Menorca 2003 - Day 10

Woke up this morning to find all the patio furniture neatly stacked up against the wall.

Damn ants.

Dan told me today that I can buy my sandals just across the road to where we’re staying – and they’re cheaper too. Thanks Dan.

Menorca 2003 - Day 11

The ants are negotiating terms.

We’re up earlier than usual again today to get the 9.55 am bus to Cuitadella. Cuitadella is at the far western end of the island and is the old capital city. As Menorca is quite a small island, nothing is that far away and before we knew it we were there, pulling into an old shed which turned out to be the bus station. Getting off the bus we weren’t sure in which direction to walk but it was all right because we just followed the rest of the passengers who didn’t know in which direction to walk either. Cuitadella is a lovely old town, much nicer than the current capital Mahon. We wandered around taking it all in and do you know what? Every other shop seemed to be selling those damn sandals that I had so much trouble tracking down in Alaior. It was becoming obvious that Alaior, the place renowned for making them just delivered them everywhere else on the island and denied all knowledge of them to their own tourist visitors.

Why? Was it a bit like gun running? Were the Alaior residents being paid enormous sums of money to manufacture this product so it could be secretly shipped across the rest of the island for enormous profit? Surely not. What’s the point? Who’s the Mr. Big behind the racket? Is there a mysterious fat man in dark glasses known only as Sam “The Sandal” Sepperelli who spends his time sitting in barber’s chairs and eating in restaurants with his back to the wall surrounded at all times by his sandal men who are always seen wearing the sharpest suits and the latest in fully adjustable sandal technology?

I doubt it because everywhere I’ve been since I bought those sandals in Alaior has been selling them bloody cheaper than when I bought them. So that’s blown that theory to bits hasn’t it? 

Menorca 2003 - Day 12

In the middle of cleaning my teeth this morning the cold water stopped running. The trouble is the hot water in this place runs at a scalding temperature so it’s impossible to use it without adding cold. The other morning it wasn’t the water but the power that cut off. I was on the toilet at the time. The bathroom was suddenly plunged into pitch black darkness and I was left trying to get my bearings in a tiny room that I realised I knew absolutely nothing about. I mean, how many times had I used that toilet roll and now I didn’t have a clue which wall it was on or even where the damn wall was.

Two German couples have arrived in the apartment above us.

The first we knew about it was the sound of these very loud German voices wafting across the stillness of the morning. I was sitting on the communal lawn outside our apartment getting some sun when I heard them. I heard them but I couldn’t see them. By God I heard them, but it wasn’t until a few minutes after the tranquillity had been shattered by all this shouting and laughing that I actually saw them. They appeared from around a corner, suitcases in hand, striding across the grass towards us. The two men nodded as they strode past me and all four marched into their apartment.

It seemed like only a few seconds to me when the two men emerged again, both wearing that strangely Germanic casual wear of black singlet, black shorts, black socks and black shoes. Each was swinging a golf club, not a putter but a heavy looking driver and they started to shout out things to each other while flexing their arms and performing masterful imaginary golf swings. They also carried a small brightly coloured lightweight plastic pretend golf ball.

They looked to me like an old black and white photo, the sort you used to see in Health and Efficiency years ago where people would be photographed standing in serious poses as if they’d just been caught right in the middle of some strenuous activity or standing to attention holding a pipe to their mouth while shading their eyes with the other hand and gazing into the distance with a look of concentrated concentration. In fact if there’d been a couple more thousand of them outside on the lawn swinging their golf clubs it would have been a scene reminiscent of those old newsreels of the Hitler youth movement when everybody was in a big field hopping around waving big long sticks with even longer ribbons tied on the end.

Each man took it in turns to whack his silly light plastic golf ball as hard as he could along the stretch of public walkway and grass that stretched all the way outside our apartment separating our row from the next row of buildings. There seemed to be no regard for the passing public, particularly for any children walking past.

The man whose turn it wasn’t would make a great show of standing perfectly still and concentrating really hard on what the other man was doing. The man whose turn it was, made an equally great show of preparing his shot by flexing his shoulders, staring along the imaginary fairway, shuffling and re-positioning his feet, bending his knees, stopping everything in mid flow as if he’d just lost his concentration, starting the whole ridiculous charade again and finally giving the ball an enormous thwack. Because of the lightness of the ball it didn’t really travel very far but to them I guess, it had landed on the green a few inches from the hole because as soon as the shot had been taken both men animatedly discussed the shot until it was the turn of the other man to show what he could do. Then off they’d march briskly to where their golf balls had landed and repeated the whole pantomime again to hit the balls back to where they started from.

This wasn’t a relaxed casual practice I was witnessing, this was extremely serious stuff and they went about the whole thing with a vigorous no-nonsense approach which just made me smile. Germans eh?

