1950’s holiday camp

Well here we are in our beautifully regimented ‘holiday village’ with manicured hedges,  spotless paths and geriatric customers.  We are within spitting distance of the sea and falling asleep to the wind and waves has to be my favourite thing.  I managed to evade the musical ‘aerobics’ on the beach this morning, where octogenarians were moving with tortured slowness trying not to fracture anything, by looking the other way all the way to the sea.  I swear that Gina Lollobrigida is staying in the caravan two doors down.

There is a beautiful swimming pool with several lifeguards and you have to wear a swimming hat, possibly to prevent toupees being sucked into the filter system.  There are enthusiastic announcements every morning and so many rules!  There are helpful signs indicating what you should and shouldn’t do, may favourite is “We invite our guests to uses these sinks for cleaning fish.”  I haven’t brought a fish, I wonder if it’s ok to wash my dog in it?

Another sign, language indicated by a British flag is: Es is verboten, Schnüre sowie planenan den Bäumen zu befestigen.  Which I’m almost certain is not English.  However by far the most helpful instruction is as follows:  You may not make the bathroom in the hall “launch” defined by the boe yellow use only for the exit and return to the vessel.   I have absolutely no idea what that means.

The toilets are amazing here there is one for every nationality, with seats, without seats, holes in the ground and those special ones for men so they don’t bang their balls on the loo when they sit down! We saw something similar in Ephesus in the Roman toilets, clearly an Italian thing.

We discovered that Sunny is terrified of crabs when the ageing Don Giovanni next door, who has been force feeding us cactus fruit, presented us with a pair of them!

Apart from being dive bombed by an army helicopter this morning it has been a peaceful and uneventful couple of days.