at the pool, I
looked forlornly towards the Stoke family who were still monosyllabic and
looking towards the pool behind inscrutable dark glasses. I discussed, and was
dissuaded from, turning up at the outside festivities with a bottle of rioja and
a hopeful expression.
Over the bank holidays, we would be
wrapped up in bed when live music from the Easter festival would be performed
into the night and early hours. I had read of these events in the run up to our
holiday and envisaged being there when the boys were in bed and getting a taste
of some native music. But I was
exhausted and always on early rising duties.
Travel hadn’t broadened the mind in this case.
Tuesday 10th April 2012
In the total of three weeks that we
have stayed in this place, I had wondered about the steep bank which rises then
presumably dips towards the sea. Plenty
of tower blocks loomed high which suggested some high density holiday place. I hadn’t heard anyone talk of going
there. We had earlier in our stay
discussed visiting Benidorm but ruled it out due to time and travel costs. Thus
Jan, I and the boys walked in the direction of Arenales de Sol. We joined the coast road path which widened
into a chequered patterned promenade with lined palm trees. Information boards
highlighted the beaches notable sand dunes. There was the a fly poster for a
fashion brand but whoever posted it up must have had a target demographic of an
elderly dog walker or cyclist as that’s all we saw during our extended walk as
we looked to find the place’s centre.
We passed a closed bank and,
ominously, a closed tourist bureau. The
apartments generally looked vacant with many a for sale sign. Beyond the tower blocks the sea front looked reasonably
attractive but it was obviously built during a more optimistic time, pre Credit
Crunch. Eventually we found some open café bars and settled at one called
Terrace 38. There was a few Spaniards at
the next table, dressed and jacketed in contrast to our now self-conscious
T Shirt and shorts. We had a drink, the boys an ice cream, and stopped at some
play facilities before heading back. The same display stand which advertised foods,
specifically close ups of paellas and pizzas (the same picture which threatened
to turn Jan’s stomach last week) was on display here. For anyone who wanted to
go somewhere with less tourists, this most touristy designed of areas, was the
place to go
Wednesday 11th April
2012
After mutterings of changeable
weather, the second week in particular shaped up to be bright and sunny. This was our last full day and we were
winding down, but we made it to the beach.
I did chores that would be familiar from home, washed clothes and put
them out to dry. I bagged the recycling and rubbish and took it to the street
based banks. I was kept away from
packing duties. With everything bar
immediate essentials bagged we headed off to Los Belgos and sat outside a
restaurant for the first time. This was
the third time we came here as Jan was a fan of the mixed grill. Kelly, who served us was pleasant and
friendly. Just when I was beginning to suspect that my choice cuisine on the
complex was stir fried vegetables by any other name, they volunteered to make
me a curry. Our party remunerated the staff with a handsome tip, although I
think drink may have had a say in just how handsome it was
Thursday 12th April 2012
At the airport we joined our queue,
an altogether slower one than the ‘bag drop’ queue going to the same
destination. When we were eventually
poised to be the next group to be checked in, a member of a travelling company
turned up with a bagless passenger, mumbled something about her requiring to be
seen next, and then fled, into the crowd of the airport, like someone trying to
lose her chasers. As the lady stood in
front of us she would have heard sensed the evil eyes, heard comments about
‘pushing in’ and discursive sentiments about Brits not complaining enough. Whether she was in front of us for the right
reason or not, I felt some empathy with the woman and thought ‘Go Girl! Piss
off all these sour types!’ When the lady was called next for checking in, she
turned round and thanked us, a dignified response.
With all the money spent on the
holiday, I sometimes console myself that we save money on energy costs for this
period. We hadn’t run the boys’ bath for
12 days on the water meter. However, when
returning, we found out that our house’s en suite water tap had been running
for the duration that we’ve been away, turned on, un-noticed by us by one of
the boys. I checked the water meter
reading by that on the last bill and felt like weeping. To answer that Spanish paper’s poser as to
why we may struggle to get by with the considerably greater rainfall we have
than Spain, it may be because of bunglers like me not checking that they have
turned their taps off.
