Check 'archives' on right for Part 1 and 2
So we finally arrived at the villa which was to be our home for two weeks. “Don’t think I am going to be chained to the cooker all the time” said Judith as I tried to turn our small car into a smaller driveway before the electric gates closed. ‘No darling’ I replied thinking about 14 days of fried food, barbecues and cosy home suppers.
Now we get to the ‘paradise’ bit The villa was beautiful and I would recommend it to anyone. We have used Villa Select before and they have never let us down so far. It had three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a bright and spacious living area.
The design was modern and the facilities were all there from the large infinity pool to the sunny barbecue area to the large balconies with views over the bay of Alcudia. There was a modern halogen hob, new looking cooker and washing machine and an excellent fridge freezer. You will be able to make great meals here I said to Judith as she gave me an icy stare. ‘No, let’s go out instead’ she snapped.
That first night we drove the short distance to Alcudia where we promptly got lost. ‘Left here’ she shouted after we passed the turning for the second time that day. We eventually ended up in the old town where we seemed to be the only tourists and came face to face with an eighteen inch penis. It was attached to an eight foot statue of a naked violinist that was ‘mounted’ in the forecourt of a small bar. Naturally we could not resist dining there.
We sat adjacent to the statue but we could not escape from its member as the setting sun threw its shadow right across our table. Rather unnerving when you are eating a ham baguette I can assure you. I placed the pepper and salt at one end and it looked quite lifelike! After being stared at by the locals, drinking beer and watching the sunset we drove home. Apparently our naked stone friend was called Javier San Pedro but I am not sure if the scale used was lifelike or wistful thinking.
We went out touring in the car a few of the days and found some really nice places that make mockery of the concept that Majorca is all crowded beaches, nightclubs and tourist dominated. There are such places for those that want them but they are mainly in the south, except for perhaps Port de Alcudia.
A great place to go is Port de Solier on the west coast. The drive is quite hair raising over mountains and around many tight bends but it is worth it for the views. We ended up behind a very nervous driver who panicked and nearly stopped at every bend and then shot off afterwards to stop you overtaking. He met his match when he met a bus driving psychopath on a particularly bad loop. They ended up bonnet to bonnet with neither able nor willing to give way. We nipped past whilst they screamed at each other.
We then ended up behind another bus which was aptly named ‘no frills bus tours’. An inspiring name and the people aboard looked wretched. By the look of it no frills meant no air conditioning, no shock absorbers and no windows that opened. It was dull rust red in colour (no paint) and the driver was wearing a vest (no shirt). Even Michael O’Leary would think that this bus had less frills than his Ryanair planes.
We went to a lot of the usual places like Formentor where you can climb down from little car parks to gorgeous little beaches and Cala San Vicente which is a very pretty little resort in a small bay that has some very nice cafes.
When we ate out we either drove in to Pollensa old town or Port de Pollensa depending on what mood we were in. If we wanted pretty and quaint it was the former where you could sit in the main square, eat good food and watch people who were probably watching you. Everybody eyes each other up on holiday; it is part of the ‘fun’. I think they particularly appreciated it when I got drunk with a Brazilian waiter who demonstrated (repeatedly) how to make an authentic caiprinha.
Port de Pollensa is at the seaside and full of cafes lined along the front. This place is great fun on any evening and you would be amazed by some of the sights that walk past. In June the local people are out in force too so it is quite a scramble of tourists and residents of all sizes, ages and dress sense as well as the local dogs which get taken walkies in the evenings. The latter provided great entertainment by escaping, tangling leads, fighting and occasionally defecating while you are trying to eat your paella.
Picking up dog litter seems an alien concept to the Majorcans. Very often they do not notice what their dogs are doing as one lady with a chihuahua demonstrated. It was on one of those extending leads so it got ahead of its owner and squatted down by a palm tree in an orderly manner. Sadly for him and everyone else his owner failed to notice and the next minute Fido was projected through the air when the lead tightened. It continued to ‘go’ as it flew dropping bombs like something out of the dam busters film.
