… came and went like a blur. Not the kind of blur you get after drinking too much meths and waking up cold and shivering in the Argos car park with one sick on your hand and nothing else and wondering where your clothes are and wondering did you really sleep with that fat chick from the bar and wondering why am I writing this. No, it was the kind of blur you have when you have fun on holiday. And the alcohol is free.
I say it went by as a blur perhaps as an excuse for not having much to write. We woke up as early as only the jet-lagged population can, went down for a two-hour breakfast, and hit the beach. The water was warm. Not the ‘warm’ your parents lie to you about in Blackpool to get you in the sea; not even the ‘warm’ you’re pleasantly surprised to experience in, say, Greece or France. The water was warmer than a puppy locked in a car with the windows closed on a hot summer’s day. Also, the water was clear and the sand was white. It’s the kind of stereotypically perfect beach you suspect the photo in the brochure of YOUR hotel’s beach was taken at as you pick grit and seaweed from out between your toes. Foot-long fish swim inquisitively around your legs and that’s about it really.
The pool, incredibly, is hotter. Like a jacuzzi but without the bubbles and awkward proximity to bikini-clad family members.
The constant mid-range level of intoxication continues. With 21 bars, one would be quite surprised if it didn’t in this resort. Of course, the only sensible thing to do when so drunk is hire a catamaran. I say hire, but it’s free like the cocktails in this amazing place. An hour with the waves pounding us like a premature hangover and it’s back in to shore, a drink, dinner and an early night. More to come tomorrow (which has already happened as I write this). Hasta la proxima.
