The day had started well. For once in my life I was organised. Boarding passes printed, hotel confirmation printed, driving license packed, passport packed, parking booked, car hire sorted, collected my euros. All done. Now all I had to do is wait for Joe to return from the Shambala festival, de-louse him, wash and dry a few of his clothes, complete the packing. Yes! Joe and I were off to Marbella, Spain for a week in the sunshine.
I really needed this break. I had been working hard for the past few months coupled with the house selling I was feeling frazzled . I also knew there was an onslaught of work to look forward to when I returned so just needed to get away and do nothing. I was really grateful that Joe was coming the ultimate "do nothing" companion.
During the morning I had only one nagging doubt. I had contacted the hotel to let them know we would be arriving late. Their reply was not what I had expected which was basically "we have no booking in your name". I contacted the booking agent straightaway. After making the necessary calls assured me "that there was a slight oversight on behalf of the hotel, but all was resolved now. The hotel knows you will be arriving late. Enjoy your holiday"
Good. Bish! Bash! Bosh! Off we go
Joe arrived home at 2:30 looking very much worse for wear. Very tired, smelly and wet. Nonetheless he was in good spirit. Bag sorted. We were off to Bristol Airport to catch our plane to paradise.
All was going well! Too well! As anyone who knows or has ever travelled with me "things" happen - very randomly. Leg breakages, trampling by horses, jellyfish. That's only with Richard. The list goes on and on: snow in Madrid, RAF escorting a flight full of Celtic fans down to Cardiff airport; being stuck in Ibiza airport due to French air traffic strikes which I also relate to the birth of Joe (not what you're thinking); baggage going missing etc etc etc. At one time it reached such a point that work colleagues would ensure they never travelled with me. Val, my ever suffering PA, would just be waiting for the phone call from me which always started "you never guess whats happened this time....?"
Any way that was then this is now. Start of a new era. Flights taken off on time, landed in time, bags have been collected, car hire sorted, navigated from Malaga Airport to Apartmentos Princesa Playa. What could go wrong? Nothing I thought as I confidently strode into the hotel lobby.
I bounded up to the reception to be greeted by the overnight porter.
"Ola [always good to greet the natives in their language]. I'm Paul Watson and I would like to check in"
My beaming smile soon disappeared.
"Sorry sir, we are fully booked"
" That maybe so. But I have my confirmation to say I have a room"
The porters next statement was truly remarkable. He pulled out a confirmation with my name on it, showing the account was fully paid but still he told me
"We are full! Sorry! Come back tomorrow and we will sort it"
Volcano Watson erupted. You may have heard it
During the next 20 minutes I had just ranted at the porter and the Reservations Manager. Their only response was " I had been lied to by the agent and Expedia". Not that they had cocked up, had actually been paid for my stay but had overbooked. My protestations came to nothing
All I could keep thinking is where were Joe and I going to sleep if we couldn't get into this hotel? The options were the Ibiza Seat hire car, find hotel or in a stable in a manger. Luckily, if there was any luck to be had, we found a hotel just around the corner. It wasn't the best but hey what choice did we have. Although we had to leave the room by 12 noon
Whilst Joe was catching up on his sleep I contacted the agent first thing in the morning letting rip. Panic ensued. They would get back to me. To cut what seemed a very long morning story short we finally got a call at 1pm that we were booked in the Melia Banus Hotel, Puerto Banus. Home to the rich and famous plus Joe and I for a week.
The hotel were made aware of our nightmare and we were upgraded. Private reception, private snack and drinking area, lovely room. Basically it means we have drunk as much champagne as possible for diddly squat. Joe has eaten so much smoked salmon I'm sure he will be trying to swim upstream in the nearest river very soon. The agent also sent us a little gift which in itself was bizarre: rice pudding with cinnamon, three prunes and bottle of water presented on a nice wooden tray. Bizarre. I'm sure it must mean something in the region. Additionally there was an apologetic note and the promise to reimburse me for our troubles.
Now Joe and I are enjoying the holiday. Having fun not by doing very much. Just what we ordered. Not even going think about the journey home!
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