Same old, same old

Once upon a time, we booked a two-week package holiday to Pineda on the Costa Brava. It was back in the days when you could still get free child places, and for some reason this particular hotel, the Golden Taurus, was cheaper than anywhere else. It turned out to be a good choice - friendly staff, nice food, good positioning on the seafront and a great kids' club. The following year, with package prices seemingly doubled and no sign of the mythical free child's place, we decided to go camping in France. We'd already won ferry tickets, so all we had to pay for was diesel and campsite pitches. With three weeks to use as we wished, we thought it would be nice to tour, aiming to get down to the south of France as we'd done once before (pre-children) - that way we could make the most of the weather and maybe still manage a day or two on the beach. Then we hit on a brilliant idea - if we were going to get as far as the south coast, why didn't we just go that little bit further and hit Spain? Even better, we could book a hotel in Spain and still enjoy a bit of luxury during our holiday!

We didn't even bother to look for different hotels in the north of Spain - it seemed like a no-brainer to book the Golden Taurus again. We'd never previously booked a 'resort'-type hotel independently, and we weren't quite sure how it worked, but at least this one was tried and tested. We knew we'd get a big-enough room, we knew the food was good and we knew they had plenty of kids' facilities. Most importantly, it wasn't far from France, we knew how to get there and it had plenty of free parking. Our time in Spain went very smoothly - we found the hotel without any problems (obviously), our room was actually bigger than during our previous stay (a benefit of booking direct, perhaps?) and the boys were even allowed to join the Thomson's kids' club, despite not having booked with the company. Even better, the whole three-week holiday, including diesel and campsite fees, cost a fraction of what a week in the same hotel would have cost via a package deal.

Apart from the occasional night here or there, that's the only time we've been to the same hotel twice. We tend to prefer to try new destinations rather than go back to places we've already been. It's not that we don't like the hotels we stay in and would rather not return - after all, I normally do enough research to ensure we're going somewhere we'll enjoy. We just like the variety, and it's always nice exploring a new hotel in a new resort. But still, there was something really comforting about returning to the Golden Taurus. We didn't have to waste time looking around the hotel to see where everything was. We knew exactly where to go for breakfast, where to find the kids' club and where the toilets were. We knew how the restaurant arrangements worked (always a minefield) and what time the mini-disco started. We knew where the hotel was in relation to the beach, the town, the train station. We recognised lots of the staff, and some of them seemed to recognise us. After the long drive from France, there was something really nice about rocking up at a familiar hotel - like seeing an old friend for the first time in ages, or getting changed into your favourite PJs after a long day.

And so it is that this year we're going to do it again. Not the Golden Taurus (although I did previously look into the logistics of staying there again this summer) but to the Bitacora in Tenerife. We first went there last October, through a package deal again (see my previous review, Spring Hotel Bitacora, Tenerife). As usual, I did my research before booking and scrolled through Trip Advisor. The overwhelming pattern was that everybody seemed to be repeat customers - 'This was my fifth time at the Bitacora', 'We come here every year', etc. I found it a bit sad, to be honest - with so many places to see and so little time, why waste that time by going to the same place over and over again? But I took comfort in the fact that it was good enough for people to come back, and didn't hesitate to book it.

