Kevin Blake's Blog

Right, let’s get all of the crap stuff out the way first. The apartment (No. 12) is directly above Scandalo, the Flamenco Music Bar. So if it wasn’t enough that we were kept up half the night by the coke-heads next door to us (the barman mentioned they had big red eyes when they went hunting for munchies in the bar at 1am); we also had the joy of being awakened in the early hours of the morning by the sounds of spanish music thumping through the walls. Joy.

Not only that, one of Ali’s rings has also gone missing in the 15 minutes we spent by the pool on Sunday. Weird enough that a single ring would go missing when there was another, and a necklace right next to them. Could’ve just lost it somewhere – except that they also took … wait for it … our fruit juice from the fridge! Yep, plenty of other things to take, more rings, clothes, some chargers, hell even some ham and cheese – but the criminal masterminds set their sights on a large carton of fruit juice, and that was enough for them.

Anyway, sad as the loss of the ring is – we’re determined not to let it ruin our holiday we now have a big safe in which all of our mildly valuables are stored in (and we’re carrying most of them around anyway).

So onto the good stuff! On Sunday we did lots of wandering around and some extreme meandering. This involved heading the 4-5km down to the beach. Past Holiday World (that’s the blackpool place) and along the Barranco De Maspolomas (a dried out canal looking thing) that leads into the Charca De Maspalomas (the huge lagoon / nature reserve by the sea). Along the way, passing briefly through the very closed looking shopping centre (Faro 2).

I remember booking my holiday to Cyprus in an effort to have a beach holiday. I didn’t particularly have any kind of holiday in mind for this one, except THIS is where I should’ve come for the beach. We strolled up and down the beach for a while (Ali wisely turned us back before we got to the Nudist beach – bah), and to one of the highlights of the holiday so far – Dunas de Maspalomas. Everything here seems to be called Something De Maspalomas. “Paper sir? You need Newsagents de Maspalomas. Turn right on Cosmos Avenue de Maspalomas, and you can’t miss it”.

The dunes are awesome. 10 metres high in places and stretch on for ages. Feeling like I was running around the set of Star Wars was great – and there were hardly any people around! We almost had a dune each! Thoroughly recommended, and definitely not something you can’t afford to miss.

After playing in the dunes, ignoring all of the “keep out of the sun between 11-3″ advice that the sun tan lotion recommends, we went for a wander to find Faro de Maspalomas. Actually, that wasn’t that hard to find – it’s a lighthouse, and as such, quite tall.

On the way stopped to look at the sand sculptures created by an artist looking rather similar to Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons. A dragon, and the last supper were on display for a small price of “loose change”, which later in the evening were lit up with flames in the nose and a ruby red candle in the eye. Sand sculptures are always extremely impressive to me, and I was also enthralled by the crusties down on the beach who created them, and seemed to stay there all day and evening. What a life!

A traditional Spanish meal for the evening. Paella, and Sangria, and a curious salted boiled potato masterpiece with some strange sauce that is apparently traditional food of the Canaries. Ali even ate Mussels. Which, in the same year as Mushrooms, is quite a feat in itself!

Right, I’ve got another day to write now, too – because I didn’t blog last night. So look forward to another of these in just a few minutes

With Mr Black safely on the plane, we flew for about 4 hours into Gran Canaria. Apparently it was going to take a bit longer because of the strong head winds, but as our pilot assured us “It’s okay, I’ll just fly a little faster”.

Straight off the plane into the first available taxi, and trying to explain where we were staying to a confused looking taxi driver who had never heard of Parque Luz Apartments. That’s okay though, he has a radio. 35 euros for a trip from the airport to the apartments, and visiting a few other places on the way that might be the place we’d want to stay as well. Bargain.

The real fun didn’t start until we got to the reception desk though. I spoke my first Spanish beyond “Gracias” to a real Canarian… “Do you speak English?” …. I’ve forgotten what it is in Spanish already, something about englees, but check me out, conversing with the locals like a real…. Spaniard.

