But I’ve still got loads more memories of holidays going back over now more than 40 years. And I agree with an FB post I saw the other day which said
“I’d rather have a passport full of stamps than a house full of things”
So – a few more dug from the crevices of my ancient memory...
Back in March 1972 I was so enthralled with my new discovery of cheap package holidays (I was an expert, I’d taken two!) I persuaded my younger brother and sister and friends to come on a 4day Thomson package Newcastle to Benidorm, cost 35 quid a head I think,
staying at the Hotel Reymar. I remember they served some sort of ghastly
tasteless meatballs at every meal, even breakfast. And in those days buffet
service hadn’t been invented, you were always served at your table by young
Spanish girls who spoke no English. The weather unluckily was cold, wet and
windy for the four days, which didn’t match up to the glowing reports I’d given
everyone else based upon my extensive (??) travel experience.
The flight back from Alicante to Newcastle was ghastly – tremendous headwinds all the way made the flight time increase to well over 4 hours, and the plane adopted a strange
corkscrewing motion all the way with lots of violent turbulence .
That, and everyone smoking because they were a little nervous, meant there
were lots of folk being very sick. Vomiting into the aisle! The smell was
awful. It was truly the worst, scariest flight I’ve ever had in my life, before, or since.
My brother – on his first ever continental holiday – got off the plane at Newcastle and kissed the tarmac when we eventually landed. And declared:-
“While I was up there I made a promise to God,if he gets me home safe I’ll never ever fly again”.
Sadly – he’s kept that promise and for all of his life has never ever flown again despite staying fit and healthy and despite everyone trying to persuade him.
Benidorm back in those days was pretty much a monopoly for a hotel group called MedPlaya. For some strange reason they had adopted a policy of all their hotel names beginning with the letter “R”. So there were Riviera, Reymar, Ruidor, Regente and so on.
All very similar in price and abysmal standards. (ie nothing like the standards
we all insist upon today). Air conditioning, inroom TVs etc etc, were never ever available.No room safes either – so you hid your pesetas and passport in your underwear
drawer.
I was the first of my peer group to venture to travel a little further in 1980 – all the way to Agadir in Morroco – which was considered really exotic in those days. And there were no
direct charter flights from the UK. The journey meant a train Newcastle to London, then a 27 stop! (I remember it well) tube journey out to Heathrow. Then a flight to Tangiers, followed by a change to a flight to Casablanca, and then another change to a final flight to Agadir. All the flights were Royal Air Maroc – and we wouldn’t touch the strange “foreign” food they offered as inflight meals. (Couscous figured a lot I remember -which we had never then heard of - and we were terrified we might be given sheeps eyeballs – which we
had read of in novels)
I’ve been lost in many places in the world. So many, I’ve learnt to say “I’m Lost” in 14 different languages, and to always carry a piece of paper with my target destination or
hotel in the local tongue.
I once got left alone behind by the coach at midnight, in Jemaael-Fnaa square in Marracech. I’d been off by myself taking lots of photos of this amazing place, and the Thomas Cook rep on the coach, which arrived at the pickup point early, miscounted and thought he had everyone. Fortunately I had money and a matchbook in my pocket from the hotel, and I met a friendly taxidriver who spoke only Arabic, but he got me there.