What can you do? You cannot pick it up and you cannot tell ever passerby about it. So we decided to wait and watch while vast numbers of people came from either side all converging on these brown bombs. We felt so helpless but it was compelling viewing.Eventually there was a bulls-eye by a local on a bike followed by a glancing blow from a lady in heels. We really did feel guilty!
Food at both these locations is of a reasonably high standard taking all into account although it is not particularly cheap. Wine costs far less than the UK and Majorcan grapes are quite acceptable. Food in the supermarkets is pretty extensive and you will find many international brands. The bigger the supermarket the bigger the range and the cheaper the price but that is the same the world over. You can use credit cards at most places but only if you can show ID like a passport or driving license.
More about villa life and the homeward journey in my final blog on this subject out next week.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Thursday, 27 October 2011
A Blogger in Majorca - Part 2 of 4
Ok, where was I? Oh yes, we were airborne and flying serenely to our holiday isle. We were getting slightly sizzled on champagne and considerably nauseous over the chocolate. My chunky neighbour had an itch and the guy behind seemed to be suffering from cramp judging by the number of times his leg jerked into my seat back.
I tried to focus on the entertainment system but the overhead screens were poor and the programme poorer. I watched in silence as you could only buy (not rent) headsets and nobody said before the flight you could bring your own. Funny that! At least I had the little girl in front to ‘amuse’ me as she lolled over her seat back and pulled faces. Are you a monster she asked? I am not sure I replied. Yes you are she said as the faces continued.
Her dad was a shaven head brute of a man in an athletic vest. He was covered in tattoos. He had ‘True’ and ‘Love’ across his knuckles, wrestling dragons, anchors and mermaids around his neck and back. All along one arm he had ‘Karen Forever’ which was rather strange as we later found out his wife next to him was called Dawn. He leaned over his seat and glared at me as though I was a pervert and said ‘Hanna (again not Karen), don’t talk to that man. Happy days I thought.
The plane touched down without further incident and I had to reflect on how painless it was. I had avoided DVT and sipped champagne which is a good combination. There was no queue to speak of at immigration and our bags popped up last as usual. Some kind soul in the baggage area had snipped my BA Executive Club labels in half but that was the only damage.
So all we had to do now was collect our car and drive to our villa in the northern part of the island near Pollensa and 55 minutes away. We used a company called 'Centauro' and I would recommend them. I found it best not to book the company that Thomson recommends as everybody else does it and the queue at their desk was horrendous.
They are located on the airport perimeter road and you get to them by their transfer bus. It should have been very easy except their printed directions to the bus stop had been written by someone facing customs not coming out of it; hence we wandered off in the opposite direction. Once this got sorted we found the lane we had to stand by but no ‘Centauro’ sign as there wasn’t one. I found waving and leaping in front of their vehicle had the desired effect
We got to their facility and were issued with the necessary contract and guides very quickly. Within less than 10 minutes we were sitting in our ‘violent blue’ Fiesta that groaned under the weight of three large suitcases and us. Why three large cases? Because I am a packaholic. All those years of travel and I still over-pack. Once I wrapped a large beach umbrella in bin liners and took it to Mauritius in case there was not enough shade for our young daughter!
This time I was slightly better and only packed double clothes, half a chemist shop, cling film, Marmite and a pair of swimming trunks for each day. I had however forgotten all my underpants and charging units for Ipod, camera (which went flat) and Kindle. Judith’s eyes rolled as she saw all the silly stuff falling out at the other end.
So we hit the road. Actually it nearly hit us as I judged my first roundabout rather inaccurately. Judith had the map and I had my short driving temper. Turn left she shrieked about twenty yards after the correct turn-off. Relations were strained but eventually we found the right road. By the way they have changed the motorway speed limit to 110 kph. I remind you as the Centauro maps are rather ancient (as are others) and still tell you it is 120 kph. Also be aware that most Majorcan coach drivers are suicidal psychopaths.
