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Saturday, January 07, 2012PHUCK IT, I'M A SNOB Having suffered - both mentally & physically - from 10 days in Tenerife, I have decided to admit to the world that I AM A SNOB (ner ner ner) There................I've said it, so phuck the phallout. I had a right stress on within hours of leaving the apartment on Banana Island (which isn't an island). Due to the mass exodus of expats and several thousand locals, we were advised to get to the airport early, as traffic was hectic and the road was bound to be clogged with people eager to escape their lovely surroundings *ahem*. We left with some 4hrs to spare before the eagerly anticipated flight to Madrid, with Iberia. We whiled away an hour by smoking and sweating profusely outside. It was better than inhaling the stench of stale urine and gawdawful body odour inside the terminal. Then the fun started. There was a rumour, our 'fixer' Nelson informed us, that the flight was going to be very late..........as in 'verrrrry late'. Thinks to self : there goes the fucking - oops, I mean phucking - connection to Tenerife innit? After much teeth-pulling from the ignorant beeyatch seated at the Iberia check-in counter, we were informed that the flight had been sort of cancelled...............sort of insomuchas it would be several hours late in arriving, but would not do the 'turn around' because there wasn't a replacement crew. Phuck. When asked what we were expected to do from the aforementioned beeyatch, we got the typical nose-picking induced shrug of the shoulders and blank look on the face that you just wanted to smack some bloody responsibility into. These imbiciles are paid to do a job, but when there's a problem, they want absolutely nothing to do with passengers. The beeyatch in question reluctantly said we could stay in a hotel in Lagos overnight and catch the flight the following day. No phucking good sweetheart, we got a connection to catch. Bitch! After much to-ing and fro-ing, a hefty bribe and infinite pleading, we got the last 2 seats on the BA flight to London and then a connection to Madrid, but after that, it was a case of "well, yer on yer own now". To cut a long and frustrating story short, we got to Madrid, pleaded with a human Iberian booking officer and finally got to Tenerife some 27hrs after setting out, totally knackered. The kids had arrived safely from Dublin and were sorted at the hotel. They had spent the day exploring. Chikkin almost knocked Hubs over when she ran to greet him..............hell that child grows like a Triffid I swear! The following day - Crimble Eve - was spent snapping up last minute gifts and trying to ignore what was becoming a dreaded feeling that the Playa de las Americas was not all that it was cracked up to be. The 4 star hotel where we were holed up, ran quite efficiently, until it came to the restaurant. Every single waitron had a phucking attitude, but y'know what, after seeing the behaviour of some of the tourists/holidaymakers, I'd also have an attitude. I don't think the scowls were aimed directly at us - altho' it's obviously a possibility - but more at the invading hordes of 'Benefit Bunnies'* that made their way to such a beautiful island. Mind you, on reflection, half the staff were foreign anyway and only a few of the phuckers would or could speak English. The floors in the entrance lobby were always nice and shiny tho'. I'd also like to admit that a real effort was made in sprucing the joint up with Crimble decorations. Crimble came and went. Sight-seeing came and went. The disappointment in our surrounding grew. I reckon I saw more camel-toed skanks, more middle-aged wimmin sporting 48EEE busts which dangled or bounced off of fat rolls - all the while trying to fight their way out of ill-fitting swimsuits (and gawd forbid, bikinis) - plus badly tattooed Eastern European pikeys, who thought going topless was the norm.........................I saw more of these types in just over a week, than I have in my fiftysomminc years. The men were just as bad - budgie smuggling Speedo's on a perma-tanned (including the soles of the feet nogal) 60yr old beer-guzzling-gut-hanging male specimen, just ain't sexy, as much as he might wish it to be. Apart from that, you can only tan so much can't you? Surely, your skin will reach the shade and texture of a leather handbag, and then it doesn't tan anymore? Whilst doing a spot of people watching at the hotel pool area, I saw different extremes - from a couple dressed head to toe in black every day, to a really dodgy looking Eastern European couple, who seemed miffed that they couldn't really wander around nekkid and had to suffice with just having the tits out. There were definite Benefit Bunnies, complete with roll-up fags, a penchant for the cheapest alcohol on offer and bodies that tinged pink in a weak sun that poked through the clouds now & again. It was chilly for crying out loud - it was only 18C! A couple of times, I had the misfortune to be within hearing distance of some middle-aged sarong-straddled wench who was 'checking up' at home. "Are y'alrite luv? Yeah, yeah, it's smashing, it's right sunny & I'm gerrin' a nice tan but the food's norrupt'much". I was tempted to shout "I'll second that!" Out on the street, there were times when we all felt like we had to run the gauntlet against so-called 'PR' people. These are the not-so-friendly folk who try to usher you into the bar/restaurant/niteclub they happen to be 'promoting'. One or two of them were friendly, but there were many who took liberties and pushed boundaries to the extent we thought someone was trying to kidnap Chikkin. That was downright scary. Foot traffic comprised of bunches of council estate-esque, buggy pushing slags from the likes of Dagenham - one hand clutching the bad hair extensions, the other guiding the 4yr old dummy-sucking brat in the designer buggy, with baggy arsed, beer swilling partner in tow, singing his favourite footie chant. Elderly men and women tootled around in their hired mobility scooters, wearing expressions that varied from 'get out of my way, I'm a cantankerous old git' to 'this beats walking any day'. On the whole, the majority of them looked as if they'd gone to Tenerife to have that last toe curling experience before popping their clogs. Sad, very sad. A Senegalise fake watch hawker offered Hubs anything from rip-off Gucci sunglasses to a prostitute (of any age or colour) to a line of white powder, which could be snorted. You name it and he could provide it. He was actually quite a nice chap, despite his trade. I think one of the lasting impressions I have of a town like Playa de las Americas is of vomit. Wherever we walked, there were puddles of chunky, colourful vomit - some fairly fresh and some perhaps deposited from the previous evening. Even flies didn't buzz around over it, which I guess tells me that even they have a bit of taste. Four out of five of us had suffered with upset tummies and nausea, so I guess maybe we were the lucky ones, 'cos at least we didn't add to the barf on the streets. I honestly don't think restaurant or cafe hygiene - behind the scenes - is of a particularly high standard. I saw specialised water trucks washing down roads, but no attempt was made to clean up the vast quantities of splattered puke on pavements. Shortly before leaving for the holiday, my mum told me her son had "been to Tenerife lots of times................he says it's really nice there". Little alarm bells went off in my head. It didn't take long for me to realise why. Having watched the hilarious TV series 'Benidorm', I truly thought we would be 'away' from the Benefit Bunnies, being in Tenerife. I was wrong, very wrong. I am a snob. And proud of it. * Benefit Bunnies: Those who live in the UK and think the closest thing to work is nutting down to the Post Office to collect their dole money, which the government is stupid enough to pay. Labels: Banana Island, Benefit Bunnies, dodgy Senegalese hawkers, Lagos Airport, mobility scooters, Playas de las Americas, skanks, Tenerife  
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