From this moment on we were to see both couples trooping out officiously from their apartment every morning and rapidly marching off into the distance, each carrying a bag of clubs about the size of a roll of carpet, backs bent under the weight of it, still managing to make more shouty noise than the rest of us residents put together and still managing to project an air of false bonhomie like ‘look at us, aren’t we all having a jolly good time’.

And do you know what? They probably were.

The Germans had some visitors this afternoon. Two more couples showed up and started laughing and shouting before we’d even seen them come around the corner just like the other lot did. Why do they do this? What are they laughing at? Everyone knows Germans have no sense of humour. And then, you’ll never guess, one of the visiting couples emerged onto the grass in front of the apartments with beach bats and a ball and started hitting the ball backwards and forwards to each other. Click-clack, click-clack. Jesus aren’t they happy unless they’re disturbing the shit out of everyone within earshot? Each click-clack was accompanied by shouts, laughter and encouraging grunts from all the other Germans. Bloody hell, you’d have thought it was the bloody German Davis Cup or whatever it is that they have over there.

Tonight we went back to a restaurant we’d tried about a week ago. Most places here, at the end of the meal, will bring up a small glass of flavoured schnapps. It’s not very alcoholic but it’s a nice gesture. If you’ve got children with you they’ll also hand the child a sticky lollipop. Because I’d been joshing with the waiter during the meal, he brought the schnapps to the table but gave me a lollipop instead. Lots of laughter all round and he hurried away. As we were leaving I hid the lollipop in my right hand and went inside the restaurant. I was going to shake hands with the jolly waiter and palm the lollipop back to him. As I walked in hand out-stretched, the head waiter was standing there beaming at me with his hand out-stretched too. Oh no, I don’t want to shake hands with him, I’ve got this gag set up for the jolly waiter who we know, not this person who has no idea who I am. What am I going to do? I can’t give a strange man a lollipop, why should I? He’ll think I fancy him won’t he? But it’s too late, he’s reaching out to grab my hand.

I dropped the lollipop onto the floor, ignored it and shook the head waiter’s hand. He smiled and nodded and I bent down to pick up the lollipop, he couldn’t understand why and I gave him an embarrassed smile and raised my eyebrows as if to say, “Lollipops eh? Keep dropping them all over the place.” Meanwhile I still wanted to do what I intended to do so after scrabbling around on the floor for the lollipop I jumped up and with a flourish shook the hand of the jolly waiter. He was slightly surprised to be holding a lollipop but joined in and we all had another really good laugh.

OK it’s not a very interesting story, there’s no punch line and it just fizzles out at the end but that’s what happened and we all went home happy. Can’t speak for the waiter but we all did and that’s what matters isn’t it?

Menorca 2003 - Day 13

No running cold water again this morning. Funny how this has only just started to happen since those Germans arrived isn’t it? Pauline says they have what sounds like a washing machine running most mornings and she thinks that’s emptying the cold water supply. Sounds doubtful to me but I’m not saying anything in case she’s right.

They’re at it again.

The Germans.

Both couples have stridden across the lawn just in front of where I’m sitting writing this. They’ve begun to unpack one of those sets of plastic beach boules now. Blimey, first it was golf, then tennis and now boules, what’s up with these people? Can’t they relax? And yes, they’re shouting and getting themselves all worked up to have a game of who can throw their big plastic balls closest to the small plastic white ball.

And it’s serious stuff again.

Not so much for the two women who seem to be less enthusiastic but the two men are again behaving as if they’re taking part in some world championship final. With each theatrical flourish of a throw they shout, scowl and hop about as they try and beat the pants off each other in what appears to me to be an excruciatingly boring game of nothingness.

Oh look out, one of the men has just yelled at the top of his voice and raised his arms above his head. Could it be by any chance that he thinks he’s won? Hang on though, now they’re all huddled round their plastic balls and the other man is measuring the distance between the little white ball and two of the big balls. He does this by standing with his feet in front of the big ball and freezes, standing stock still for 10 seconds or so as if he’s summoning all his inner strength and concentration for his next big move. Then placing each foot very, very, ever so carefully in front of each other he measures the distance. Each step is taking forever as he pauses after each one to make sure the heel of his foot is absolutely just touching the front of his other foot before moving on.

The other man is watching the man’s feet so closely that his nose is in danger of being trod on. As the man finally reaches the white ball there’s a big discussion about how much of his foot has reached it. Is it a full sandal length? Is it just a fraction less than a full sandal length? Hang on, they’ve agreed on something or other. Now the man with the feet is doing the whole thing again with one of the other balls. Dear oh dear, this is mind numbingly tedious stuff. OK, now it’s back to shouting and back slapping time as one of the men admits defeat and the winning man looks like he’s preparing to run a lap of honour around the park. They all start talking at once and gather up the equipment and march back inside.

