How grateful the dawter and I were to be able to get a week away in Lanzafeckingrotty.
The constant criticism is the curse of the Western traveller………
The Lava walls were everywhere, the landscape bleak and Barron.
The beds too small and the 20X12 room so basic I knocked everything off my pillow side shelf, several times.
I used a blanket in the night and was semi naked by day.
We tried our best to eat our way through two huge displays of food, from salads to dead cow, lamb, pig. We tried, we really did, to obliterate the tureens of bad sponge cake and wobbly green jelly. My thoughts never far from the starving masses. Why ‘ALL INCLUSIVE’ should mean piggery on a monumental scale is beyond me. But all of us Germans, Russians, Brits and French queued at the trough and stuffed our face.
Everyone wearing their wrist bands – not I, I tore it up on the first night did not want to feel like I was a branded mule – scooped portions of food on one plate, enough to feed a village of 24,000.
We tried to use up our portions so that we could justify the ‘all inclusive’ status. We were being force fed by our own hand – inclusive holidays are all like this I am told – have never done one before, not sure I will do one again.
Met some lovely people and the 28 degree heat was needed. Th cool pool and the Golden Beach were worth every exorbitant Euro. The sleeping and reading and eating and drinking were just what the doctor ordered. But our location was short on beauty and long on lava moonscapes.
After six nights, an airpot transfer in a fifteen seater bus for me and her, a line of sun kissed travellers and then the delay at Lanzascrottie was all in a days vacation. The delay was dealt with well by a flustered ground staff. The friek storm lasted an hour but there was only a modicum of teeth sucking. The flight home felt less than three hours.
A bundle of money for a wrap, a drink and a mug of soup. Easy Jet style.
The drive home in my noisy car was welcome.
Two foxes and a deer; their eyes lit up in the headlights.
Like death arrival was inevitable. Like life all good things come to an end. All traumas are weathered, home washed sheets are adorable, the husband is a good addition and stews are on the menu again.
Nice to be able to eat just one plateful without feeling the need to fill it up yet another fourteen times.
We both look tanned and golden, but after my next bath I fully expect to look like I looked before I went.
A week on Radio Sussex then I’m home for a bit.
I am deeply grateful for my one week away.
I am deeply grateful for Lanzascrottie.
I am deeply grateful for my dawter and ‘oosbind.
I am deeply grateful for my bed.
I am deeply grateful for my bathroom.
It’s so nice to go travelling but its oh, so nice to come home.