The motorways and roads in general are smooth and very well maintained. I am glad that Spain uses our huge EC subsidies to ensure we can glide to our destinations. The signage is also pretty good. Parking can be tricky especially in the busy months and around the old towns but places are very clearly marked. I would recommend driving to even the nervous except for the westerly coast road which is a bit of a switchback and sometimes inhabited by those bus driving psychopaths I mentioned.
The main part of our drive to the villa was uneventful. Having got on the main motorway to the north we simply cruised for 45 minutes until it became a two lane highway. The directions were spot on until this point but then we arrived at the road/track where our villa was located. Things then became confused as we drove in the fading light down a single lane track with dead ends, dodgy signage and blind corners. Having narrowly missed two chickens, a pig and the neighbours Daschund we arrived at the Villa Son Rotger.
How we got on with the villa, the shops, the resorts, cafes and restaurants will be in my next spellbinding blog.
I tried to focus on the entertainment system but the overhead screens were poor and the programme poorer. I watched in silence as you could only buy (not rent) headsets and nobody said before the flight you could bring your own. Funny that! At least I had the little girl in front to ‘amuse’ me as she lolled over her seat back and pulled faces. Are you a monster she asked? I am not sure I replied. Yes you are she said as the faces continued.
Her dad was a shaven head brute of a man in an athletic vest. He was covered in tattoos. He had ‘True’ and ‘Love’ across his knuckles, wrestling dragons, anchors and mermaids around his neck and back. All along one arm he had ‘Karen Forever’ which was rather strange as we later found out his wife next to him was called Dawn. He leaned over his seat and glared at me as though I was a pervert and said ‘Hanna (again not Karen), don’t talk to that man. Happy days I thought.
The plane touched down without further incident and I had to reflect on how painless it was. I had avoided DVT and sipped champagne which is a good combination. There was no queue to speak of at immigration and our bags popped up last as usual. Some kind soul in the baggage area had snipped my BA Executive Club labels in half but that was the only damage.
So all we had to do now was collect our car and drive to our villa in the northern part of the island near Pollensa and 55 minutes away. We used a company called 'Centauro' and I would recommend them. I found it best not to book the company that Thomson recommends as everybody else does it and the queue at their desk was horrendous.
They are located on the airport perimeter road and you get to them by their transfer bus. It should have been very easy except their printed directions to the bus stop had been written by someone facing customs not coming out of it; hence we wandered off in the opposite direction. Once this got sorted we found the lane we had to stand by but no ‘Centauro’ sign as there wasn’t one. I found waving and leaping in front of their vehicle had the desired effect
We got to their facility and were issued with the necessary contract and guides very quickly. Within less than 10 minutes we were sitting in our ‘violent blue’ Fiesta that groaned under the weight of three large suitcases and us. Why three large cases? Because I am a packaholic. All those years of travel and I still over-pack. Once I wrapped a large beach umbrella in bin liners and took it to Mauritius in case there was not enough shade for our young daughter!
This time I was slightly better and only packed double clothes, half a chemist shop, cling film, Marmite and a pair of swimming trunks for each day. I had however forgotten all my underpants and charging units for Ipod, camera (which went flat) and Kindle. Judith’s eyes rolled as she saw all the silly stuff falling out at the other end.
So we hit the road. Actually it nearly hit us as I judged my first roundabout rather inaccurately. Judith had the map and I had my short driving temper. Turn left she shrieked about twenty yards after the correct turn-off. Relations were strained but eventually we found the right road. By the way they have changed the motorway speed limit to 110 kph. I remind you as the Centauro maps are rather ancient (as are others) and still tell you it is 120 kph. Also be aware that most Majorcan coach drivers are suicidal psychopaths.
The motorways and roads in general are smooth and very well maintained. I am glad that Spain uses our huge EC subsidies to ensure we can glide to our destinations. The signage is also pretty good. Parking can be tricky especially in the busy months and around the old towns but places are very clearly marked. I would recommend driving to even the nervous except for the westerly coast road which is a bit of a switchback and sometimes inhabited by those bus driving psychopaths I mentioned.
