Being a middle-class individual in a higher-class hotel is a weird experience to say the least. Though on first glance everything may seem like your wishes have been granted, and things seem too good to be true, on a second glance it’s easy to bypass the expectations of you that belong to them.
I’d been promised cava (champagne) and fruit – unlimited supplies of both too – for breakfast for free at our private bar in our private pool at this extraordinary hotel we’re staying in, and it didn’t disappoint. I got the free champagne, the free fruit, free pastries, even free beer at this bar, but the manner of individuals other than us was far different to us ‘commoners’.
Around lunchtime, we approached the bar and helped ourselves to cakes/fruit/juice/champagne (delete as appropriate) before sitting down at a nearby table. While the rest of the family were still happily munching away, I glanced around at those around us fortunate enough to afford a place like this. Somewhere I still see very much as a haven for those that can easily splash the cash seems like normality for those that, most probably, are the sort to splash their cash. Whilst us three sat there, sun-creamed up, towels around the waist, proper touristy, there was a small Spanish fleet of men propped up by the bar casually chatting up the waitress.
They were no strangers to this way of life. The free champagne, the OTT mannerisms of the staff, the way everyone seems to cater for you hand and foot (guests included), seemed perfectly normal to these guys. Whilst we were trying to still find our feet, two guys merrily sipped champagne, beer bellies out for all to see, proudly showing off their status for the world to see.
If I ever got rich enough to afford a place like this – albeit through timeshares like us, or general pick-and-mixing of holiday destinations through the years randomly like these other blokes – the first and foremost thing I’d do was thank the stars I got here. I’d sure as hell treasure it. Every passing second at this paradise I’d be thinking of what I’d accomplished – rather than what I’d need to do to pay off inevitably rising holiday debts – to get here. Long story short, I’d savour it like hell.
After sunbathing for pretty much the whole day, we hit the town at night. With parents, “hitting the town” is a pretty limited expression – purely meaning we went to dine in an urban area, rather than the favoured ‘hardcore clubbing’ meaning of the world I’m usually associating myself with.
After a pretty good meal out, we took a stroll along the beach. Bars upon bars layered the promenade, each with their own employed human-magnet to attract holidaymakers to their fortress with undeniably good deals.
Whilst trying to find a windsurfing club for my growing love for the sport (of which I’ve yet to try, though at 40 Euros a pop am half-tempted), we came across two bars. Seemingly innocuous to each other, they seemed upon close examination to be in fierce competition. Every tourist that was unfortunate enough to cross paths with these bars paid the price of being flaunted, flirted with, and bedazzled into these two dens.
After taking the road (obviously far less) travelled, we encountered these two bars. Needless to say, within seconds a man approached us, took my mum by the arm, and ushered me and my stepdad to have a cheeky drink in the premises. Having lulled my mum into laughter, with me also impressed by his delaying tactics, he soon learned and shouted my stepdad’s name before repeating it aloud in effort to stop him walking farther on. It seemed to work, and did he know it. Within seconds of grabbing our attention, Chris (or Chrisso as he referred to himself as) had us hooked.
“What’s your favourite drink?” A dead easy approach, and although not the most original, it worked a charm on us naive newbies. After revealing the favourites (all mixers), we received a discount of only 4.50E per drink – these being doubles. Not a bad price, but worth a haggle.
Within seconds, the unimpressed look on my face made Chris tune his offer down to just 4E per double – we’re talking almost student prices here – yet we still wouldn’t budge. After just having dinner, and truthfully feeling a bit full from the array of meats on offer at the restaurant we dined in, we all felt pretty much fit to burst and just wanted to take a stroll along the beach before sleep.
However, before we could move on much further, another chap – an English bloke who, since not knowing his name, will be referred to as ‘The Yorkshire man with small pockets and long hands’ as spoken from his own tongue’ – stopped us at the very next bar down. Obviously smelling fresh English prey, he instantly offered, in English, a free large beer for my stepdad. Not content with this favouritism for the man, I asked where my free beer was in this bargain. Judging my his expression, this was an unusual and unpredictable outcome, but soon after he said we can both have a free drink.
One glance at the other family members to my right gave me the answer I needed. Both were hooked – even Charlie, who seconds earlier was walking beach-ward to get away from ‘Chris from Splash Bar’. A table was quickly set up for us outside; my mum happy we were next to the sea, me quite annoyed we were the people sitting by the entrance and were probably only seated there to attract more customers.
As promised, the free beer came. Only, the glasses didn’t match our expectations to say the least. I commend the guys on their effort, their tactical ploys to get us English folk in the bar, and gave an audible chuckle when a barman smugly arrived with two tiny glasses of beer (and by tiny, I reckon a triple shot of spirit would overflow in the glass) and a brandy for my mum.
Sportingly, we all took it on the chin, and were eventually happy to pay the £15 bill that we had soon clocked up throughout the night. My stepdad didn’t appreciate the barmen’s ploys whilst my mum didn’t seem best pleased at being centre stage of daylight robbery. I was just happy that northerners could share such witty banter.
Whilst at the bar, I watched the Yorkshire man with small pockets and long arms and Chris work their magic on more customers and noticed a blinding difference. Chris’s tactics really weren’y working. For all it was worth to stop someone by attaching your arm around theirs before enticing them with a reasonable drinks deal at a crummy bar, the plain-Jane ‘have a drink on us’ Yorkshire-man’s tactics worked rather better, and he attracted a good few visitors more than Chris (who I don’t actually recall bringing in any custom for ‘Splash Bar’).
With a beer swiftly down the gullet, a half bottle of red at dinner, and a triple gin and tonic in the hotel room, I may be slightly drink-swayed into assuming this night was a good one. Genuinely though – and I do realise I don’t have much to compare this to – tonight has been a great night. The food was top notch, the drink was pretty good, the entertainment has been lively, and I can’t think of anything I’d do differently from tonight to make it that touch more special. Besides, through a text conversation this is, maybe telling my sister where to buy a pimp suit...
On a side note, I wrote yesterday that I would try and rack up a decent number of lengths in the swimming pool every day this holiday. In theory, this seemed very doable – if not exceed-able – yet in practice it was definitely tougher. The water in the pool was directly taken from the sea, before being filtered to get rid of any kind of nasties, and as the day wore on it was harder and harder to find a decent swimming line that didn’t involve headbutting a fellow tourist mid-stroke.
However, I did manage to notch up 60 lengths in the pool – and even left time for a cheeky gym session. Although not as big as my pool back home, through comparison I reckon the pool is at least 20m still, so I reckon I’ve done at least 2,400m today swimming. Top this with a 45-minute gym session and today’s been a pretty good day for exercise.
Whilst breakfast contained a few sugar-glazed pastries (due to lack of any variety for breakfast but these), melon, pineapple and oranges for lunch and a huge protein-rich mixed meat grill for dinner, I’ve also been eating alright too.
If tomorrow – or indeed every day on the holiday – is anything like today, I can see myself not only losing a few pounds, but also seriously stocking up those shoulder muscles. And they say holidays are purely R+R...
