We thought we’d share with you a story sent by one of our loyal customers Mr. Stephen “Storyteller” Reid. This is the first one of a series of four hilarious stories of a holidaymaker, with the Arona Gran Hotel as the background. We hope you like it as much as we have done…
This was the first time since their honeymoon that they were going on a well deserved summer holiday on their own. Whilst he loved kids he preferred them deep fat fried with chips, tomato ketchup and with a salad on the side now that his own had fled the nest.
At first he begrudged spending so much money on a hotel for half board. A many starred hotel at that? The place came recommended as suitable for people at a certain ‘stage’ of life so he reluctantly agreed. Mental note: It better be good. With the car packed the night before they just had to dress and drive the hour to the airport.
It started with the valet car parking, despite taking nearly £100 off him for their “superior Service”, they had never heard of him and it was only by losing his temper and waving his receipt in the snotty little man’s face that they were begrudgingly deposited at the entrance to departures entering BAA’s idea of airport heaven; holiday check in.
The noise hit them like a solid object. In the queue they were surrounded by hundreds of bad tempered people, dressed as if bound immediately for the beach with sun hats and sun glasses, arguing with fractious children, whilst surreptitiously jamming their suitcases tightly to their neighbours in case someone would barge in and queue jump.
The pleasure of travelling without children was spoiled by the hysterical screaming of seemingly orphaned, unwashed, homeless urchins with no concerned parents, which together with a nervous man, constantly jingling his car keys and loose change in the deep pockets of his baggy shorts, was driving him to distraction. His highly tattooed foul mouthed partner, did not help by blowing large bubbles of chewing gum and screaming obscenities at her mad feral children, tearing through everybody’s legs as if it was their human right.
Discovering that he was in the wrong queue and had to start all over again did not help his temper. They joined the tail end of the now huge queue and eventually it was their turn. The head of a bored half slept uniformed teenager asked him
“Have you packed your bag yourself?” Of course he had not packed the bag himself, if he tried that his wife would kill him.
“Could anyone have put anything into your suitcase without your knowledge?”
Of course they have. God knows what she has put into his case this time. He just smiled and said no in all the right places.
He took his wife’s hand and they both headed off to the next airport pleasure ahead. Security. What a joy to look forward to. Like everyone else he understood the need for it but did the sweaty people trained to do it have to be so unpleasant and dictatorial. They joined the endless shuffling queue and inched forward like manacled prisoners condemned to a roadwork squad. Eventually they came to try and get past the security people of indeterminate sex with large stern faces, bulging bosoms, biceps and buttocks waiting for them like something out of Roald Dahl horror story.
This time he was taking no chances. Into the plastic tray went his best leather sandals, belt, posh watch, wallet, car and house keys, loose change, glasses, passport and tickets. He carefully folded his jacket and put it on top. His beloved was now through and glaring at him in the way only bad tempered wives can.
Taking a deep breath he sent his plastic box with all his worldly possessions into the cavernous machine. At their signal he launched himself through the metal detector towards the arms of the security person. Unfortunately someone had spilt some foul smelling liquid onto the floor, which, combined with the residue left by sticky damp feet, now made the surface highly lubricated. Falling into the arms of the asexual security type person certainly saved him form a nasty fall, but it did not save him from personal interrogation by a pimply schoolboy type person in a little room as a result. He just sat and listened as his wife was warned that her behavior of banging on the door and demanding the return of her husband was not conducive to security. She only stopped when they threatened to arrest her.
After forty minutes of interrogation they were both sent on their way no doubt the staff feeling that they had been sufficiently punished and they had justified their salaries. They managed to get two seats just vacated by a couple of foot ball thugs who seemed to have come straight off the football pitch in everything except studs on their trainers. At least they would know each others names as they were tattooed on the back of their heads.
They both sat numb from the experience and thought things could only get better. Their flight to Tenerife was called and his wife, in her now creased and grubby best cream slacks and matching top discovered, that she had sat in something very sticky with an old boarding card buried in which clicked like a faulty false him every time she took a step. They were by now past caring.