Jesus Christ.

At dinner tonight the waiter played a good trick on Emma. Emma and Dan ordered the same dessert. The waiter looked at Emma said, “Sorry, we only got one left.” Emma looked disappointed and after a lot of umming and ahhing ordered something else. The waiter went away and eventually came back with the dessert that Emma had originally wanted after all. They hadn’t run out. It was all just a jolly Menorcan joke. How he laughed.

Even the soap in the bathroom is melting in the heat.

Lost a couple of small children to the ants today. Apparently it was pre-meditated. A group of suicide ants caused a diversion by swarming all over the sun beds and while the parents were boiling kettles of water the kids were taken. La Guardia have said that this is nothing unusual and have warned the parents to prepare for the worst.

Menorca 2003 - Day 14

Emma and Dan spent most of the day on the beach as it’s their last full day before having to leave tomorrow. They arrived back with Dan carrying Emma in his arms. Apparently she was stung by a jelly fish on her foot, had first aid at the beach aid station and could hardly walk. Nice end to the holiday for her then.

We have to be out of the apartment by 10 am tomorrow even though we’re not leaving for the airport until 7.15 pm. The agent has told us that the next people aren’t due to arrive until about 8.30 pm so as long as we get ourselves packed and out by 10 am we can leave our cases in the apartment until the taxi arrives.

Menorca 2003 - Day 15

Up early to pack. We’re expecting the maids to arrive at 10 am to clean the place up ready for the next visitors. Meanwhile we’ve moved all our luggage out onto the small patch of grass in front of the apartment and are sitting around waiting like four homeless refugees. The idea is to wait until the maids have gone and then move back in for the rest of the day until we have to leave for the airport. It’s really just somewhere to keep our cases and valuables safe while we make the most of our last day.

Sitting on the lawn, 10 am came and went. So did 11 am. Bloody hell, where are these maids? Until they’ve finished cleaning we can’t lock our stuff in the apartment and go anywhere. Midday came and went and at last they arrived. We had instructions to turn off the fridge once we’d emptied it which we did last night but this morning we got up to a very wet kitchen floor where the fridge had defrosted all over the place. It was still melting when the maids arrived. I just pointed at the mess, smiled and shrugged and they carried on cleaning up.

Finally it was time for the taxi to arrive, just managed to get all our luggage in the boot and off we went. Arrived at the airport in good time, unloaded our stuff from the car, paid the driver and started to sort ourselves out. As we were going into the airport lounge a foreign man was suddenly shouting and running towards me. Bloody hell I thought, is he a suicide bomber? He came right up to me and it was only then that I thought I recognised him slightly. He was sweating buckets but he smiled and held out his hand to me. I looked down and there in his sweaty little hand were my reading glasses which I’d obviously managed to drop in the taxi at some point. He gabbled away in Spanish for a bit then left with a cheery wave.

And that was it.

The last incident in another holiday that seemed to be full of them. 

Spain 2002 - Day 1

Left home at 13.00 to catch the 17.40 flight from Gatwick for Gerona and then on to Lloret de Mar. This year Emma’s bringing her best friend Camille. Arrived at the airport at 14.30 and immediately started queuing at the check-in desk. The queues were ridiculously long as usual and positioned about halfway along the queue was a nice lady showing everyone a board she was holding which contained rows of forks, pen knives, dinner knives, scissors, corkscrews and nail files all hanging from hooks. As we reached her she said, “If you have any of these items or any other sharp objects in your hand luggage you are liable for arrest and will be refused access to your flight. Do you have anything sir?” “No,” I said, “Certainly not,” and we moved along.

At this point Pauline said, “Did you remember to pack the corkscrew?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” I said, “It’s in my hand lugg-. Jesus, it’s in my hand luggage, it’s in my hand luggage. Pauline, the corkscrew, it’s in my hand luggage, it’s in my hand luggage.” I tried to slip it into Camille’s bag when she wasn’t looking but couldn’t catch her off-guard.

“It’s all right,” said Pauline, “just undo the zipped compartment on my case and slip it in there.”

“But it’s in my hand luggage, it’s in my hand luggage, bloody hell, it’s in my hand luggage, right OK, I’ll do that,” I said. I casually fumbled with the case lock and dropped the corkscrew in. Phew! Another crisis over.

Past the nice lady with the knives and special sharp objects and further on towards the check-in desk there was a small weighing machine. This was available to anyone who wanted to weigh their hand luggage to ensure that it weighed less than 5 kilos so as to save time at the desk. This was new to me, I hadn’t had to weigh my hand luggage before but as it was optional Pauline said, “Don’t bother, I know mine is heavy but I can explain why if she queries it, they very rarely weigh hand luggage when you check in anyway.” I decided, out of interest, to weigh mine. I didn’t have much in it really, camcorder, newspapers, battery chargers, books and magazines. I glanced back at the nice lady with the knives and sharp objects, smiled and thought that if I was in airline security, she’d be the first one I’d arrest, she looked a bit shifty to me.