But as our week progressed, the idea of coming back became more and more appealing. The hotel itself was fairly faultless - the rooms were large and clean, the food was good, and there were plenty of facilities. The location was also great - close enough to plenty of shops and bars, a short walk from the sea and in an area that has clearly had a lot spent on it in recent years. Funnily enough, I hadn't realised at the time of booking that it was actually directly opposite a hotel we'd stayed at in Tenerife previously. We may well have booked that hotel again if it had been available, as we had really liked both the hotel and the location, but it was nice when we arrived at the Bitacora to find that we already knew where we were and what was around us. The weather was also amazing. We regularly go away in October, usually to mainland Spain or the Balearics, and the weather varies from pleasant to fairly hot to downright cold and rainy. We were particularly lucky during our week in Tenerife, though, and it was in the thirties every day. We were easily able to swim in the pool and the sea, something we wouldn't normally do on holiday in October (although Lee has been known to go in the sea on principle). The resort was also busy - not uncomfortably crowded but with plenty of life. Resorts are usually closing in October - we tend to find only a few of the shops and restaurants are open, and there's the feel of a ghost town - so it was a pleasant surprise to be somewhere that was still 'in season'. But the thing that really clinched it for us was the staff. The animation team in particular were the best I have ever seen at a hotel - they quickly knew our sons by name and would make sure they stopped to chat when they saw us around the hotel. The boys loved going to the kids' club and soon made lots of friends, most of whom asked if the boys would be coming back next year, because they were. On our last day, waiting for the coach pick-up, the boys asked for the umpteenth time if we could come back next year. Two of the animation team had just stopped to say goodbye, and the hotel was busy preparing and decorating, ready for Halloween. It suddenly seemed stupid to say no just for the sake of it - why shouldn't we come back next year? We'd had a lovely time, the boys had had a lovely time - it seemed like an obvious decision. Although we usually like to pack lots in during our holidays, it's also nice sometimes just to relax, especially after our manic five-week camping trip in the summer. Going somewhere you've been before takes the pressure off visiting lots of places, as you've done them all already. There's no guilt in spending the days lying by the pool, as you don't feel you're missing out on anything and you know the kids are having a whale of a time. Add the almost-guaranteed good weather, the comfy rooms, the delicious food and the friendly staff and it really was a no-brainer.

Once at home, I was scrolling through the hotel's Facebook and I saw a video of the Halloween entrance to the restaurant. So much effort had been put it into it (see it for yourself at the bottom of the page!), and I realised I was missing the Bitacora already. It wasn't long before I'd booked up to go again this October (this time direct and not through a package, saving at least £1,000...), ensuring we'd be there for Halloween this year! Funnily enough, a friend booked to go to the same hotel this summer, without having realised I'd been there too. She was keen for reassurance that the area (and the hotel) was okay, and of course I waxed lyrical about how much I'd enjoyed it. Then I panicked - had I oversold it? What if she didn't like it? Nothing worse than recommending somewhere only to find out you clearly have weird taste. I needn't have worried - not only did she have a lovely time but she also intended to book to go again the following year! Not just me, then!

Anyway, this time next week, I will be getting ready for dinner in the familiar Bitacora restaurant, having spent the day by the pool or on the beach. The kids will have been to the kids' club and seen their old friends from last year, and I will be looking forward to a drink and a game of cards on the balcony, looking out at the familiar view. It may not be new and exciting, but sometimes you just can't beat the same old, same old. If it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Chifley Alice Springs Resort - Australia Part 3

So, I thought it was about time I caught up with some of those Australia reviews I've been meaning to do for the last year, with several hotel videos still waiting to be uploaded to YouTube. This one's for the Chifley resort in Alice Springs. I seem to remember we got a cheaper deal booking direct via the hotel website than with Trailfinders. It was one of the few places in Australia where we had a hotel room rather than an apartment, so we were back to spending the evenings in the bathroom again once the children were asleep (it was too cold at night to sit on the balcony!). We also only spent two nights here, and it was over a year ago, so my memories are a little vague! Anyway, in case anyone's looking for somewhere to stay in Alice, here's my cut-and-paste review from Trip Advisor.

 

We stayed here for two separate nights as a stopover to and from Ayer's Rock. Reception was very busy and we had to wait a while to be served, but the staff were very helpful and friendly, and happy to book a taxi to the airport for us. The room was fine - not huge by Australian standards, but big enough for a short stay for a family of four. The bathroom was a reasonable size, with separate bath and shower, and there was a small terrace/balcony with seating for two. We had two queen-sized beds, which were very comfy. There was plenty of wardrobe space, a wide-screen TV, an iPod/iPhone docker, toiletries and tea/coffee-making facilities (and biscuits!). The resort is set out with various apartment blocks and a separate reception/restaurant area. There was a swimming pool, but it wasn't warm enough for us to take advantage of this. We did, however, eat in the Barra on Todd restaurant both nights, as we enjoyed it so much the first night. The food was lovely, and they also had a children's menu and were very welcoming to our children (which doesn't always happen in hotel restaurants). The included breakfast was also delicious, with lots of hot and cold choices. It was a short and pleasant walk into the centre of town, with plenty of amenities within easy reach. We would happily stay here again when visiting Alice Springs.