The main part of our drive to the villa was uneventful. Having got on the main motorway to the north we simply cruised for 45 minutes until it became a two lane highway. The directions were spot on until this point but then we arrived at the road/track where our villa was located. Things then became confused as we drove in the fading light down a single lane track with dead ends, dodgy signage and blind corners. Having narrowly missed two chickens, a pig and the neighbours Daschund we arrived at the Villa Son Rotger.
How we got on with the villa, the shops, the resorts, cafes and restaurants will be in my next spellbinding blog.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
A Blogger in Majorca Part 1 of 4
I must admit I have never thought the words paradise and Majorca went together and maybe they don’t entirely. However I was surprised how close they got when I spent two weeks there very recently.
I am a self confessed travel snob who has been spoilt silly by first class travel and holiday destinations like The Maldives, Mustique, Mauritius and suchlike. But this time we wanted somewhere closer to home, cheaper and less hassle and we came up with Majorca which is just two hours flight away and sunny. So off I went online and booked Thompson flights, local car hire and a villa through Villa Select.
I was filled with a sense of foreboding as I found out more about the place. You have to get there by low cost airlines or holiday charters (what no special desks and premium cabins?). Then somebody in the pub told me about Palma Nova and Magaluf with their rowdy pubs, English cafes, nightclubs, big plasma sports screens and everything else I have not enjoyed since I was in my twenties. What have I done I thought as our departure date got nearer.
Finally the day came and off we went to Gatwick. We arrived at North Terminal and walked past our usual un-crowded BA Executive Club check in desk and into the people maelstrom called the Thomson check in area. It looked like pandemonium with milling crowds of young party people, families and old gits like me and there were hundreds of them. Not only that but they were checking in all flights at the same row of desks and my heart sank.
Using my vast travel experience I concluded this simply could not work…but it did. In no time we were herded by a team of Thomson staff into a huge ‘conga’ line of a queue that zigzagged at least eight times backwards and forwards across the whole width of the departure area. This will take years I snarled to Judith as we fitted in behind a group of young school leaver party girls and in front of a couple juggling 3 children, two bottles of water and an array of buggies. It took only 20 minutes. After much shuffling, bumping and tight turning we were at the front where we got politely manhandled by a couple of shouting marshals who pointed to one of the desks
. Check-in was seamless apart from one big but. I wanted extra baggage above our one 20kg case each allowance so I prepaid for an extra bag online by adding an extra £30 to our bill. I soon found out that yes, you can have an extra case but no, you could not have any extra weight. What is all that about? What is the point in paying for two bags if you can only carry stuff for one in them? Weird! Anyway they tried to charge me £100 in excess baggage and it took all my selling skills to talk them out of it.
We walked past our usual empty priority security channel and joined the rear of the busy general entrance and, to my surprise we were through in no time. OK I had to dress again having taken off my shoes, belt, jacket, watch etc but that would have happened anyway these days. It was unfortunate my trousers dropped to my knees as I walked through the metal detector but at least they could see I had no obvious secret weapon. I hope I have decent underwear I thought as I bent down to pick them up.
The thought of hanging around the main departures area was too much for my spoilt sensibilities so I had prepaid for the use of the No.1. Lounge when I was booking our Gatwick North Terminal valet parking. It cost £40 for the two of us and it was bright, airy and not overcrowded. For the £20 a head we could have lunch, watch a film, and drink what we wanted for up to 3 hours. When you think that on the aircraft the meal alone costs £12 each it is a cost effective way of lunching and drinking beforehand in comfort whilst getting away from the crowds.
Flight time loomed so off we went to the gate. The only trouble was that the advertised gate was incorrect. In fact I do not think it existed. This resulted in much milling around where the passengers reckoned it should be. Eventually a member of Thomson staff beckoned from a nearby desk (which said ‘closed’ above it) and off we strode.