“Do you have your booking printout?”, we were asked. “Ummmm, no”, we replied. And after 10-15 minutes chatting with the guy over how we had an electronic copy, but no printout – and where could we find a printer (at 9pm) to print it out for him. He called his friend, and spoke Spanish a lot. Ali’s face drooped even further when he said we could stay on the beach. There are worse places to spend the night on the beach, I’m sure – but we might go see the sand dunes tomorrow. He eventually decided to let us stay anyway though, and will call our travel agent on Monday to make sure we’ve actually paid. What a nice Reception Man

We’ve been for a wander around the immediate area, in order to find some water and the nearest supermarket (across the road!). We also came across what Ali refers to as a crap English seaside resort. A big amusement park style area with a big wheel, dodgems, and here’s the best part – an empty bar with a single employed DJ singing karaoke apparently to himself.

But huzzah! We’ve arrived. And I read a little bit about the history of Gran Canaria starting at 3000BC with the Cro-Magnon inhabitants, and the colonisations from Portugal, Spain and Italy in 1496 – 1525.

See, and suddenly the blog is transformed into the wealth of travel knowledge that I know you all love, rather than ramblings of the crap British Travellers who didn’t print out the booking voucher. Not that we HAD a booking voucher, at least not one that said “print this invoice, you’ll need it”. Yeah, I blame the travel agents

“You don’t need wait in line, you can go through the fast track line, just enter the details in that machine over there”.

After a few puzzled looks at the touch screen terminal, and entering random flight numbers we came away even more confused over what was going on. “It didn’t work, we cried”, so we were allowed to go down the fast track lane anyway, ignoring the massive queue of poor travellers waiting in line.

Handed over the passports, and the tickets. “Oh dear” said British Airways Man. “Your ticket says Mr Blake, and your passport says Mr Blake”, as Ali started to giggle; “but your checkin information says Mr Black. The first 15 minutes of being in the airport, hours before we needed to be, and already we, or rather I, was in danger of being thrown out. A few phone calls later, and a sly check with British Airways woman across the desk next to him “Can’t I just add a note and leave it at that. I don’t want to have to change the booking”. And I was allowed on the plane again. Which is fortunate for both of us, because all the luggage went under my name. Hah.

So we’ve spent a good few hours wandering around the airport now. We have a Spanish phrase book. ‘Ha perdido el conocimiento’, and Ali’s favourite ‘Grassy Arse’ – we’re going to take to Gran Canaria like ducks to slowly hardening cement.

And now we have a pub – all we need is time to hurry up and get on a flight. Woo

Oh, and cheer for Hedgehunter, Lord of Illusion and Iznogoud in the Grand National later. If Iznogoud wins, my 50p bet stands to make me 100 quid. I’m all about the odds, me.

A mixed title for a bit of a mixed entry. It’s been ages since I’ve posted anything to the blog, but that’s because I’ve been busy with… sitting about. Yesterday however, a break from sitting about involved a trip to the New London Theatre to see the magnificent Blue Man Group. I’d only seen them on the Royal Variety Show (or somesuch) before, and the Intel adverts – and wasn’t really sure what to expect. In fact, walking into the theatre and seeing groups of people down the front with makeshift blue waterproof macs, and people with white paper headbands scattered across the room led me to believe I’d walked in upon some strange cult and that the Blue Man Group were next door. Of course, the Blue Man Group are exactly that weird cult I’d come to see, and before long I was chanting along with the rest of the crowd, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to You (no singing please) and waiting for the next “Ready Go!” And if this makes no sense to you, I recommend a night out with your new blue friends. So yes, a highly recommended way to spend the evening, and at the end of the 90-minute paint-filled, UV light toting Pringles advert, you’ll be throwing toilet paper about with the best of them and rushing home to get some Rice Krispies.

Anyway, to get to the point – tomorrow Ali and I leave for Gran Canaria, so get ready for the return of more exciting travel blogging to make you cry and question your own sanity. And I’ll leave you a great Page-a-day quote from the calendar a few days back.

A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.
Lao Tzu