As I was putting my bag on the scales I suddenly thought, “5 kilos? It doesn’t sound much to me,” as I watched the needle shoot up to 8 kilos. Bloody hell, if my bag was over the limit at 8 kilos, God knows what Pauline’s bag must weigh, you could hardly lift hers.

“My bag’s over the limit,” I whispered to Pauline while glancing back at the nice knife lady and giving her a friendly wave.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Pauline in a not very reassuring way.

Finally we got to the check-in desk and everything went fine until the woman said, “Have you any hand luggage?”

“Yes,” we said.

“Can I see it?” she said

We held the bags aloft and swung them around in a nonchalant manner in an effort to show her how light they were. I tried to disguise the weight of mine by holding it up with my little finger and gritting my teeth but I think I gave the game away by whimpering a bit.

The woman took one look and said, “We’ll have to weigh those.” Bloody hell, first the knife lady, now the bag lady, where will it all end? Pauline gave her bag to the woman and promptly said, “I’m sorry, I know my bag’s over the limit but it contains food and drink for the kids most of which we’ll use up before we board.”

“OK, that’s fine,” said the bag lady without a second glance,“ can I have yours now sir?”

I was going to say “I’m sorry, I know my bag’s over the limit but I’ve already taken out a dangerous sharp object and hidden it in my suitcase to lighten the load,” but thought better of it. The bag lady weighed it and said, “You’ll have to take something out sir.” Blimey, Pauline’s bag weighed three times as much as mine and she got away with it. “Right,” I said, “I’ll take this camcorder out.” which I did and slung it across my shoulder. Now, why did all that matter? If I was walking onto the plane with the same weight but not all in the same bag, did it make any difference? Was it just to make sure that any bags in the overhead lockers that fell out just gave someone mild concussion instead of knocking them out cold? I suppose it was but as soon as we’d left the desk I put the camcorder back in the bag and we made our way to the departure lounge.

As we approached the security scan we passed more signs about sharp objects and criminal proceedings. Oh no, I’ve got those battery chargers in my bag with 13 amp plugs on, does a plug count as a sharp object? You could cause quite bit of damage if you attacked somebody with a 3 pin plug couldn’t you? Suppose they do count as a dangerous object. I’m finished if they do. I’ll be arrested, pulled off the flight, interrogated and quite possibly, beaten and tortured. Worst of all, Emma won’t be able to charge up her Discman for the whole of the holiday. Thank God, the bag got through. Dear oh dear, first the knife lady then the bag lady now the security lady. Is there no end to this? I’m a nervous wreck already.

The flight itself went fine. No delays and took about 90 minutes. Pauline and the two girls were in a row of 3 while I was across the aisle next to two 20-something females who never stopped talking rubbish the whole journey. I did have one nasty moment though when the onboard announcement at the beginning of the flight said, “Ladies and gentlemen, there are 3 toilets on the aircraft. One at the front of the plane and two immediately behind row 13.”

We were in row 14.

I looked across at Pauline. I looked to my left, looked to my right, looked up, looked down and thought if anyone tries to wee on me they’re in big trouble. Perhaps our seats are convertible commodes for the use of all the passengers. If they are I’m going to be up and down like a yo-yo the whole flight aren’t I? I looked under my seat expecting to see great big plastic containers but no, nothing. Then Pauline patted my arm. “It’s all right,” she said, “they said row 30.”

The in-flight snack was a paper bag with a cheese roll inside. The girl next to me suddenly paused in mid conversation with her friend – “and then I said to him, I said, you’re not putting that there and do you – is it vegetarian? – and anyway what happened was………….” The flight attendant had said, “Yes, it’s a cheese roll.” But the girl wasn’t listening anymore by then. I started to fumble with the cellophane on the roll and by the time I’d finally opened it I noticed fat mouth and her friend had eaten theirs already and I hadn’t noticed any gaps in their conversation. How did they do that? They must be ventriloquists is all I could come up with.

When we’d landed and were walking into the airport building I saw big mouth and her friend in front of us still talking nineteen to the dozen. They were not thin. They were pear-shaped to a remarkable degree, no, they were apple-shaped if you can imagine the stalk of an apple being their upper body and the apple being their lower half. I hadn’t noticed this before when I was on the plane as they were both sitting down. Those diet cokes you had during the flight are certainly helping you to keep on top of your weight problem girls.

Transfer to hotel took 20 minutes. Checked in, unpacked and out at 11.30 pm for a quick drink before bed.