Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Zante 2016 II
Zante 2016 - highlights day one
It all starts at:
The premier inn lift. Once again Lisa starts talking to a random stranger and we find out they are going to Gran Canaria, three weeks, might hire a car, the grandchilden's names and their cat is on her last legs, poor thing. All in a 20 second lift ride. It's far too early for this...
Gate 45b - where things start to get slightly worrying before we've even set sight of the plane...
So, through the fog of a 3am wake up call we find ourselves on our way to a gate that seems to be an afterthought every other gate goes straight on via those lovely travelators that are slower than just walking, but our gate is down a flight of poorly lit steps and into a rather smelly basement. It turns out it's actually a bus stop sending you on a 30 minute magical mystery tour via Horley to some random part of south terminal where our plane had been previously abandoned. Not bad for a flight leaving from North...to be fair though, the flight crew aren't taking any shit, immediately dumping the whole of row nine to make sure we take off on time, only 25 minutes late...
The flight itself is unremarkable which, TBH, is what you want. Lisa strikes up a conversation with the 7'2" daddy-long-legs jammed into the seat next to us. Unfortunately, he's a bloke who loves the sound of his own voice and within minutes we know all about his sister's wedding, his work as a chocolate taster for cadbury's, his favourite power ranger and that one of his testicles is significantly bigger that the other. My days, it's far, far to early for this...
On arrival at the hotel, just 30 minutes after landing, we're greeted like the prodigal son returning - but without the fatted calf and tequila sunrises instead. I say to Lisa "I can see Mrs Watford at the pool!" Lisa checks and can only see a really pretty lady in a bikini, from the back. "How do you know that's Her she asks?" "Well", I say "I'll always recognise her from her from her magnificent bun"
As it's just a little bit cloudy, we decide, for the first time ever, to go for a walk and actually see some of Tsilivi. 10 minutes in we're bored as fuck and having reached Popeye's bar, the furthest we've been before, we decide to head back. Lisa said she'd have given up earlier which is no use to mouse or man when you've already schlepped that far.
We end up at the Boomerang bar where, who'da thunk it, we bump into who Mr & Mrs Watford, who are enjoying a well earned beer or two. Well, it would be rude not to join them. Bearing in mind it has been two years since we last saw them the full on insults start right away. Seriously, you've got to love 'em 😁 once that is out of the way, plans for the evening are made, although to be honest none of us could remember what they were two hours later...
Talking of two hours later, we end up at the hotel bar lashing it up with people we remember, and sometimes not, from two years ago. It's a bit strange and expected all in one. That's what this place does to you - it's a bit odd for someone like me who will happily shun all human contact forever, but it's definitely more fun this way. We get to meet the new barman who, due to a trapped nerve in his shoulder, is doing his best impression of Albert Riddle. Lucky there's plenty of thirsty punters who are, for the moment at least, able to unscrew their own bottle caps and remove the ring-pulls from tins of Mythos. Desperation is the mother of invention or somesuch...
Later, and already feeling a bit the worse for wear we end up in a restaurant with a truly terrible name - M-eatings. Please tell me when to stop laughing. Sot's cousin works here so we spent an hilarious night asking every waiter and waitress if they were sot's cousin. They all loved it and thought we were comedy gold. Their little smiling faces showed how much they loved this, even after an hour or two.
Paradise bar - so despite ourselves, and our below par efforts earlier, we actually make it all the way to the far end of Tsilivi, and the rather buzzing Paradise Bar. At first it seems like the clientele consists solely of 40 something Essex divorcees, all fresh from nails-are-us and far too painful Brazilian's, out to vajazzle the young barmen. On closer inspection, they turn out to be only 70% of the punters, the rest being old fuckers like us. The Greek dancing is great fun, the margueritas are served in what can only be described as a Cadillac hub cap and although big enough to support a standard beach umbrella instead you get an inverted bottle of corona, and the conga plus ouzo shower proves to be a highlight of the evening. Classy.
At 21 hours without any sleep we eventually decide it's time for home and make our way along the ankle-breaking pavements back to the hotel. We may have told Mr & Mrs Watford how much we love them once or twice, but at least we didn't manage to pick up any randomers on the way...
