I’ve grown to really like Lanzarote. The resort in which we are staying, Costa Teguise, is quiet, friendly, packed with good restaurants and cafes, half-decent bars and, when and if you want it, home comforts. If you want it, you’ve got it. Bingo? Yes. Karaoke? Yes. British bars with happy hours that seem to go on all evening? You don’t need to look too far. And there’s that weather, why every single person comes here in season and out of season.
As a friend of mine pointed out, many of the bars resemble the Wetherspoons experience, a legion of old men, occasionally accompanied by old women, glowering over their pint glasses, but they’re bearable enough for all that.
It’s not only comfortingly British, it’s cheap too, even taking into account the collapse in the value of the pound. Beer for little more than €1.50, a full English for €2.50, cigarettes are cheap; you can live high on the hog and still get a sun tan.
We are in someone’s apartment and it’s beautiful. It is always a privilege to set foot in someone else’s property, never mind stay in it. We are but guests, borrowing their privacy for a short while. You have to respect and look after it.
Flying home tomorrow and it will soon be over. A week was about right, but there are plenty of Brits who live here, 1700 miles and more away from loved ones. They have the life we enjoy for seven nights every day and I don’t envy that at all. As ever, I miss family, I miss friends, I miss England, I miss my local, I miss the things I eat (although you can get many of the things you eat at home in the local Spar), I miss the Guardian (the queues for the Sun and Mail – I kid you not – are not for me) and I miss the BBC. I’m a home boy, basically, who likes to travel a bit.
We’ll be back if we can. Although the sun is often behind clouds, this is still a climate to die for. And it’s been a great early winter break.
