Wednesday 30th April 2008
Before going to sleep I’d set the alarm to go off at seven, but you have to allow for the dumbo effect. Working on the logic that if I reset my phone clock to Turk time, I’d only have to turn it back again a week later I decided to just do the conversion every time I looked at the clock. This meant that when we woke up it wasn’t in fact seven o’clock but nine, hell the day was half over.
I nudged Russ, “Russ we’re going to miss breakfast, come on wake up.”
“Uggghh.”
“Time to get up.”
“I don’t want to get up, I think I’m going to die.”
I couldn’t answer, I was too pre-occupied with my own imminent demise. I hadn’t actually moved anything from my waist down until I rolled over to encourage Russ into life with a few digs in the ribs. Any feeling of superiority that I had because he had a hangover and I didn’t dissipated in the ether. With the merest muscle twitch, my knee exploded in a firework display of dazzling agony, the pain was so intense that it made me feel sick and rendered me speechless. Oh boy, I was going to pay for last night.
I was bed-ridden until four paracetamol, two volterol and two ibuprofen had been taken and had the chance to work. It was so frustrating, it was the first day of our holiday and I wanted to be out and about. Russ was of the opinion that sex might be a good way to cure all ills and ails. I offered him my hand, told him it was the best he was going to get right at that moment and to take it or leave it. Never one to look a gift hand in the palm he asked if he could do anything for me. Now I couldn’t spout a number off the top of my head to give an idea of how many nerves we have in the human body, but I know for sure that every single one of mine had come out in sympathy of my knee. “Yes love, you can,” his eyes sparkled. “You can lie very, very still and stop moving because every time you jerk this bed my knee sings Ave Maria, hitting a top C at crystal breaking pitch.
“No, I mean...” his Aspergers means that he can be a bit literal sometimes.
I was the one raring to go but he was the one orgasmed, showered, up and ready while I was still lying flat on my back waiting for the pain killers to kick in. They did and I managed to hobble to the bathroom. The shower was great though I’d have much preferred a bath. Russ came in with me and I discovered that with the needles of hot water taking care of my sore knee, feeling had indeed returned to other sensitive parts of my anatomy. I dressed in bikini, and a caftan shirt. I’d wanted to do so much on our first day but it looked like being a lazy one around the pool for both of us to nurse our respective recuperations. So I grabbed sun tan lotion and one of my two new novels and we went to see what was available when people were too late for breakfast, so much for getting up at seven to swim a hundred lengths of the pool. Russ couldn’t be too sanctimonious though because he was still gingerly tip-toeing around his almighty hangover.
We didn’t get a true feel of the day until we’d come out from the shade of the walkway. We stepped onto the pools edge and the sun blinded us. It was going to be a scorching day and I was so happy. I didn’t expect to find much for breakfast, which didn’t really bother either of us because we don’t eat it at home. We went to the main restaurant and having finished service they were already mad busy on preparations for the lunch time feeding frenzy. A waiter directed us to a restaurant on the opposite side of the complex where they were serving ‘late breakfast’.
I found that my leg was excruciating to walk on for the first five minutes but as the muscles eased out it became much better and I was down to a small limp. We made our way over to the other place. I didn’t really want anything to eat but I was dying for a cup of coffee.
A waitress came to escort us to a table and we asked for one directly in the sun without a thatched hut-style umbrella. “Iz wery hot, madam,” I could see her eyeing up my lily white skin.
“I know,” I said with a little bubble of excitement welling up inside me, “Isn’t it fantastic?” I only had a small brioche stuffed with cheese and tomato for breakfast but the choice on offer was unbelievable. They had the usual cereal table, one for yogurt and one with continental meats and cheeses. Another station had every kind of bread imaginable. One chef was cooking omelettes, another fresh crepes with a choice of either sweet or savoury fillings. A third chef was doing fresh eggs Benedict and another three were at a large station involved with ‘full English’ I never tried them that first morning but the sautéed potatoes were gorgeous. Scrambled egg didn’t come plain, there were half a dozen different varieties I liked the one with mixed peppers and chopped tomato, but my favourite was the scrambled egg with sultanas which was an acquired taste but once you got used to it was fantastic. Russ said that he didn’t feel up to eating much, but still managed to sample pretty much everything that was on offer. I could feel the sun literally scorching into my shoulders as we sat over our coffee and juice. I made a point of taking a mental snap shot of that moment and assessing how I felt. I was blissfuly, truly, completely happy.