It all starts at:
The premier inn lift. Once again Lisa starts talking to a random stranger and we find out they are going to Gran Canaria, three weeks, might hire a car, the grandchilden's names and their cat is on her last legs, poor thing. All in a 20 second lift ride. It's far too early for this...
Gate 45b - where things start to get slightly worrying before we've even set sight of the plane...
So, through the fog of a 3am wake up call we find ourselves on our way to a gate that seems to be an afterthought every other gate goes straight on via those lovely travelators that are slower than just walking, but our gate is down a flight of poorly lit steps and into a rather smelly basement. It turns out it's actually a bus stop sending you on a 30 minute magical mystery tour via Horley to some random part of south terminal where our plane had been previously abandoned. Not bad for a flight leaving from North...to be fair though, the flight crew aren't taking any shit, immediately dumping the whole of row nine to make sure we take off on time, only 25 minutes late...
The flight itself is unremarkable which, TBH, is what you want. Lisa strikes up a conversation with the 7'2" daddy-long-legs jammed into the seat next to us. Unfortunately, he's a bloke who loves the sound of his own voice and within minutes we know all about his sister's wedding, his work as a chocolate taster for cadbury's, his favourite power ranger and that one of his testicles is significantly bigger that the other. My days, it's far, far to early for this...
On arrival at the hotel, just 30 minutes after landing, we're greeted like the prodigal son returning - but without the fatted calf and tequila sunrises instead. I say to Lisa "I can see Mrs Watford at the pool!" Lisa checks and can only see a really pretty lady in a bikini, from the back. "How do you know that's Her she asks?" "Well", I say "I'll always recognise her from her from her magnificent bun"
As it's just a little bit cloudy, we decide, for the first time ever, to go for a walk and actually see some of Tsilivi. 10 minutes in we're bored as fuck and having reached Popeye's bar, the furthest we've been before, we decide to head back. Lisa said she'd have given up earlier which is no use to mouse or man when you've already schlepped that far.
We end up at the Boomerang bar where, who'da thunk it, we bump into who Mr & Mrs Watford, who are enjoying a well earned beer or two. Well, it would be rude not to join them. Bearing in mind it has been two years since we last saw them the full on insults start right away. Seriously, you've got to love 'em 😁 once that is out of the way, plans for the evening are made, although to be honest none of us could remember what they were two hours later...
Talking of two hours later, we end up at the hotel bar lashing it up with people we remember, and sometimes not, from two years ago. It's a bit strange and expected all in one. That's what this place does to you - it's a bit odd for someone like me who will happily shun all human contact forever, but it's definitely more fun this way. We get to meet the new barman who, due to a trapped nerve in his shoulder, is doing his best impression of Albert Riddle. Lucky there's plenty of thirsty punters who are, for the moment at least, able to unscrew their own bottle caps and remove the ring-pulls from tins of Mythos. Desperation is the mother of invention or somesuch...
Later, and already feeling a bit the worse for wear we end up in a restaurant with a truly terrible name - M-eatings. Please tell me when to stop laughing. Sot's cousin works here so we spent an hilarious night asking every waiter and waitress if they were sot's cousin. They all loved it and thought we were comedy gold. Their little smiling faces showed how much they loved this, even after an hour or two.
Paradise bar - so despite ourselves, and our below par efforts earlier, we actually make it all the way to the far end of Tsilivi, and the rather buzzing Paradise Bar. At first it seems like the clientele consists solely of 40 something Essex divorcees, all fresh from nails-are-us and far too painful Brazilian's, out to vajazzle the young barmen. On closer inspection, they turn out to be only 70% of the punters, the rest being old fuckers like us. The Greek dancing is great fun, the margueritas are served in what can only be described as a Cadillac hub cap and although big enough to support a standard beach umbrella instead you get an inverted bottle of corona, and the conga plus ouzo shower proves to be a highlight of the evening. Classy.
At 21 hours without any sleep we eventually decide it's time for home and make our way along the ankle-breaking pavements back to the hotel. We may have told Mr & Mrs Watford how much we love them once or twice, but at least we didn't manage to pick up any randomers on the way...
# posted by Bucko! @ 1:35 AM 