Why we all do it I do not know but as soon as a flight is called for boarding it is something like the ‘charge of the light brigade’. The plane won’t go without us but we all make that undignified dash. Some people start queuing at the gate an hour beforehand. I can only think it is because everyone wants to be sure there is still room to stow their bags before others from surrounding seats chuck their stuff in first.
Finally we were on board this rather old looking Airbus with rather old looking and very small tight-packed seats. I had paid (£25) for extra leg room and got it in the emergency exit row. Unfortunately a rather enormous person had the same idea and squeezed in next to us. What would have happened in an emergency is anyone’s guess but folk would have had to scale the man mountain first to get out.
To my surprise the flight was really good. I had to get used to paying for everything but I could not fault it. If I had been anywhere in the rest of the plane I might have got claustrophobia but my little row was great even with the big guy alongside. Again I had pre-ordered champagne and chocolates (for £25) and a full size bottle arrived with no fuss. This is not at all bad I thought and certainly rivalled many a short-haul schedule flight I have been on in the past.
So we sat back, relaxed and waited for our arrival in Palma, What would the airport, car and villa be like? Would the island be one big hen party/stag tour? Would I live on a diet of egg and chips washed down with “tea like mum makes it”. If you can bear the tension stay tuned for the next thrilling episode on a computer screen near you soon!
I am a self confessed travel snob who has been spoilt silly by first class travel and holiday destinations like The Maldives, Mustique, Mauritius and suchlike. But this time we wanted somewhere closer to home, cheaper and less hassle and we came up with Majorca which is just two hours flight away and sunny. So off I went online and booked Thompson flights, local car hire and a villa through Villa Select.
I was filled with a sense of foreboding as I found out more about the place. You have to get there by low cost airlines or holiday charters (what no special desks and premium cabins?). Then somebody in the pub told me about Palma Nova and Magaluf with their rowdy pubs, English cafes, nightclubs, big plasma sports screens and everything else I have not enjoyed since I was in my twenties. What have I done I thought as our departure date got nearer.
Finally the day came and off we went to Gatwick. We arrived at North Terminal and walked past our usual un-crowded BA Executive Club check in desk and into the people maelstrom called the Thomson check in area. It looked like pandemonium with milling crowds of young party people, families and old gits like me and there were hundreds of them. Not only that but they were checking in all flights at the same row of desks and my heart sank.
Using my vast travel experience I concluded this simply could not work…but it did. In no time we were herded by a team of Thomson staff into a huge ‘conga’ line of a queue that zigzagged at least eight times backwards and forwards across the whole width of the departure area. This will take years I snarled to Judith as we fitted in behind a group of young school leaver party girls and in front of a couple juggling 3 children, two bottles of water and an array of buggies. It took only 20 minutes. After much shuffling, bumping and tight turning we were at the front where we got politely manhandled by a couple of shouting marshals who pointed to one of the desks
. Check-in was seamless apart from one big but. I wanted extra baggage above our one 20kg case each allowance so I prepaid for an extra bag online by adding an extra £30 to our bill. I soon found out that yes, you can have an extra case but no, you could not have any extra weight. What is all that about? What is the point in paying for two bags if you can only carry stuff for one in them? Weird! Anyway they tried to charge me £100 in excess baggage and it took all my selling skills to talk them out of it.
We walked past our usual empty priority security channel and joined the rear of the busy general entrance and, to my surprise we were through in no time. OK I had to dress again having taken off my shoes, belt, jacket, watch etc but that would have happened anyway these days. It was unfortunate my trousers dropped to my knees as I walked through the metal detector but at least they could see I had no obvious secret weapon. I hope I have decent underwear I thought as I bent down to pick them up.
The thought of hanging around the main departures area was too much for my spoilt sensibilities so I had prepaid for the use of the No.1. Lounge when I was booking our Gatwick North Terminal valet parking. It cost £40 for the two of us and it was bright, airy and not overcrowded. For the £20 a head we could have lunch, watch a film, and drink what we wanted for up to 3 hours. When you think that on the aircraft the meal alone costs £12 each it is a cost effective way of lunching and drinking beforehand in comfort whilst getting away from the crowds.