I looked around me and everything was so perfect. The resort was commercial but beautiful and the staff were all so friendly and accommodating. The sun was blazing, Russ was smiling and if I’d had to leave and go home right at that moment I already felt as though I’d had my money’s worth. I thought about some of the reviews we’d seen for the Letoonia. Some of them were awful. I remember reading that the resort was dirty and that the rooms were in need or renovating and decorating. I don’t know where the hell those people stayed, but it certainly wasn’t the same Letoonia golf resort that I was sitting in. It was pristine. The entire place was only built ten years ago and our rep later told me that it was gutted and renovated from grass roots upwards every season. One bloke complained about his boiled eggs on the internet. The three minute eggs are too soft and the five minute eggs are too hard. For Christ sake, he’s in paradise and the best he can do is moan about his sodding eggs. What does he expect, a private audience with Gordon Fucking Ramsay?
After our breakfast cum lunch we had a walk onto the beach. I wanted to hire a jet ski, and then go paragliding but Russ convince me that we weren’t up to it and I contented myself with sitting and watching other people. Russ would have sat there all day but I get restless. We left the beach and walked over the bridge and across the river separating the hotel from the beach. I suppose it’s a salt water river because it’s fed directly from the sea and looks like a man-made canal in structure. We booked into the riverside Asian restaurant for three evenings later while we were over that way but decided to give the fish restaurant a miss. I would have gone to please Russ but he said that he wasn’t bothered about it.
Back in the resort proper we found two vacant sunbeds out of the three thousand dotted about the place. We lay by one of the pools opposite the doors of the hotel that Jude and Pierce would use and watched for them coming out, we hadn’t seen them about yet and still needed to return their key. By now it was early afternoon and I worried that they’d got into yet more trouble after leaving us and had been thrown out.
We stripped down to our sunnies and oiled up, I took more pain killers and we began the slow process of cooking. I tried to read but couldn’t get into my book at all because the sun kept blinding me. Russ said that I should buy myself some sun glasses but I don’t use them. After five minutes I was bored and decided to go for a swim. I remembered the exhilarating water from the night before and couldn’t wait to get in it. Without being pickled with alcohol to give me Dutch courage I didn’t have the guts to dive into the freezing water so made my way slowly down the ladder. I am completely and thoroughly ashamed to say that I made it as far as my thighs. That water was waaayyy too cold for me, but I stood on the ladder for five minutes figuring that it’d be doing my knee good... I lay on my sunbed without moving for the longest time, at least twenty minutes. Russ was backwards and forwards to the vitamin bar bringing glasses of exotic juices for us to try and I just watched the world go by.
Soon enough I was restless and decided to go up to Jude’s room to see if they were okay and return their key. I hobbled along what seemed like miles of corridor when we got out of the lift. Pierce answered the door looking very the worse for wear. He said that they hadn’t made it out of bed yet as they’d both been ill all night. Jude was still in bed and I could hear her moaning from the depths of the room. We gave them their key, said we’d catch them later and I made a hasty getaway in case either of them started throwing vomit around. We actually didn’t socialise much with Jude and Pierce after that first night. Their pattern was to get up between three and five, sunbathe on the beach for two hours and then eat and get falling down drunk. They even had to drink loads of juices on the night we left to try and sober up enough to get on the plane. Each to their own but it’s not my idea of a holiday.
We missed lunch completely but decided to have a snack at about three o’clock before our induction meeting at four. Wandering around we saw an old lady sitting on the floor in a tee-pee type contraption. She was rolling out dough and cooking on a domed hotplate. Fascinated by her skill we sat at one of the little tables to watch. She was making something that I can’t spell, basically it was similar to a potato cake but made instead with filo pastry. This was stretched thin, covered in spinach, cheese and beef and then made into a square parcel before being draped over the lightly oiled domed hotplate to cook. They were delicious and one of those each cut into four smaller rectangles made an ample meal.