 

Here's a quick video tour of the room. For more holiday-related videos, visit my channel (Holiday Obsessive) on YouTube.

 

The phone, the kayak and me

I really missed a trick this summer. Five weeks of camping in France and Spain, and not a single blog post. The original plan was to collect all my Facebook status updates into one holiday-diary-slash-blog-post, as much for my own amusement as anything else. Alas, it wasn't to be, mainly because I lost my phone two thirds of the way through the holiday. And when I say 'lost', I don't mean mislaid. Rather, it went out of action...

It all started in Spain. We'd had a week of quite frankly rubbish weather and I was feeling pretty miserable. A friend had messaged me to gently point out that my posts were all a bit negative and maybe I should start trying to enjoy myself. It was a fair point. So we decided in our wisdom that the solution to our holiday woes was a 12km kayak trip down the Herault Gorge. Yes, I know.

That idea started before we even got to Spain. Trying to find a campsite nearish Montpelier, and experiencing deja vu from a previous holiday nightmare, when everywhere we tried was full-up, we found ourselves a bit further out than planned, in a village called Gignac. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as it was just a few minutes from the Herault Gorge, with its beautiful Pont du Diable (Devil's Bridge), Grotte de Clamouse caves and the extremely picturesque town of St Guilhem le Desert. While exploring the area, we saw lots of people canoeing and kayaking on the river, and thought it looked like fun. There were several kayak hire centres in the town, and we briefly wondered whether it might be a nice idea to have a go. The thing is, we're not really adventure-holiday sorts of people. Pre-children, I'd had a go at horse-riding, scuba-diving and quad-biking, but post-children, going down the slide at the soft play was about as adventurous as it got. Other than a twenty-minute try-out session on the beach in Jamaica, I'd never been in a kayak in my life. Still, while sitting in our tent in Spain listening to the rain (again), it started to seem more and more like a good idea. We needed something fun, something different, something to look forward to. Something we could talk about afterwards (ha!).

We started doing a bit of research. We could choose the 4km cliff trail with no rapids, suitable for four-year-olds and older, or the 12km classic trail with a few 'straightforward and safe' rapids, suitable for six-year-olds and over. Well, if you're going to do something, do it properly, right? Dylan was six, we wanted to make a day of it and a few rapids sounded like fun. I looked through the FAQs on the website. 'Do I need to be able to swim?' 'Yes, you need to be able to swim 25m and put your head under water.' Hmmm. Dylan could swim a little bit, yes, but 25m? Er, no. But stick him in a lifejacket and he'd be fine! He was confident in water, would have no worries sticking his head under, and it wasn't like we were actually going to fall in, was it? If you haven't spotted the plot by now, I should remind you that whenever our friends have a holiday disaster, they liken it to a 'Sennett holiday', as ours are so renowned for going wrong...

We booked the classic trail. After leaving Spain, we headed back to the same campsite in Gignac and got ready for the next day. The forecast was dry and hot for the first time in a week. We bought a packed lunch for our picnic stop the next day. We re-read the list of things to bring with us. Swimwear or shorts, depending on the weather - definitely swimsuits. Waterproof jacket - er, no, I don't think so. Change of clothes - okay, they could stay in the car. Towels - hmmm, maybe bring them with us in case we're brave enough to take a dip at our picnic stop. Shoes that won't slip off - my flip-flops would be fine, surely? They were waterproof and they stayed on fairly well - I didn't really fancy wet Converse shoes...

As we sat on the bus transfer to our starting point, Lee uttered the immortal words, 'You know, this is either going to be the day that starts off our future annual kayak adventures or the one we look back at to explain why we're never going in a kayak ever again.' Yup.

