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Monday, April 18, 2011

Scandal in Gran Canaria!



To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness,” came to mind as we finally made it to the “beach” at Maspalomas.

The beach wasn’t there!

I definitely remember, indeed I regaled wretched members of staff who were staying in Barcelona with details of, the golden swathe of hot, hot sand that composed the beach curving all the way around the southernmost point of the island.  I have photographic evidence!  I have walked those sands myself on numerous occasions.  Now – all gone!

Maspalomas beach is now a miserable pebble strewn scrag-end of sand, narrow and third-rate.  The sea is virtually lapping the dunes and the kiosks are now sea-girt bastions of light refreshments defying the crashing waves on a redoubt composed of the very pebbles coughed up by the ocean.

Our wind lashed hammocks were soon deluged by encroaching waves and we had to admit defeat and hobble our way back to a restaurant for lunch; which, by way of compensation, was excellent.

But where has the beach gone?  Questioning of the hamaca-man revealed that the island has been swept by high winds from the south for two years and a combination of governmental ineptitude (so he said) coupled with a fear of destroying the habitat of what is a national park as well as a sea shore resort has resulted in the appalling excuse for a beach that we sneered our way along.

All the picture postcards of the glorious stretch of sand for which Maspalomas was justly famed are out-and-out lies and remind one of the worst excesses of holiday brochures for Spanish resorts in the 1960s were pictorial representation (often “artists impressions”) bore little kinship with what, even to the most liberal mind, might pass for reality!

Add to this bitter disappointment the fact that the hired car did not start this morning and you have the recipe for on-going disaster.  Not to mention Toni’s cough!

I freely admit that I do not count cars as gadgets and I am therefore not wholly simpatico with the whole concept.  All I really ask of a car is that it goes and gets me there.  This one did not.  Did not even start.  Did not even, even allow me to open the bloody door.

At this point the more technically minded will be saying sagely “Battery, I suspect!” in a sort of know-all-been-there-done-that sort of way.  And you would of course be right.  I, however, assumed the worse – encouraged in this depressing view by Toni the Cough – and looked at the holiday as one already ruined.

The fault (certainly not mine) lies in the new-fangled approach that cars have to their lights.

I am the sort of chap that likes a “lights on; lights off” type of switch, but modern cars (probably influenced by a pernicious Nordic approach to so-called safety) have switches that do not do what it says on the tin.  Small drawings representing sidelights and headlights are as self-explanatory as a “0” meaning nothing or off.  Yet when you turn the switch to “0” the lights stay on.  For a while, I found out.  In spite of light, it seems that you must believe “0” is off and then your belief will make it true.

For good measure I also left the indicators on, so I do grudgingly accept some blame.

A Little Man from Hertz came within 15 mins. of being called and, as a Barça fan on an island of Real Madrid supporters was fairly sympathetic to the predicament and, more importantly got the car going in a couple of minutes.

Parking was, of course, impossible – and we were forced to use the municipal car park, the cost of which rather took away from the nicely judge economics of hiring a car in the first place.  Though we have had free parking in the hotel for two days now - and that must be some sort of plus!

Our return to the hotel to allow us to try and get the sandblasted patina that we had acquired removed also allowed us to make the pleasant discovery of a small bowl of fresh flowers; a larger bowl of fresh fruit and a bottle of red wine provided by the management.

I would like to think of this as one of a series of on-going sweeteners to make our say in the Neptuno one of constant delight.  But the more sensible side of me suggests that our room was cleaned but inadequately prepared when the staff rushed to make it ready after our early arrival and the goodies that we had today we should have had decking our room on our arrival!  Nevertheless, I shall say “thank you” to reception – and see if I get any more on further days of our stay!

Today was scheduled to be a day of lashing rain – indeed there was a “yellow alert” for the rain – and we have seen none of it.  I am firmly convinced that Maspalomas has its own micro-climate.  Indeed, on one occasion when I had resolutely marched off to the beach in what could only be described a less than ideal weather conditions, my arrival in my preferred roasting position at the very tip of the island was bathed in a theatrical spotlight of sunshine whose artificiality was startling but I merely bowed my head in homage to the god of sunlight and spread-eagled myself so the maximum skin area was offered as propitiation!

The problem of the holiday watch has been solved by the purchase of a Festina watch which fulfills day/date/luminous/waterproof/sweep second hand requirements, only falling down on the numbers for the hours.  Instead of numbers there are rather fetching light blue wedges giving the watch a rather surprising appearance.

The watch also has the “trio of other dials” which seems obligatory in modern watches in spite of the fact that no one seems to know what they are for.  The metal strap is rather impressive with faceted lines and a contrast of matt and gloss metallic effects.  The three knobs are rather aggressive and business-like, but I do not expect to be using those apart from the hourly change of the seasons. All in all I am quite pleased and with a little extra alteration of the strap to accommodate my elegantly narrow wrists it should be set to impress.

Does anyone look at watches nowadays?  Apart from me that is.  I think a watch is more of an indication of personal worth than the traditional well-brushed shoes and well-cleaned nails – or indeed vice-versa.  And I do not mean that class can be acquired by the mere wearing of a Rolex or Tag or some other overblown and overpriced Name.  An adequate but perfectly judged Swatch can out-perform a name any day!

So, here am I at the end of the day, sitting on the balcony in my underpants, but wearing an elegant watch, drinking the Management wine that Toni the Cough refuses to drink as he is drugged up to the eyeballs with anti-cough medicine and contemplating dinner.

It’s a great life as long as you don’t weaken!

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