Flight time loomed so off we went to the gate. The only trouble was that the advertised gate was incorrect. In fact I do not think it existed. This resulted in much milling around where the passengers reckoned it should be. Eventually a member of Thomson staff beckoned from a nearby desk (which said ‘closed’ above it) and off we strode.
Why we all do it I do not know but as soon as a flight is called for boarding it is something like the ‘charge of the light brigade’. The plane won’t go without us but we all make that undignified dash. Some people start queuing at the gate an hour beforehand. I can only think it is because everyone wants to be sure there is still room to stow their bags before others from surrounding seats chuck their stuff in first.
Finally we were on board this rather old looking Airbus with rather old looking and very small tight-packed seats. I had paid (£25) for extra leg room and got it in the emergency exit row. Unfortunately a rather enormous person had the same idea and squeezed in next to us. What would have happened in an emergency is anyone’s guess but folk would have had to scale the man mountain first to get out.
To my surprise the flight was really good. I had to get used to paying for everything but I could not fault it. If I had been anywhere in the rest of the plane I might have got claustrophobia but my little row was great even with the big guy alongside. Again I had pre-ordered champagne and chocolates (for £25) and a full size bottle arrived with no fuss. This is not at all bad I thought and certainly rivalled many a short-haul schedule flight I have been on in the past.
So we sat back, relaxed and waited for our arrival in Palma, What would the airport, car and villa be like? Would the island be one big hen party/stag tour? Would I live on a diet of egg and chips washed down with “tea like mum makes it”. If you can bear the tension stay tuned for the next thrilling episode on a computer screen near you soon!
A Blogger in The Maldives
I went on holiday to The Maldives quite recently and had such a great time I thought I would report on how to get there from the UK. and what to expect. I have now stayed at Cocoa Island, Mirihi, Conrad Rangali and Lily Beach so if anyone wants the lowdown on any of these places let me know.
I usually try to inject some humour in these blogs and I did have a few moments of amusement while out there. The last island I stayed at was Lily Beach which is an all inclusive resort and hence it could be a bit lively in the evening. I was minding my own business in the bar one night when this very large gentleman from Frankfurt sat down next to me. Actually he plunged more than sat and the contents of his scotch glass flew over his shoulder into a plant pot.
Not to be outdone he lurched off the seat, went to the bar for another, staggered back, aimed his bottom at the seat and plunged down again. Another double scotch shot over his shoulder into the pot. I think he lost about four out of five of his whiskies until, on his final plunge he too shot back into the plant pot. The next morning on the way to breakfast I stopped at the plant pot. The palm growing out of it had snapped and the leaves had turned yellow.
The only other excitement of note was when a Korean couple ran their pedalo aground on the island reef. They did not seem too worried as they started taking pictures of each other being rescued. And of course there was a lady from London who threatened to report me because I killed an ant that was walking up the side of my Tiger beer!
Anyway, back to my report:
So what is your idea of a holiday paradise and more importantly, does it exist outside your imagination in this modern well travelled world? You may want somewhere sunny and warm. A desert island, but not too deserted and not so primitive you cannot enjoy your creature comforts. You will want to be safe, relaxed and be lazy or active as and when the mood takes you. To enjoy nature at its most spectacular but still sleep in clean white sheets listening to the water lapping around and wondering if should have eaten so much lobster at the moonlit barbecue.
Well this year I lived my dream. I found the Maldives. Obviously I had heard of them before but I never once thought they could possibly be as good as the hype. 40 years in travel had taught me that you can never totally believe the brochures, websites and superlatives from other people each with their individual ideas on perfection. Besides, I thought, the Maldives were hard to get to and so very far from civilisation. So let me tell you how an old travel hand got it wrong.
