Today wasn’t so great. Well, unless you’re the type to enjoy breaking mobile phones. The winds here in Lanzarote are incredible; you wouldn’t think it at first glance, but a few minutes sunbathing here and you’ll definitely change your mind.
We passed a tourist board on the way to our hotel suite that indicated that the wind speed today was 40km/h – and I wonder why my belongings were airborne more than they were grounded.
Mid-way through clocking up my daily lengths my phone obviously decided it was time to jump ship. Either it was too hot and fancied a bit of shade courtesy of a rock, or didn’t agree with my previous conversation with an Orange Mobile fella who rung me up to ask if I wanted to upgrade my phone. I didn’t, and if I believed in karma this is probably it – the Orange gods hate me.
After registering a decent 30 lengths in my first period in the pool, I returned to my sunbed desperate for music and slightly less so for sunlight – I must admit I felt a bit like a vampire today, constantly avoiding the sun, or ‘keeping it cool’ as I prefer (worked a treat mind, with my mum and stepdad burning and me slowly gaining a bit of the lucrative brown-ness us Brits desire but never achieve.
Although I parked myself swiftly on the vacant sunbed in the shade, my phone was nowhere to be seen. At first thought, I thought it’d been stolen – but after three days here and walking past numerous vacant sunbeds (including ones) possessing phones, wallets, room keys, watches and even passports, I highly doubted this. I caught a glimmer of my more-than-fashionable yellow earphones hiding behind a rock. Turns out, they were keeping my phone company, that decided to lodge itself around a nearby rock, instantly smashing it.
I’ve never lost a phone before in this manner, and felt pretty upset – if I had children (at 19, I only hope for these at least a few years in advance mind you) it would amount to a similar pain that I felt right now. Even stepping foot back in the hotel, where I’d usually help myself to a shower with a bit of music blaring out of the baby, was elusive to say the least.
As tempted as I am to visit one of the tourist-y phone shops nearby, I’d rather wait a week and find somewhere (or someone) kind enough to fix the baby. If not, I’m looking at a drab few weeks with no phone, meaning not only no music but no contacts either. Work contacts from uni and home – including a good few manager’s phone numbers – will go straight up in smoke, since my contacts have been saved to the handset and not my sim card, as will a few uni mates, a few back home, and a good few cabbies (arguably the saviour of the hour come 4am when all you want after a heavy night clubbing is your bed).
On a different note, just writing this at almost 7pm, I’ve actually started a sweat. My brow hates me – if it had a mouth it’d be screaming for mercy, or a fan, whichever came first, and my stinky pits want nothing more than for me to go naked right about now too. It’s amazing to think that this *late* at night it’s still a decent 25 degrees if not more, and although the 40km/h winds still remain, they’re just circulating humid air. Another 6 days of this and I reckon I’ll be fed up, but right now I’ve got to say it’s magical. England weather eat your heart out.
Though this might seem a lot to me, it seems more is to come tomorrow. On that tourist board I noticed earlier today, it said the wind speed was a whopping 43km/h tomorrow. Not knowing this, and thinking when the wind was *only* 30km/h yesterday, I thought I’d get a pretty decent stint windsurfing tomorrow (which I pre-booked yesterday). Thinking about it now, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at my judgement.
I can imagine myself cruising the ocean, each little bit of wave getting a huge smack in the face y my board, stubborn to fall over and dreaming for a killer wave to get a few beastly jumps in there too. On the other hand, I can just as easily – if not easier – see myself falling head first flat into the deep blue and struggling immensely to get up.
I’ve never been surfing. I’ve certainly never been windsurfing. Though I went body-boarding when I was the tender age of about 10, this was a) in a swimming pool b) still extremely hard, and I should probably start counting my chickens if my board does actually decide to work with me for just a few seconds tomorrow.
Having said that, I did master water-skiing pretty fast last summer in Geneva – managing to get up after the fifth time of asking – so as omens go, it’s not a bad one. Time will tell I guess.
P.S. Having a Jacuzzi in your hotel suite is not only uniquely amazing, but bloody surreal too. Perhaps my chickens have already started being counted...
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Drink prices here are breathtaking. I thought duty-free was a haven for alcoholics, but it turns out here in Lanzarote there’s more where that came from.
Before we boarded our flight back in Gatwick, my mum and I jumped on the alcohol bandwagon, walking away with a litre of Gordon’s Gin and another of Bacardi for a mere £18. In perspective, you’re looking at a decent £30, even by Asda prices, back home.
Turns out that although these spirits cost a slightly more pricey £10 (12 euros) here, the wine and beer combat this easily. 6 San Miguels at the local for £3.50 (4 euros) is a snippet, whilst 2 bottles of pretty decent white wine will set you back the exact same price.
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