Once at our starting point, we got kitted out. We were given a waterproof drum to store our belongings in - I assumed this was just to keep everything dry in case of splashes. We were given string to tie our sunglasses on - I thought this was overkill, but did it anyway. Finally, in cossie, kaftan, straw hat and lifejacket (a good look), with our lunch, towels, phone and keys in the drum, we got into our kayak. The drum was strapped in, we waded into the water to get ourselves started (thank goodness for the flip-flops!) and we were off.

It was lovely. The sun was shining down, the views were spectacular and, despite the effort needed to paddle (mostly exerted by Lee, to be fair), it was pretty relaxing. After a couple of kilometres, we came to our first rapids. We'd been warned that these ones were the worst, so I was feeling a little apprehensive. But we breezed through with barely a splash. I was glad we'd chosen the rapids trail, was glad there were more coming to liven things up, and almost wished they'd been a bit more exciting. Ha (again)!

After about 5km, we found a lovely spot to stop for lunch. Pate, brioche, beignets (okay, doughnuts) - delicious. The boys went for a little swim and I, being a wuss when it comes to cold water, managed a paddle. We soaked up the sun and reflected on how the holiday was finally looking up again. I took a couple of photos and reflected on how beautiful it was. Then we packed our stuff back into the drum and continued on our journey.

As we paddled along, the scenery becoming even more breathtaking, I commented on what a shame it was that I couldn't take any photos while we were moving. Limiting myself to our infrequent stops meant that I couldn't snap many pictures to help us reminisce about our lovely day. Eventually, we pulled over (is that the right phrase for a kayak?!) on a little beach so we could unscrew the drum and I could get my phone out. Then we got back in the kayak and I took a couple of photos from the middle of the river to get a different perspective. 'Shall we stop again so you can put your phone back in the drum?' said Lee. 'No,' I said, in my wisdom. 'Let's wait until we next stop for a break. I'll put it inside my lifejacket so it won't get splashed.' Because that's all I was worried about, of course - a couple of splashes. But inside its case, tucked underneath my waterproof lifejacket, it wasn't going to get even one drop of water on it. Oh no.

Very soon after that fateful decision, we heard the sound of rapids. We could see them ahead. They didn't look that bad - no worse than any of the others we'd been through. Hell, we knew they weren't as bad as the first ones apparently were, and they were nothing. But somehow, as we got closer, we approached from the wrong angle and managed to get swept around so that we went down backwards. Still, I wasn't worried - I'd been on rides at waterparks where my rubber ring had turned round and I'd landed backwards, and these were safe, family-sized rapids after all. We paddled furiously but hadn't quite managed to right ourselves when we came to the next bit - a narrow gap between two rocks. We tried - and failed - to fit down sideways, and eventually managed to turn ourselves round enough so that we could fit down facing forwards. But our angle was wrong. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, but we hit a rock and the next thing I knew, we were capsizing. There was that awful moment where I could feel the boat tipping up and tried to fight against it, and the next thing I knew, I was underwater.

I was at the front of the boat and couldn't see what was going on behind me. Bad mum alert: it took a minute for me to find my feet, work out I was still alive and then remember the kids - by which time, mother-tiger instinct kicked in. Luckily, father-tiger instinct had already kicked in, and Lee was trying to hold Dylan in one hand while keeping hold of the kayak with the other. Dylan was understandably terrified and shaking. I managed to take him from Lee and lift him onto the rocks, while Lee tried to stop the kayak from smashing us against said rocks. Finn, meanwhile, was completely unperturbed, and headed off down the river after our lost paddle (I'd managed to hold on to the other) and both my flip-flops - yes, yes, now I understand why they tell you to wear shoes that won't come off. It took me a while to work out that maybe it wasn't a good idea to let my nine-year-old disappear off down the river by himself, at which point I called him back. Luckily, he returned with the other paddle and my flip-flops - my hero!

