Package Tour: a Postcard from Lanzarote by Campbell Jefferys

Dear Neil,

Well, here we are on lovely Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. No doubt you’ve heard about this place because almost everyone has been here. We threw caution to the wind and took a one-week package tour. The flight was fine and when we arrived, we had a lovely view of the airport while we sat in the bus waiting for the people to board. As a special treat, we were given a two-hour sightseeing tour of Puerto del Carmen, as the bus drove through the city, dropping people off at their respective resorts.

The reception area of our resort is very comfortable and, on arrival, we sat there for a couple of hours reading gripping romance paperbacks while our room was cleaned and disinfected. There was some confusion as our bedroom not only faced the main road, but also had some mould on the walls, but the receptionist was very friendly and professional and we were moved across the street to where our bedroom was as dark as a cave and our terrace faced the main street. How nice it is to sit on the terrace in the evenings and hear the roar of cars and buses; it saves me from making conversation with the missus.

Once unpacked, we moved down to the pool. What a view! In front of the ocean backdrop, many well-fed British and German people were lounging on the complimentary green deck chairs. The water was brisk, and only the well-insulated children were brave enough to jump into the pool. Oh, how they screamed and splashed, kicking balls here and there and calling out across the pool to their parents, who laughed cigarette smoke. The Germans scowled at the noise and the unruliness of the British children, and the parents thought this even more funny and encouraged them.

At dinnertime, all the guests were herded into the restaurant. The wonderful food was included but you had to pay for drinks; the beer tasted like it was laced with water but that only made it even more refreshing. The buffet was excellent, with plenty of deep-fried fish, calamari swabbed in batter, and chips dripping with lard. The salads went mainly untouched and most guests went straight for the deserts. There was red jelly and puddings of strawberry and banana, like the ones from my youth where you add milk and water to a powder. How quickly it disappeared. The bowl of fruit looked unappetising and most stayed away from that.

The best thing about the restaurant was the people; it was funny how the couples sat there and stared at each other, looking around the room and watching what others ate to see what was popular. The tables were low and a lot of the men had to hunch over to eat. From behind, one wondered if they were actually using cutlery.

With a full stomach, it was time to hit the town for some nightlife. Puerto del Carmen is long, stretched out resort following the coastline. Most of the bars and clubs are close to the main beach, Playa Grande, and it was here that we sat down for an inexpensive €6 cocktail, which came with a bright sparkler; a spark hit the missus in the eye and it was hilarious how she jumped around. We sat on cane chairs and watched the people walk past; they really had dressed in their finery and with the soundtrack, I lost 15 years and it was 1989 again.

For fashion, the British men favoured tracksuit pants and were not shy about advertising the football team they supported. Hoop earrings were popular and every cheek was pink from the sun and too much beach paddleball. The women went for short skirts of denim or polyester, halter tops with their lace bras on display, and had hairstyles showing what fans they were of the early days of ‘Eastenders’. The Germans were more subtly dressed in tapered jeans and had their hair cut short at the front and long at the back. Straggly moustaches were common, for both genders, and their faces were well-tanned thanks no doubt to visits to the sun studio back home in Stuttgart.

Lying in bed that evening, the sound of traffic was a soothing reminder of the city we thought we had left behind. How well we slept, and how thankful we were for the en-suite bathroom as the watered down cocktails ran their course. The shouted conversation of the Spanish cleaning women woke us for breakfast, and we put on our mothballed summer clothes and skipped down to the restaurant.

It was full of morning cheer as the guests tucked into their English breakfasts of fried eggs, bacon and baked beans. The coffee machine was a great place for a quick conversation, as the line stretched out the door, and squirting your neighbour with an errant grapefruit was an excellent icebreaker. Like us, other guests had hauled their summer clothing out of the cellar, and they paraded around the restaurant, revealing their white legs and knobbly knees. Those who had been here longer had perfect sock tan lines and shiny pink faces. Their tattoos of dark green stood out against the brown of their skin

We met a lovely couple that morning. By mistake we had sat at their regular table - they had a two-week package - and we marvelled at what a great way it was to meet people, by sitting at their regular tables. The couple sat near us but had a short breakfast, giving us a strange, rather mean look when they left, which we assumed was the local Lanzarote way of saying goodbye; we had been on the island only one day and already many of the locals had given us that same look. We practised on each other and thought we had perfected it, which meant we were ready to hit the beach.

Playa Grande is a long beach of golden sand. The friendliness of the people was apparent as everyone sat so close together. The kids splashed happily near the rocks and the adults swam out far from the breakers, looking for a rip to float in. We preferred the sand to the inexpensive deck chairs and lay down to bake our shrivelled winter bodies in the sun. And how nice it was, to feel the sun on your skin; and how funny the kids were as they ran over our towels, covering us with sand.

We were then warm enough to try the water. It was invigorating to say the least, but the strong current and smashing waves soon made you forget how cold you were. We splashed and struggled, swimming into the current for exercise, and playing a game of avoiding the rocks as we tried to catch waves. A stray soccer ball thumped a swimmer in the head and this was very funny. It was shame that no one claimed the ball; we couldn’t congratulate them on such an amusing joke.

The day is over quickly when you’re lying on the beach, and soon it was time to wash off the salt and oil and head for the restaurant. Already the familiar faces greeted each other with the typical Lanzarote scowl. Again we sat at a couple’s regular table and were glad we could exchange scowls with them. We were learning so much about the local culture, and had also memorised three Spanish words: Frito (fried), Cerveza (beer), and Bar (bar). We said them again and again and taught them to the other guests.

The days just flew by. We thought about venturing inland to explore some of the island but most of the guests we spoke to didn’t recommend this; buses were limited and nobody spoke a word of English, and why would you journey away from the beach? So we did like the others, slothing between the beach and the restaurant, listening to Rick Astley in the discos and drinking the sober cocktails with the sparklers inside. Before we knew it, we were sitting in the reception area waiting for our bus to take us back to the airport. We knew most of the other one-weekers and made conversation about how we had spent our days. One adventurous couple had taken a local bus to the capital Arrecife. They were much braver than us, but said the town was a disappointing, run down Spanish wasteland; it had none of the beautiful white high rise apartment resorts which populated Puerto del Carmen. We scowled at them in the Lanzarote way, quietly thankful we had not wasted a day. One week is a short time, and every moment in the sun must be savoured; we knew our friends back home would gauge the success of our holiday by the depth of our tans.

The package gave us the holiday feeling right to the very end, with another sightseeing tour around the city. We picked up other guests and were able to see the places where we had spent our money recklessly and danced the night away to Banarama. I thought I saw the Irish bar where we had watched the football one afternoon, but I wasn’t sure if it was the right one; they were so many, and most of them looked the same. But it didn’t matter; I will know for sure when I download the two digital camera memory cards I filled.

So, Neil, as you can see, I fully recommend a visit to Lanzarote, and especially to the delightful resort of Puerto del Carmen. It will take years off your life; we all miss the glory days of the eighties, and here you can be whisked right back to them. And to top it all off, you will have a genuine Spanish cultural experience. When I get home, I promise I’ll teach you the Lanzarote goodbye face that I learned. Give my regards to Beryl and the kids.

Your partner in fun, Nigel.