Lanzarote 2015 – Day 4 – Sweaty Nights and Loud Bangs

After a sweaty night which had nothing to do with bedroom gymnastics, time had come to be a little more forceful with reception re the broken air-con. Full marks to them as they played a calming card in the form of Candy, a porn name admittedly but very friendly and spoke good English. Apparently the air-con in 3035 could not be fixed and therefore they were locating an alternative room of the same layout – should take about an hour. OK. Let’s hope it is not too far from our existing room as, already explained, we had 57kg of packing to transfer! Our room is top floor just to the left of the big palm in the middle of the pic.

True to form, Candy had come up trumps. Our new room, 3034, was right next door. Middle of the pic behind large palm. Let operation “switch room” begin. Did we pack away all our clothes? No. We found that the bedside tables and drawers were on wheels, we merely swapped them. It must have looked like we were robbing the room especially when I came out grasping the contents of our safe in my hands!

After all this activity, I decided it was time to go out on manoeuvres, my name for getting out of the hotel for a walk, exploring the local area and maybe sneaking in a couple of cold ones at the odd bar. My original plan was to locate a hotel and restaurant that friends had been to before and recommended. I did walk virtually the entire length of the resort and found that, as per my first impressions, it was full of pubs, restaurants and tacky souvenir shops aimed squarely at the Brit abroad. Some strange sand/rock art.

Our friends hotel located. Or at least I thought I had until later in the day they confessed to me that this wasn’t the one, as a villa there costs £10k a week. Their actual hotel was further around the bay. Too hot to explore any further.

Time to head back. Lots of little establishments along the way and it was very hot. A cold pint of Fosters was acquired at a very reasonable £1.70. Stanwick please take note. Menu was good value. The only time I have ever eaten a Pukka pie is when abroad, never at home bizzarely.

Still could not find our friends suggested Italian that serves tagliatelle with mushrooms and strips of steak. So back to the hotel. Naturally this was also hot work. Opposite is the Bulldog Bar, a den of eniquity, football shirts, karaoke and cold Fosters. The bar manned by Alan, straight out of Benidorm (the TV programme) with his broad Geordie accent, hacking cough and convivial welcome. Picture below sums it up.


BREAKING NEWS – it is now 3am in the morning and the air-con in our new room has exploded, or at least the noises sounded like it. Needless to say nothing but warm air. Oh well at least I get to see the lovely Candy again in the morning.

Definitely laters!


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