Firstly I discovered that British Airways had started flying non stop to Male, the capital. You can also go direct on a Thomson charter or using a through flight via Colombo on Srilankan. If you are willing to change aircraft there are excellent connections via Dubai or Doha on Emirates or Qatar Airways respectively. These connections are very slick and usually quite painless. Some people even split their holidays with a week in Dubai and then again in the Maldives. I chose direct with BA as I got a good price and a non stop flight is more likely to get you there quickly and with your baggage.
The next obstacle in my mind was getting to my chosen island. You see the international flight lands at an airport island next to the capital Male and you still need to go either by air or speedboat to your resort. Trouble and stress I immediately thought. Wrong. They operate like a well oiled machine. As soon as you pass through customs the resort team is waiting. You either walk across the road to a waiting speed launch or onto an air-conditioned bus to whisk you and your bags to the seaplane terminal 5 minutes away.
This final short transit transforms from a chore to a plus point of the holiday. Your sea plane is usually waiting there for you. If there is any delay then most of the resorts have lounges that look over the lagoon where you can watch the coming and going. The planes are loads of fun. Yes, they are a bit noisy and yes they can sometimes get a bit hot but this is more than made up for by the thrill of take off and landing and the breathtaking views of the coral atolls you fly over. A magical experience and one to be anticipated not dreaded.
One thing to remember though is that the weight allowance on these planes is 20 kilos regardless of what you may have been allowed on your incoming international flight. Excess baggage charges are quite reasonable but bear in mind there are aircraft weight constraints which might mean they could hold a bag back for the next flight. It is always a good thing to have one bag which you keep close containing immediate essentials just in case.
The longest flight is usually around 40 minutes but more often under the half hour. You land on the sheltered side of the resort and the seaplane taxis up to a floating pontoon. From there you board the resort launch for the very short hop to the reception pier. Usually by this time you would have been given iced towels and bottled water and an enthusiastic greeting from the local staff. And yes, they really do seem to mean it as these are small islands and I think they genuinely look forward to seeing new faces.
There are numerous resorts with all types of accommodation and meal plans. You can stay in beach villas or my favourite which are built over water on stilts. Some are basic but clean and others have their own spa, pool and decking. The food and drink has to be imported (as do the chefs) and is of the highest quality and range. Most ingredients are from Australia except for the fish which is mainly locally caught using traditional methods.
So there you are, sitting on your decking and gazing out at your very own picture postcard Desert Island and aquarium but with everything you need available if you want it. Everywhere I went my mobile, blackberry and computer worked if I wanted them. I once phoned into a company conference call when sitting on a lounger under a sun umbrella with a cold beer and a staff member next to me cleaning my sun glasses! By now you have ditched your shoes and probably not wear any again until you leave.
The Maldives is a wonderful place and it did not disappoint me once. It is safe, welcoming scenically stunning and full of warm spirited friendly people. My only regret was going home. If you ever want a once in a lifetime trip go to the Maldives…except I suspect you will try to go again and again afterwards. Once you have swum with whale sharks and manta rays you become hooked
I usually try to inject some humour in these blogs and I did have a few moments of amusement while out there. The last island I stayed at was Lily Beach which is an all inclusive resort and hence it could be a bit lively in the evening. I was minding my own business in the bar one night when this very large gentleman from Frankfurt sat down next to me. Actually he plunged more than sat and the contents of his scotch glass flew over his shoulder into a plant pot.
Not to be outdone he lurched off the seat, went to the bar for another, staggered back, aimed his bottom at the seat and plunged down again. Another double scotch shot over his shoulder into the pot. I think he lost about four out of five of his whiskies until, on his final plunge he too shot back into the plant pot. The next morning on the way to breakfast I stopped at the plant pot. The palm growing out of it had snapped and the leaves had turned yellow.
The only other excitement of note was when a Korean couple ran their pedalo aground on the island reef. They did not seem too worried as they started taking pictures of each other being rescued. And of course there was a lady from London who threatened to report me because I killed an ant that was walking up the side of my Tiger beer!
