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Comedy
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| What we did on our holdidays | |
| By Bottleblondesurfer | ||||||||||||||||
| 05 July 2006 | ||||||||||||||||
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These are just holiday ramblings from our recent trip to Spain.I originaly posted in non-fiction and someone suggested they would suit comedy. I have cut it down a bit. It's as funny as I can make the truth. This was our first holiday on our own for years so we chose self catering to please ourselves. The first thing we noticed was the apartment , it was hotter inside than it was outside. I made a lunge for the air-con and switched it on. It clicked and whirred reassuringly but with no drop in temperature. “You haven’t broken it already, have you” said Mike. It was too hot to hit him. We went to see the management. They were friendly, polite and totally disinterested. However to get rid of us they agreed to look at it. The man spent a while poking and prodding it. He assured us it was working perfectly, as he wiped streams of sweat out of his eyes and then quickly left before heat stroke got him. It wasn’t till the next day that Mike found an unlagged emersion heater in an overhead cupboard. It’s like a huge electric kettle filled with hot water. So, it’s a large metal container filled with hot water….remind you of anything? ….Yes that’s right, a radiator – a big one. It was 35 degrees outside and we had a large radiator permanently on. Time for another chat with the management. They told us it was back up for peak use and that they couldn’t move us. They also were adamant that no-one else had complained. “That’s because they all died of heat stroke” said Mike, “didn’t the cleaners tell you they were dragging dead bodies out every two weeks?” I suggested that as we had rented the apartment we could turn it off if we liked. That didn’t go down well. They said we would be affecting the whole complex and breaking health and safety regulations. (Yeah, right!-This is the country that lets wild bulls rampage down the streets of Pamploma every year) We told them it was going off and they threatened the police. We got back and Mike disconnected it and we sat back waiting for the Guardia Civil to arrive. “At least the cells will be air-conditioned” he wheezed. Nothing happened except that the place got cooler; and we never heard another thing. So much for health and safety! I’d always wanted to see the Alhambra, that magnificent Moorish Palace in Granada on the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Built when Islam was all about learning, architecture, and sophisticated living, before it was hijacked by the fundamentalists. It was a testament to a golden age and I loved it; so did everyone else, it seemed. The place was heaving. With so many nationalities crammed together you can’t help comparing and noticing how they revert to type: The Americans swagger round the grounds with proprietorial vigilance, as if they had just liberated the place and were checking for insurgents. The Japanese wonder around in open mouthed awe at everything and I noticed some with there hands outstretched, like sleepwalkers in a Carry On film, till Mike pointed out they were taking photos and their miniature cameras were too small for the human eye to see. The Germans have to see everything, every tile and portico, every flower and fountain otherwise their tour guide will send them round again to do it properly. For the Italians sightseeing comes a poor second to pandering to their, admittedly, beautiful children and they smile indulgently as the “bambinos” innocently kick at a priceless artefact or pee in an ornamental fountain (yes it did happen!) The English can be found, guidebook in hand, anxiously looking for a café and complaining about the toilets. Whoever said, “All the English need is a view, a brew and a loo” had it dead right. Now I can either bang on about the Alhambra or carry on being rude about foreigners: a show of hands here?…….….OK The Spanish are sneaky about queuing for buses. They obediently queue up but when the bus comes there is a flurry of arms and legs and they’re off, leaving the tourists standing. It then degenerates into a sort of handicapped derby. The Amercians are next off, taking the inside lane The Germans hop to on the outside lane and muscle their way in. The English tut-tut and harrumph loudly as if that would help and the Italians pick up their kids and go round the back and sneak in without paying. Some how we all get in because there doesn’t seem to be any passenger limit. I don’t think I been so intimate with a German since…..well that’s another story. We’d done the culture, now it was time to eat. We had worked out a grading system for the restaurants based on the number of cats round the place:- a two cat restaurant meant small portions, three was good and four meant good with big portions. We did see a six cat restaurant but decided against it, they looked a bit fierce and if they formed into a pack we might not have got out in one piece. After a week we felt at home and ready to hire a car but but I’ll save that for another post.
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