Finally, we were in a position to assess our situation. Firstly, we were all alive. Secondly, none of us were too badly hurt. That was actually pretty lucky considering the weight of the kayak - the fact that neither boy got trapped underneath and none of us got our heads bashed against the rocks was pretty miraculous. My right leg wasn't quite so lucky, and had taken a bit of a battering against the rocks - now I knew we were all safe, the pain had started to kick in. Lee had also bruised his leg but the boys were remarkably unscathed, thank goodness. We concentrated on turning the kayak the right way round - easier said than done, as it was pretty heavy. Of course, it was also full of water. We attempted to ladle it out with our paddles but eventually gave up, figuring that we were pretty wet anyway, and sitting in a boat full of water wasn't going to make much difference. Thank goodness the drum had been strapped in - there it was, still attached to the kayak, all our stuff safe and dry inside. Except... my phone!!!

It won't exactly come as a shock to hear I had a blank screen, regardless of how many buttons I pressed optimistically. To be fair, I was pleased it was still tucked inside my lifejacket and hadn't been carried off by the river. We managed the remaining 6km without further mishap. We were all a little shaken, Dylan in particular, and we all felt pretty nervous every time we approached more rapids. Lee, strangely, had really cheered up despite the nerves, and was in the best mood I'd seen in days - must be something about knowing you'd come so close to death (okay, a broken leg) and cheated it. As we neared the end and saw the signs for our kayak stop (not very clear, it has to be said), we realised there was a little waterfall ahead of us - cue frantic paddling to ensure we managed to get our kayak out of the water where we were supposed to and didn't disappear over the waterfall (which would be just typical of us). I was amazed there weren't big signs to tell you where to get out and even bigger signs to warn you of what was ahead - although, given our previous experiences of French health and safety, I really shouldn't have been. We got out, dragging our drum with us, and handed our lifejackets back to the staff, smiling and nodding that we'd had a lovely time, too bloody British to reveal the truth of the matter. Maybe it's the fault of us nodding, smiling Brits that it's still classified as a gentle, family trail?!

But what to do with my phone? I wracked my brain trying to think about what I'd read in the past about dunked phones. I thought about red wine stains and putting salt on them to soak up the moisture, and that seemed a good idea, so we went to the supermarket and bought a packet of sea salt. Back at the campsite, I took my phone out of its case and dumped it in a bowl of salt. I then, somewhat belatedly, borrowed Lee's phone to go on Facebook and ask everybody what to do with a wet phone. When I mentioned the salt, everyone was horrified - 'It's corrosive,' they said! 'Use rice' they said! Whoops. I eventually found a website with instructions. First, it said, make sure the phone is taken out of its case straightaway. Fail number one. Then remove the SIM card. Fail number two, but I did this now. It was rather wet. Not a good sign. Then remove the battery...huh? It's an iPhone! You can't remove the battery! Especially not with the limited tools we had available in our tent - removing the SIM card without that key thingy was hard enough (an earring works pretty well, though, for future reference). Eventually, I put my phone in a plastic bag full of what little rice we had left (no chilli for us that night). I left it for a few days, planning to leave it until we got home, where I could get the battery removed and see if it had dried out, before plugging it in and ruining it forever. Of course, curiosity eventually got the better of me and, figuring it was dead anyway, I plugged it in. This was no easy feat as I first had to remove a piece of rice from the socket hole. Then, like some kind of mirage, the apple sign appeared on my screen - it wasn't completely dead after all! In fact, apart from the fact that it now has a piece of rice inside it (the bit in the SIM card slot just wouldn't come out), it was just the same as it had been before, kayak photos and all.

A few pieces of advice to come from this. Never give up on your phone. Remember that something described as 'gentle' and 'suitable for six year olds' in France may not be described the same way in England. Put all your belongings in the drum when kayaking and do not remove unless on dry land. Do not wear flip-flops when travelling in a kayak. Tie your sunglasses on with string, however much it feels like overkill (I didn't lose them! Nor did I lose my hat, actually, although I'm not sure how I managed that). As for Lee's prophetic statement, we are a family divided. He thought it was a great adrenaline rush and would like to go kayaking every year. Dylan would be very happy if he never had to go near a kayak again. Me? I'm undecided. Maybe next time we'll just stick to the 4km cliff trail for four-year-olds.