The meeting was interesting. Jude and Pierce did attend but sat through it looking bored. They weren’t interested in booking any of the trips at all. I didn’t initially take to Kerry, our rep. She seemed very loud and a bit brusque and full of herself. Inevitably there were the complainers, Mr and Mrs dissatisfied of Nottingham. There were children in the next room who were too noisy. Yes love, they are children, they are on holiday, they are going to be excited. I would have suggested that they book into a care home for their next holiday, but Kerry was more diplomatic. Their safe didn’t lock. Their mini-bar wasn’t stocked with Brandy and room service when it arrived after forty minutes was cold. Oh dear, poor loves, how you have suffered.
The trips sounded exciting and I wanted to go on them all. In the end we settled on three, unfortunately the party night trip was only on a Wednesday and as we were only there for one week it was that very night or not at all. My knee was in agony and after two nights ‘out’ so to speak I’d planned a fairly early night that was going to be alcohol free. Oh well.
As well as that one we also booked a full day historic and scenic trip and a full day historic and shopping trip. The last trip was booked for our leaving day. I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of this. It would mean giving up our room and booking out of the hotel at seven in the morning. But, as Russ said, final days are always a bit flat anyway and as it was also our combined Birthday that day we might as well do something good with it. I agreed. In all, three trips cost us just fifty pounds each and in retrospect I can say that they were worth every penny. They were fabulous.
After the meeting we only had just over an hour to kill before we’d have to go up and get ready for our big night out. We went to have a look at the relaxation centre. It was amazing and somewhere that I’ll often return to in my mind when I’m feeling low. You walked into a cool, dark passage from the burning heat outside. They had soft Asian music playing on a lute or some such and fragrant oils and incense wafted along the corridor towards you. There was every type of massage available, some that had to be paid for. You could even pay for a ‘romantic’ bath. They had a beautiful room with an enormous sunken bath that they would fill with oils and adorn with lit candles. I said to Russ that a sex bath would be nice, but to be honest right at that moment I was more interested in the bubble bath than the sex.
We couldn’t decide what to do first. Russ went off to the sauna while I showered off and went in the ordinary pool. It was only a small hexagonal pool but it was heated and it was good. I swam for a while and then went for a sit in the Jacuzzi. I got talking to some Russian people who were very nice but the language barrier did make conversation very basic, still their English was far better than my Russian and I thought it was lovely that they bothered to try and talk to me. I didn’t go for a sauna that first day because I’d over done the sun a bit and was beginning to sting but I did use the Turkish bath which was amazing. The room was vast and tiled with cool blue mosaics with gold gourd sink thingies that were built into the wall. The middle of the room had an enormous tiled slab like an alter but big enough for a dozen people to sit on. This is where a lot of the massages and exfoliating scrubs took place. This was the only time that I ever went in there and the room was empty. Because I had the place to myself I climbed onto the slab and did some yoga, being very careful to favour my bad leg and only stretch it very gently. The Turkish bath isn’t as hot and overpowering as the sauna but the cool water constantly flowing onto the coals produced a lot of heat and steam which mixed with the infusion of smelly things that they pumped into the room and soon I felt myself sweating all the horrible toxins out of my body. I was in a beautiful room that smelled strongly of jasmine and eucalyptus. I was stretching my body and cleansing at the same time. It was serene and calming and I felt fantastic when I came out of there. I found Russ in one of the relaxation rooms. It was dark and palmed and we lay side by side on leather recliners. A man came in, he brought us Nescafe coffee and lit a dozen small candles for us. He put a pack of hygiene wipes on one of the little tables and said very discretely that he’d put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door for us. Flipping heck, this place was the closest thing to a brothel that I’d ever been in. We only went in to get out of the heat for half an hour, did we look like sex craved nymphos? We had a room for God’s sake ... still as it was almost expected of us...
When we returned from the sexy rabbit burrow into the real world we were squinting like a pair of moles. It struck me as a surreal experience with a mix of Asian and Turkish influence. Now the heat hit us like a battering ram and that was wonderful too.