Eventually they boarded sitting with their knees jammed up so high on the seat in front that their toes barely touched the floor. This did not really matter; as the seats were so tight they could not fold down their table anyway to put anything on it. He was convinced the airline never changed the in-flight meals. as nobody, except mythical dwarfs and children, could get the tables down so they just kept recycling them with each flight.
The state of everyone coming off the aircraft could not be believed; pushing and shoving to queue up at passport control, pushing and shoving to get to the front of the baggage carousel to watch the aimless meanderings of the bags on the carousel, and the scrum to find the coach miles away in the hot sweaty car park was surely more than humanity could endure.
They staggered out into the natural light after claiming their bags to see a cool looking, smartly dressed man holding a card up with their name and the two magical words “Arona Gran” on it.
“Of course, I had forgotten the Arona Gran would send a car for us!”
It was their “Eureka” moment. The man smiled reached out and their bags discreetly disappeared and they gratefully followed him to a large black, and above all, quiet and cool limousine.
Within fifteen minutes they pulled up outside, what can only be described as an architecturally non descript hotel with a glass front right on the road. No sweeping gravel driveway, palm trees, exotic flowers just a very business like building.
The car doors opened and the hot air of Tenerife swept in. The driver now glided through the glass doors carrying their suitcases and by the time they had extracted themselves from the cool limousine a young uniformed bell boy was standing at a small reception with their cases on a trolley and their jackets on hangers swinging together quite happily. They staggered up to reception with very dry throats and parched tongues. He could hardly even remember their name they felt so traumatized. A gentle tap on the shoulder made him turn and there was a cool looking uniformed woman with a glorious happy smile, offering them a glass of cold wet champagne
“This woman actually likes her job” he thought as he lifted the cold glass to his lips. He raised his eyes and nearly fell over. Before him was two of the biggest glass chandeliers he had ever seen. They must have been fifty feet in length hanging from a ceiling seemingly forever high. The walls had cascading tiers of exotic greener hanging down from open corridors, which made the place feel cool. The floors were a white and earthy coloured polished marble and highly polished brass rails lined staircase. This eased itself down past a beautifully furnished open lobby and bar, towards an twenty foot high internal waterfall overlooked by another intimate little bar and music area with a grand piano. This drew the eye to the bright light coming in from the pool and private patio area outside. His “Gob was truly Smacked” and he could not understand how he managed to stagger in here and not see this. A voice beside made him tear his eyes away from what was a true spectacle.
“¡Buenas tardes! Señores, ¿Como se llaman?”
He told the receptionist their name in a state of shock. The tall man smiled and took their passports to copy, giving them a little card to fill in.
As he returned he called to the bell boy,
“ Habitacin n´´umero tres, cuatro, siete.”
With that he wished them a happy stay and told them to follow the bellboy. They took their champagne and quietly followed him to the lift ,which silently deposited them on the third floor lobby with armchairs and settees and a little table with some books on it. They opened the door to their room to discover it was nearly in total darkness.
“More bloody rows” he thought as he groped his way through the gloomy room looking for a light switch.
“This will have to be changed. I paid for a sea and harbour view and we are staggering about here in darkness.”
The bellboy pushed past and pulled open the curtains.
The bright light poured into the room exposing a clear cloudless blue sky. They walked towards to window and pushing open the sliding doors walked out onto the balcony. Before them laid out like toy town was the intimate harbour of Los Christianos with a busy ferry discharging it cars. Just across the little harbour were cruisers and yachts chaffing at their moorings. A lovely beach full of colourful umbrellas and sun beds were set out neatly overlooked by little restaurants and a long level pedestrian walk full of people dressed I bright holiday clothes and laughing.
Below them the clear, blue, cool looking pools, snaked around the complex with the hotels little casual restaurant and bar overlooking the sea, all in bright sunshine.
The one thing they did notice was the lack of noise. No background music, no screaming kids or drunken footballers. The hotel had created a relaxed happy atmosphere effortlessly without using any modern ‘in your face’ or trendy fads. It was the epitome of civilised peace and quiet, with attentive waiters attending their customers, which promised a wonderful holiday.
They looked at each other and realising they still carried their champagne glasses toasted, ‘The Arona Gran, Love at first Sight’.
