The Big Getaway - Part 3 - The Hotel

Having arrived in Italy at the confusingly named Venice Airport, which is not in Venice, and is not so far as I could tell even on the same Island, we were bused by a coach to the hotel. The coach, despite appearing relatively new, had no seat belts. This, I discovered was typically Italian. They are part of the EU and are therefore subject to EU laws. It's just that they ignore them, and the Police don't enforce them as I found later, where it was commonplace in the resort to sit two ladies on the back deck of your two seater sports car so that you and your friend could sit up front. Health and Safety has yet to arrive in Italy it seems. Or maybe it did, but was having a siesta.
The coach brought us to our hotel, a modern looking and rather nice place called the Hotel D' something or other. I know it had A's D's and a Z in it, but god knows what it said or meant. More important was the sign in English which Identified it as the Friends Bar. Friends - where everybody knows your name. This might not be quite so sinister if it were not immediately described by the holiday rep as a homely family run hotel. In no other country in the world would this cause consternation. Did she mean family run, or "Family" run? If I upset the waitress, would I wake up with a horses head?
Fortunately the situation became clear when the owner, his wife and the waitress who was obviously their daughter had a full on "Fawlty Towers" style row whilst they served dinner on the first night. Sadly there was no waiter from Barcelona to complete the ensemble. Yes, this was definitely family run, and the homely aspect also became clear. Homely, meaning "like home." Hence none of the crockery matched, the cutlery was dirty and you got served vegetables whether you wanted them or not. Just like at home.
The next problem to arise was that of the air conditioned room we had booked. The room itself was exactly as described, with a bathroom (with a shower, not a bath) two toilets, although my more travelled wife explained that one of these was a bidet, and a sink. There were beds for four, a TV and a spacious balcony cum terrace. I mention this because my in laws who travelled with us had a balcony which wasn't so much a balcony as a French window with a wide ledge. Ours was as big as our room, and gave a great view of the street outside, wonderful for people watching. And the room as promised was air conditioned. Sadly there was a previously undisclosed charge of 60 euros to turn this on. This is the problem with booking a package holiday 10 months in advance. We had no idea that the Italian economy would go into free fall, and that in order to recoup some losses they would be a little economical with the truth about certain additional charges. With a wide patio door onto the balcony I decline the extortionate air con levy and figured it would be much cooler at night, and if the worse came to the worse I would sleep with the patio open. We did, and the worse did come tot he worse, the temperature kept on soaring, with a daytime high of 44 and overnight temperatures in the 30's. Even the locals were complaining about the heat. The Hotel did however have one great bonus - an outdoor pool! In the UK this would have been pointless - it would have been too cold even on the sunniest of days. Out there it was a god send. Actually it had another great bonus- ice creams at 1 Euro a pop in a choice of probably 20 flavours - I don't think I got through them all, but I certainly had a damn good try. A small beer (400 cl - too big to be a half and not big enough to be a pint) cost 3 Euros, which ensured not too much was drunk. You could of course opt for the house special of the week, which was Guinness at 5 euros for a "large beer" which I think was a litre. Or you could pop over the road to a mini market where red wine could be bought at 1 and a half Euros a litre, which made it cheaper than petrol - mind you, it tasted like petrol too, so that might explain why. Better wines were of course available at a higher price, this region of Italy being famous for it's wines, grapes, lemons and although it was news to me kiwi fruit. Apparently they grow more Kiwis than the Kiwis.
Anyway, I digress from the main point, probably because I've forgotten what t was and descended into a ramble. Ah, yes the pool. The pool was a welcome oasis from the relentless mid-day sun, which of course only the English and an occasional mad dog were out in, the locals all being in Siesta land by then. Actually, the Germans were out too, but only to place their towels on the best sun beds. The record of the week was for the Germans to have "reserved" their sunbeds two and a half hours before they actually used them. They might have beaten that record if some plucky Brits (identity protected) hadn't gotten fed up and thrown the German towels in the pool towards the end of the week having consumed possibly one too many overpriced beers. Sunbed £100, towel £12, the look on Jerry's face - priceless. One of them actually put his fists up in the "Duke of Queensbury" stance and demanded retribution - we tactfully reminded him that the last couple of times Jerry picked a fight with the Brits we gave him a bloody nose. And then the American had to come in to try and smooth things over ......... and of course claimed a victory when everyone shook hands and forgot the whole thing. The Yank bought a round of drinks, and before long we were all ganging up on the French - which was nice.
The pool was a bit of a surprise in itself, having no shallow end as such, starting at 1.5 metres descending gradually to 1.8, metres before suddenly dropping off to 2.5 metres and levelling out at 2.8. Hardly child friendly, but fortunately both my children can swim well. Other families with none swimming children taught them to swim rather quickly, or bought floatation devices, air beds or snorkels. I didn't see anyone actually drown, but couldn't help but notice there were several empty seats on the flight home. Draw you own conclusion.