On one of the large forecourts five o’clock tea and cakes were being served. I couldn’t believe the choice. The hotel employed the finest pastry and dessert chefs and they prided themselves on their exquisite cakes and puddings. Chefs were frying profiteroles in hot oil. Beside them there were choices of several different fruit coolis and melted chocolates. There were biscuits and sponges, jellies and syrupy things. I loved the hot fruit salad pan fried in brandy by a chef with a big hat. The tables were laden with over fifty choices every afternoon. Time was getting on and we had to get ready for the evening. We took a plate of fancies each up to our room to nibble on while we got ready.
We’d only had a shower ten minutes earlier in the relaxation centre but I needed to wash my hair properly, plus the sap was rising with the holiday mood and romance of the place and I persuaded Russ to join me telling him that sex was the oldest and best cure for a hangover ever invented. He said that the sauna had done a pretty good job of getting rid of the last vestiges of the night before’s hangover and he was almost ready to begin work on the third night of inebriation in a row.
Because we were getting a coach at seven thirty we didn’t have time to eat dinner which was no bad thing so we went to the same bar that we’d been in the night before. We weren’t staying long so instead of going upstairs we just sat in the small smoking room. Russ had a vodka and I had a lovely fruit juice cocktail. We chatted to some German people and some Russian people and then were joined by an English couple who were going on the same trip as us.
Annie and Bruce were on honeymoon and seemed very happy and very much in love. She was a large but very pretty twenty-one year old with long blonde hair. He was the slim good-looking counterpart. He was very quiet and the complete opposite of Annie ... who wasn’t!
She sat with us and began telling us about William, her twelve month old baby. With every sentence her voice became louder. The downstairs smoking room is only small and very quickly our table was getting annoyed looks from every other table as Annie shouted out her views on child raising, of which she has many and poor Bruce sat and shrank further into the corner. As the week progressed and we got to know the couple better I found that Annie really is a lovely girl. She loves her husband and child very much and has some very strong morals and values. However on first impressions I took an instant dislike to her and hoped that we wouldn’t be stuck with them all night. Annie was a spoiled little Princess. Her family has money and she’s been bought a house in London by her parents. She’s never had to work for anything and everything has always been given to her. She’s the dominant half of a pair of twins and I found myself feeling very sorry for the submissive half of the duo, but figured that she’d just substituted a submissive twin for a submissive husband. After giving it some thought maybe that’s why she is so loud and in your face. Perhaps she’s always felt as though she’s only half a person and half of something else. Anyway whatever the reason every single sentence began with either I or me. She had an irritating posh London accent, very similar to Tara Palmer Thingywhatsit but much louder. After half an hour in their company I was sick of hearing I, I, I, or me me me.
They were the last ones on the bus and homed in to sit with us. The rep told us a bit more about the night and both Russ and Annie’s faces lit up when Karaoke was mentioned. “Oim an excellent singer,” announces Annie loudly enough for the entire coach to hear. “Just wait till you hear me sing. My mum croies when she hears me sing. Oim so good that the animation team have asked me to be in the show on Saturday night so you’ll have to come and see me. They said because I’m the best singer they are going to put me on last and make me the star. I really have got an excellent voice haven’t I Bruce? I play the trumpet too. I’m excellent on the trumpet and have past all my exams.”
We were going to a Turkish bar two towns away. The Rep was really nice and tried to jolly everybody up into playing some party games on the coach ... but what a pack of miserable bastards they were. At least Annie was up for having a good night and had some conversation in her. After half a dozen attempts, Ellie, the rep, gave up. She did remind everybody to make sure that they had some money on them as all their foods and drinks that night had to be paid for.
The pub was great. Initially we were put on high stools at a table with another couple, but the head honcho of the place saw me limping back from the ladies and moved us to a table with a couple of comfy armchairs ..bless him, but I’m not quite in my dotage yet. We were really pleased to be moved from the first table. The young couple seated with us were the most miserable people imaginable. I think they must have been right in the middle of a sulking domestic or something because they both had gobs on them like slapped arses. When they were shown over to our table we smiled and said, hello but got little more than a grunt out of them. They smoked and lit up at the table without asking if we objected which I found very rude even though I smoke myself. I felt far better once we’d been moved to a table by ourselves and was almost grateful to my bad leg.
