We’re heading towards the end of our holiday. Sue and I have discovered that, despite having condemned people in the past for taking this type of holiday, we quite enjoy being lazy and lounging by the pool, people-watching and indulging in the occasional slagging off of the embarrassing chavvy “Brits Abroad”.
We are, unfortunately, staying in a truly horrible place. Our apartment is lovely but the area seriously blows. We’re in an extension of Port d’Alcudia which is essentially a purpose-built nightmare for the Brits and the Germans. It is completely impossible to stay here and eat without it being a burger or pizza or a full English breakfast. They even do Sunday roasts with Yorkshire pudding which we saw a family tucking into at the weekend, complete with knife licking and a bottle of Heinz tomato ketchup. This place is utterly depressing.
So we’ve had to venture out a little bit…if only to save our sanities. We have discovered the very pretty Alcudia Old Town where we spent all of Sunday afternoon in a restaurant eating the best meatballs (albondigas!) I’ve ever had and drinking wine because it was pouring down with rain, and the lovely Peruvian waiter asked us to go to the discotheque with him. (we didn’t go)
In proper Port d’Alcudia (ie not the bloody awful extension of it where we are staying) we have had some seriously good tapas, but it’s an odd place, mainly filled with amusement arcades and men selling fake watches and comedy sunglasses and things that light up and sparkle when you throw them 20ft into the air. There are also lots of ridey things for children. This is Sue trying to fit into them:
In Port de Pollenca, I had my worst meal so far – a grilled sea bream which was painfully overcooked and chewy. Sue’s seabass fillets were amazing so I can only think that whole fish scares the bejesus out of the chef. But there was a bar called the Lemon Lounge where we drank wine and had to force ourselves not to dive into the pool, fully-clothed. This is the bar:
This is Port de Pollenca:
We’ve found Pollenca, the lovely old town where there is a beautiful square and a tiny hall that, oddly, sells drinks to tourists while little old local men catch up and gossip over a small beer. We climbed a hundred steps, turned down an offer to buy plastic handbags and gazed at some incredibly beautiful mountains. See:
The moral of the story is this: if someone offers you cheap accommodation that seems too good to be true, it probably is. Also, never stay in Port d’Alcudia. It’s horrible. Sue and I would never have come here had we realised what it was like, although against all odds, we’ve had a really good time. We will, however, research our asses off for our next holiday.
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