Leaving teaching after 35 years I thought it would be fitting to holiday in Barcelona, the scene of my first school trip 35 years ago. Memories of the trip are vague but happy. One stands out which involved ushering the students across a busy road. Completely forgetting that the cars would be coming in a different direction I masterfully ordered them to look in the wrong direction, only for them to be nearly run over. Looking back all those years ago I yearn in some ways for my 22 year old self, I absolutely knew everything and was an authority on all. But in hindsight I do wonder if the parents realised what they were doing when they released their offspring into my care, especially as I had a very basic grasp of how to look after myself. Added to that the concept of left and right and telling the time. How have I managed all these years!
Flying from Newcastle was the cheapest option. How smug I felt when being ridiculously undercharged at the airport for breakfast. The cashier doing a double take and having faith in the price coming but trusting technology let it go. While munching on my croissant without having had any moral scruple to point out the mistake I did have a fleeting thought about having some kind of payback. How right I was….
Everything regards the flight went fine. Had the usual debacle going through a search because of my girder like under wired bra. As ever I made a joke of it and as ever I got a stony look, despite thinking I was a tad hilarious.
Bus to the centre was again fine but finding where we were going to stay was much harder. I had booked using Booking.com- let this be a cautionary tale! The host messaged to say that she had been waiting nearly two hours – this later would become quite a substantial salient point. Finding ourselves down a side street which even for myself, an ex bouncer was quite threatening.
Still unable to find the place I had to message her to find us. ‘ I am wearing a white jacket’. I did spy someone….but surely not a 14 year old girl. It was and she escorted us to the apartment. Massive graffitied metal doors with a stench of piss and decay.
Only one apartment up some shoddy stairs. The hallway had two settees that looked like they had been rifled from a skip. Between them a rickety table with a huge bong and drug paraphernalia.
The young girl was there to translate for an older woman. We didn’t know where to look. Although certainly warmer than it was in Sheffield we hadn’t bargained for being greeted by a barely dressed woman. Breasts barely contained by a small strip of material on each side. A mini skirt that provided us with a front seat gynaecological view. Without prejudice she didn’t look like a cleaner and nor did the apartment look like somewhere tourists would stay. The tackiness of the place and the overpowering odours gave a distinct impression that this was a place she would bring clients.
They had been drinking beer and eating crisps, certainly not tidying. The young girl looked beseechingly at us and asked if we liked it. Normally I would do that very British thing and say it was all good. However, the horror of it all left me unable to say firmly no! Ignoring this they left. But not before asking several times if they could provide anything else for us. Mind racing……a threesome, or foursome, bondage a gimp suit? My head was truly boggled.
So many things wrong with the place. A broken window in the bathroom- a cushion wedged in the hole. Tinfoil rammed into the eaves, bare wires and unparalleled dirt. Besides all these things my asthma was triggered to the degree that I was finding it hard to breathe. We hadn’t chosen the cheapest option, I would have expected some level of wear and tear if it had been.
We couldn’t stay,I really would have ended up in hospital. So we rang Booking.com, which became a six hour marathon of barely contained hysteria.
Send photos they said, dutifully we uploaded nearly 20 photos. Yes Sir, yes Ma’am that does look bad, yes we understand you are unhappy,you need to contact the host and ask them for the money back. Blood pressure rising and voices too we again did as they said. Exchanges of messages with the host concluded with a big fat NO, which was no surprise. Sent them photographs. They responded by saying it was part of the decoration. I am sure that this part must have been badly translated. Where in world would masses of tin foil stuffed in various orifices be considered a quaint decorative flourish.
We talked to Adam. Irene and Justine – none of which were their names, all reading from the script. Noises made to ease our distress but having the adverse effect of making us angrier. ‘Look Pete, I will talk to them’ I said reasonably. So we had a backwards and forwards session of taking it in turns. I truly felt that I could be very restrained and reasonable. The breaking point was when having been on the phone for 45 minutes the customer service adviser got back to me full of joy that her supervisor had agreed to a refund. Anticipating something substantial I felt vindicated, only to be told we could have 25 euros. A switch flipped in my head and I went completely bat shit crazy. It is an ongoing situation but we decided that our health, sanity and safety were paramount and that the only option would be to book somewhere else.
Random Acts of Travelling 