If you like to read and you like to write…chances are you like to watch. Observing people in their natural habitat is fun, but having the chance to lay on a sunbed all day with a pair of Jackie O’s to hide your prying eyes, well, it doesn’t get much better. And lord knows, there is plenty of interesting subject matter to be found at an all-inclusive resort.
As previously mentioned, the Germans dominate this establishment. Recognisable by their oddly bronzed colouring (I hear they do amazing things with carrot oil these days), and their paradise vogel clothing. Summertime all bound up in a snappy little packet. They like to join forces – dragging sunlounges into camps resembling something from the Wild West. On holiday, the normal restraint in clothing is exchanged for bikinis that make my eyes water. Bikinis that land on bodies who have obviously indulged in a knödel or six too many since last summer. Men prefer tiny tight shorts – the style that looks dreamy on a young Italian Adonis parading through a crowded beach on Sardinia, but quite terrifying when matched with the result of regular Friday evening Octoberfest behaviour.
And they complain… boy do they complain. It’s too hot, or the AC is too cold. There are not enough tables on the terrace (every meal must be eaten Al Fresco or the holiday is a wash out) – the musical entertainment at night is atrocious!!! (seriously, what did you expect for 299 all-inclusive? Bruce Springsteen himself??)
But the ones that I love the most are the ones that HATE each other. Couples on their Summer holiday (well because that is what you do) who under normal life can manage to pass each other for months on end without having to talk. Cast adrift with their 2.3 children, and watch Mutti und Vatti go into chaos. They talk through their offspring… and they spend more time telling the Restaurant manager how he can do his job better. When he extracts himself to continue doing what he has been doing for 15 years, they move onto reception… where they can spend an extended period detailing each and every crack in the ceiling, rust mark in the bath, lack of toiletries, annoying mosquito… you name it, they will bend your ear extolling their vast knowledge of the hotel industry (well come on… this is the 3rd time they have been ‘overseas’ and stayed in ‘luxury’ hotels….)
There are many other nationalities staying here… the brits seem slightly cowed by the sheer number of Germans – almost like they have just decided to keep their heads down and avoid any conflict (because we all know where that led last time). There are some stunning looking Spanish families, with their golden toned men in tiny shorts strutting about with a macho manliness that makes all other men look a bit like Dame Edna Everage. The Spanish also come en masse, but what appear to be family – jumbles of dark-skinned children fall about them, appearing to belong to whom ever is close enough to pick them up and feed them ice cream.
And then there is me… the pale skinned Aussie woman sitting alone at the pool (because Mr Dear Husband is working) with her rambanctious blonde haired sun child… nobody is alone here… I wonder what magical story they have woven around me. Am I some tragic figure or an unapproachable aloof matron. Perhaps they just find me odd.
It is day 4 and I am on book number 3.
Love LuLu xx