We decided not to eat, but the owner who had taken a bit of a liking to me kept bringing me a menu and trying to persuade me. He said that I reminded him of his daughter and told me that I look more like a Turk than a Brit. Although he didn’t say I had the impression that his daughter had died.
The night got under way with a quiz. We weren’t even placed. But when the winning team were announced a familiar voice rang out, “Oi told you I was clever. Oi told you I know a lot about general knowledge and telly and all that.” Annie and Bruce had teamed up with two other couples and had won the quiz.
The next entertainment on the menu was a Mr and Mrs game. The reps asked for honeymooning couples and surprise surprise who was first up on the stage but Annie dragging a reluctant Bruce behind her. There was one other ‘just married’ couple and the game began. In fairness it wasn’t Annie’s fault that she’d been thrown into the limelight again. They were on honeymoon and that’s what the reps had asked for. They were actually very sweet and quite entertaining, though I have to say these types of holiday games aren’t my cuppa. Next up was the dreaded bingo. I hate loath and detest bingo but figured that as it was only one house we could endure it.
“Now then,” said Kerry, “Before we get onto the karaoke, and I know some of you are very keen on that. We have some rule breakers who are going to have to be punished. It’s no good arguing about it, you were told the rules when you came in. Men are not allowed to scratch their bits. Ladies are not allowed to flick their hair. And everybody must smoke their cigarettes using only their thumb and forefinger. People have been breaking the rules.”
Who was the first rule breaker, accused of flicking her long blonde hair...Annie!
Second up was a man, we know what he’d been doing and third up was ... me!.
I also have very long hair and it’s impossible not to flick it.
We had to do some Turkish belly dancing around all the tables. Me belly dancing at all is ridiculous, but with only one leg it was horrendous. Ali the bar owner came out to dance with me, which I admit gave me an unfair advantage but at least I had somebody to copy from and he was very good. Also, one of my fitness DVD’s has a belly dance section on it, so I did sort of have an idea of the rudiments. Anyway, I won, which pleased me no end and peed Annie off in the extreme.
Next it was the karaoke, and after Annie’s build up it was plugged as being the highlight of the night. Of course Annie was first up to sing. I was waiting for her to be horrendous and completely raucous and out of tune but she was actually very good. She did have a very strong and forceful voice but it was also well controlled and her range wasn’t bad.
A few other people got up to sing and I noticed a man at the front being very critical and pulling all the singers to pieces to his wife. Russ and I sang ‘Let it Be’ and then it was the man’s turn. He made a huge hoo har about them turning the words off because he didn’t need them, “I’ve sung the club circuit for years, I have. I don’t need no words.” So he doesn’t need words, so what, don’t look at them then. He just looked a twit making them turn the screen off just for him. He sang American Pie ... the long version that goes on for about three years. He forgot his words half way through and repeated the same verse twice, which he wouldn’t have had to do if he’d kept the screen on. He was okay, but nowhere near as good as he thought he was. I’d put him in the same bracket as myself, somebody who could sing well once upon a time, but has gone way down hill with the passage of time.
We only sang the one song, but Annie and this other bloke got up several times each and ran the show.
Liverpool lost much to Russ’s dismay, though I didn’t give a damn one way or the other. And after a good night, with absolutely no alcohol on my part we were home by one. Russ being the party animal that he is was up for going down the night club, but I managed to bribe him out of it with sins of the flesh. I just wanted to get to bed, I was shattered.
We got in, made love and decided to order room service. Russ had a cheeseburger and chips and I had a cheese, tomato and onion omelette. We ate sitting up in bed with a nice cup of coffee and it was lovely. Yes, I admit, the omelette could have been warmer, but it’s probably a long walk from the kitchens. I was just grateful to have some good food at that time of night and to have it delivered to us in bed. Fantastic.