Anyway, back to my report:
So what is your idea of a holiday paradise and more importantly, does it exist outside your imagination in this modern well travelled world? You may want somewhere sunny and warm. A desert island, but not too deserted and not so primitive you cannot enjoy your creature comforts. You will want to be safe, relaxed and be lazy or active as and when the mood takes you. To enjoy nature at its most spectacular but still sleep in clean white sheets listening to the water lapping around and wondering if should have eaten so much lobster at the moonlit barbecue.
Well this year I lived my dream. I found the Maldives. Obviously I had heard of them before but I never once thought they could possibly be as good as the hype. 40 years in travel had taught me that you can never totally believe the brochures, websites and superlatives from other people each with their individual ideas on perfection. Besides, I thought, the Maldives were hard to get to and so very far from civilisation. So let me tell you how an old travel hand got it wrong.
Firstly I discovered that British Airways had started flying non stop to Male, the capital. You can also go direct on a Thomson charter or using a through flight via Colombo on Srilankan. If you are willing to change aircraft there are excellent connections via Dubai or Doha on Emirates or Qatar Airways respectively. These connections are very slick and usually quite painless. Some people even split their holidays with a week in Dubai and then again in the Maldives. I chose direct with BA as I got a good price and a non stop flight is more likely to get you there quickly and with your baggage.
The next obstacle in my mind was getting to my chosen island. You see the international flight lands at an airport island next to the capital Male and you still need to go either by air or speedboat to your resort. Trouble and stress I immediately thought. Wrong. They operate like a well oiled machine. As soon as you pass through customs the resort team is waiting. You either walk across the road to a waiting speed launch or onto an air-conditioned bus to whisk you and your bags to the seaplane terminal 5 minutes away.
This final short transit transforms from a chore to a plus point of the holiday. Your sea plane is usually waiting there for you. If there is any delay then most of the resorts have lounges that look over the lagoon where you can watch the coming and going. The planes are loads of fun. Yes, they are a bit noisy and yes they can sometimes get a bit hot but this is more than made up for by the thrill of take off and landing and the breathtaking views of the coral atolls you fly over. A magical experience and one to be anticipated not dreaded.
One thing to remember though is that the weight allowance on these planes is 20 kilos regardless of what you may have been allowed on your incoming international flight. Excess baggage charges are quite reasonable but bear in mind there are aircraft weight constraints which might mean they could hold a bag back for the next flight. It is always a good thing to have one bag which you keep close containing immediate essentials just in case.
The longest flight is usually around 40 minutes but more often under the half hour. You land on the sheltered side of the resort and the seaplane taxis up to a floating pontoon. From there you board the resort launch for the very short hop to the reception pier. Usually by this time you would have been given iced towels and bottled water and an enthusiastic greeting from the local staff. And yes, they really do seem to mean it as these are small islands and I think they genuinely look forward to seeing new faces.
There are numerous resorts with all types of accommodation and meal plans. You can stay in beach villas or my favourite which are built over water on stilts. Some are basic but clean and others have their own spa, pool and decking. The food and drink has to be imported (as do the chefs) and is of the highest quality and range. Most ingredients are from Australia except for the fish which is mainly locally caught using traditional methods.
So there you are, sitting on your decking and gazing out at your very own picture postcard Desert Island and aquarium but with everything you need available if you want it. Everywhere I went my mobile, blackberry and computer worked if I wanted them. I once phoned into a company conference call when sitting on a lounger under a sun umbrella with a cold beer and a staff member next to me cleaning my sun glasses! By now you have ditched your shoes and probably not wear any again until you leave.
The Maldives is a wonderful place and it did not disappoint me once. It is safe, welcoming scenically stunning and full of warm spirited friendly people. My only regret was going home. If you ever want a once in a lifetime trip go to the Maldives…except I suspect you will try to go again and again afterwards. Once you have swum with whale sharks and manta rays you become hooked
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)