Holiday Snaps: Returning home

Dining alone

It has been a wonderful 10 sunny days and it is time to return to the cooler and colder climes of the Netherlands.

My dining table arrangements were not that good, the people sat beside were either glum or absorbed amongst themselves, and the companion I had in the last few nights was single, quiet and piled on the food as if the Apocalypse was on within the hour.

There wasn’t much conversation to make between mouthfuls of gluttonous abandon, I would have been a killjoy if I had tried to make conversation, he was on a mission – get my money’s worth and more.

The best and above the rest

The Riu Palace Maspalomas Hotel is now the best hotel in the whole of the Canary Islands in terms of quality, service and standard – it is a 4-star superior hotel, but it is the people that make a hotel and the people here are just the cream of the crop in terms of services, affability, approachability and more – the directors are as involved as the cleaners in making this place a wonderful place.

The experiment in trying to attract a trendier crowd of a few years ago has been aborted, the hotel has returned to what it is traditionally good at, rooms, food, ambience and well, some of the entertainment.

They definitely do not need new clientele, it is possible that over 70% of the guests have stayed here before, this was my 7^th time.

He and she not like 80

The last three breakfasts I had with a most interesting and humorous couple who are in their 80s, we met 2 years ago and I wrote about them then, it was such a pleasure to see them, they are here for 5 weeks and I was regaled with a few more tales of their adventures round the world.

He has been retired for 27 years now and they are living their lives to the full, I really have not met people as wonderfully engaging as them and he is a raconteur extraordinaire.

They have visited over 100 countries, been round the world twice and the lady is such a sport as she is mischievous, you want to grow old as them and they have minds you will find in backpackers in their twenties discovering the world in awe and wonder and yet they are octogenarians.

They will celebrate their diamond jubilee of marriage in September; a letter from the Queen would be in order.

Mother, man and husband

Another lady I was pleased to see again had visited some 18 months ago with her son and his partner. We just got on well, they arrived a few days ago and she came to my table to say hello, we have had long chats and I have had stories to tell after our last meeting.

People just get interested, involved, engaged and lovely, that is what you want to see on holiday and it amongst such people you want to be when away from home.

I hope to return later this year, in May perhaps and then at Christmas when the earlier couple plan to be here for the long stretch of 11 weeks. Deo volente.

Holiday Snaps: Lift

Lift - mechanical

The lift is out of order a guest announced as the reception scrambled to get the maintenance guy out to solve the problem.

In fact, he was already aware; however, it is an inconvenience for guests on higher floors who have to walk an arc to the other side of the hotel to use the lifts if they cannot manage the stairs.

Lift - visage

She with one look provided the elusive bridge of evolution to the homo sapiens sapiens species, the lifts and there must have been quite a few knocked the ages off her as epidermal tissue had been stretched well beyond its elastic capacity the visage had deformed.

Considering all the make-up that goes into make-believe, I probably would serve purgatory for suggesting I thought I had seen that face on Planet of Apes.

Lift as you might, the story is told in the back of the hands where age is that number that could well have put the lady well into her 80s, for an octogenarian, she looked good enough having wantonly abused the elixir of youth by taking the cut and seeking to lift that which should not have been tampered with.

Lift - dysfunction

Octogenarians are many in the hotel but you will be hard-pressed to find anyone looking it, the lift had come to them and before we castigate the womenfolk I remember that men have been given the lift, temporary as it might seem, hours at most; it must work wonders for an octogenarian to be taking his “grand-daughter” in her twenties to the altar. You may be a great-grandfather and still be a play boy.

Lift – not this one

You could get no more lift out of the skirt before it became indecent with the likely old English charge of outraging public decency.

We shall not grow old gracefully was the statement, what a sight it was and surely the day of her nativity would have been before the Second World War.

Lift – three of four

Lift we must ourselves above the fray, that extra few metres to use the working lift; those few cuts, nips and tucks that keep us visually at a distance under 20; the wonder drug that makes erectile dysfunction a third-world problem because octogenarians are edging porn stars out of the way in terms of experience but that skirt must surely have a lower hem.

It destroys the seamstresses’ ideal of a good skirt, it is not long enough to cover the detail and it is too short revealing the damage. Maybe the choice one is left with is to lift a shirt. O!

Crutches on the drip

Happenings – fast and slow

The results of the biopsy are yet to come because that determines whether I should still be tethered to the intravenous drip mechanism or I can go home on oral medication.

The beginning of my second week has arrived with still no inkling of when my bed at home would receive the warmth of its owner.

The intravenous needle had begun to irritate me and cause pain, an alcohol/water mix pad was applied to offer a cooling effect but not to much avail, in the end, it had to be removed and everyone is waiting on the doctor to decide how I get fed my antibiotics.

Speeding ticket for crutches on the run

The physiotherapist arrived to see my foot and legs then went to get crutches on which I did a hobbling run that could have landed me on either my face or my butt, he steadied me as he told me tricks of rising and settling with crutches.

Whilst taking a breather the orthopaedic foot mould specialist arrived and my demonstration of crutch mobility was abysmal but I was commended all the same.

She took drawings of my foot, measured round parts of the foot then wrapped it around with cellophane and ruler down the front, applied a wet bandage that then hardened into a mould with was then cut out with a blade to the flexible ruler – I thought that was quite impressive chemistry.

90s, 80s but 40s?

We had a new patient nonagenarian arrive yesterday, now with my octogenarian friend who might leaving tomorrow, in fact, he has been at his most quiet today, probably because he knows when he is going back home.

Come think of it, being 43, I do not think there is something called quadrogenarian, you have to reach a certain age to be accorded a –genarian suffix and I am well away from that. The nonagenarian seems to speak Dutch with an English accent; he also has an English sounding name.

It goes to show that very few people lose their mother tongue accent no matter how fluent they become in another language, maybe he settled here after the war – my deductions might be true if he reads a high-brow Dutch newspaper but watches the English language news on television.

One observation, the hospital bed controls do not lend themselves to geriatric finesse, I have observed both fumble in frustration with the buttons, the more senior expelling expletives as if he was out at sea. Strewth!

A sport of ward probing

Then I did a round of the wards on crutches, no, I am not practising for the Paralympics but I think I have gotten a good feel of how to get around on those things.

The day is going fine, as I learn that the most inexhaustible reserve of hope, expectation and success is God's mercy for the stupid things one has allowed to happen and God’s favour to get one completely out of the rut to that place of confidence, assurance and worthwhile activity.