Day 1 - London to Almeria
The big trip isn't off to a great start. Looking up at the departures board at Liverpool Station I notice that one train has those dreaded words - "This train has been replaced by a bus service". After making the obligatory "Glad that isn't us" remark to Tim I look back up and notice what I missed in my first glance. Go on, guess what I missed.
A (long) bus ride and airport-priced sandwich later we are in the air and heading for Almeria on a flight so memorable I can't even remember a thing about it, though while waiting for our bags in Almeria Airport I did notice that England now seems to be exporting their chavs to Spain. Four shell-suited specimens waited next to us, presumably wondering why they weren't in Ibeza.
After a circuitous late night bus trip into a largely darkened Almeria we eventually find our "centrally located" hotel. One factor in choosing Morocco as our ultimate destination was a dispiriting peek at our finances followed by a rudimentary cost-benefit analysis that rejected Eastern Europe as too cold and every where else as too expensive. Therefore it is strange to find ourselves booking into what the guide book described as a "chilly corporate hotel", booked ahead over the internet on the basis that it had 24-hour check-in and breakfast was included. I feel we lowered the tone of the establishment just by walking in with backpacks on. I get the feeling that the men in suits at reception have the same feeling. It is not that it is a bad place, it is just that it is soulless, a facsimile of hotels the world over that spring up wherever business conferences are held.
Formalities over we make our way to the room via the world's smallest lift. In what may be our first language faux paux, our room turns out to be a very nice double, rather than the requested twin. I must report in advance that this isn't the last time we are mistaken as a couple; it must be the squabbling. Late night is rapidly becoming early morning so rather than attempt to explain the problem using a combination of bad Spanish and questionable mime we decide that we are secure enough to share the bed for one night.
That little quibble aside, the room itself is blessedly clean after my digs in London - the infamous and almost criminally misnamed York Mansions - right down to the mint on the pillow. However Tim does his best to make me feel at home by washing his delicates in the ensuite's sink.
A (long) bus ride and airport-priced sandwich later we are in the air and heading for Almeria on a flight so memorable I can't even remember a thing about it, though while waiting for our bags in Almeria Airport I did notice that England now seems to be exporting their chavs to Spain. Four shell-suited specimens waited next to us, presumably wondering why they weren't in Ibeza.
After a circuitous late night bus trip into a largely darkened Almeria we eventually find our "centrally located" hotel. One factor in choosing Morocco as our ultimate destination was a dispiriting peek at our finances followed by a rudimentary cost-benefit analysis that rejected Eastern Europe as too cold and every where else as too expensive. Therefore it is strange to find ourselves booking into what the guide book described as a "chilly corporate hotel", booked ahead over the internet on the basis that it had 24-hour check-in and breakfast was included. I feel we lowered the tone of the establishment just by walking in with backpacks on. I get the feeling that the men in suits at reception have the same feeling. It is not that it is a bad place, it is just that it is soulless, a facsimile of hotels the world over that spring up wherever business conferences are held.
Formalities over we make our way to the room via the world's smallest lift. In what may be our first language faux paux, our room turns out to be a very nice double, rather than the requested twin. I must report in advance that this isn't the last time we are mistaken as a couple; it must be the squabbling. Late night is rapidly becoming early morning so rather than attempt to explain the problem using a combination of bad Spanish and questionable mime we decide that we are secure enough to share the bed for one night.
That little quibble aside, the room itself is blessedly clean after my digs in London - the infamous and almost criminally misnamed York Mansions - right down to the mint on the pillow. However Tim does his best to make me feel at home by washing his delicates in the ensuite's sink.
1 Comments:
So, you trip to Morocco included one day in Spain. And that's it?
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