Day 1
Well, it is not quite Day 1 as we only arrived at the hotel at about 9:30 in the evening. The good thing about arriving late, for the hotel at least, you don’t get to see the hotel in daylight and suddenly decide to change your mind, you’re here at Stalag 17 and that’s it!
To be fair, the rooms were adequate, well our double room was fine, our daughter ended up in a broom cupboard with an en-suite.
As we were all-inclusive, supper was laid on, I say supper………. actually it was the cold buffet items left over from supper which had finished at 9pm, left on the side for us. There was a selection of cold pasta with bits in, cold rice with bits in, some cheese of indeterminable origin and some cold meat that was sweating more than a 1970’s entertainer having his laptop serviced at PC World.
Waving this inconvenience aside we headed along with our gold wristbands, yes gold for all of you sat there with your standard “local beers and wine” silver bands, down to the bar. I say bar, if I was to describe it as a northern English town’s branch of the Royal British Legion, on a half-price bingo night, you would get the picture.
Now it was clear what demographic this hotel attracted; the retired, semi-retired, or those thinking of retiring English couples. Of this demographic, there seemed to be three main groups; the over seventies, those of whom who were no stranger to National Service. There was clipped moustaches and shiny shoes everywhere, or those who were happy to drink a whisky or two into the wee small hours, i.e. past 10pm, but still be up at 6:00am with a Reveille of a fart and the sound of Ethel’s teeth being sucked into place.
There was the over 60’s, who were well worn travellers, but had settled into the routine of booking holidays with the same tour company, because “they are always so nice and good value. I especially like their Turkey and Tinsel holidays at Christmas, you can’t beat ‘em!”
And then there are the over 50’s, with a variable background but essentially couples where the husband is a rotund jovial character and the wife tries a bit too hard in the clothes and make-up department. There was one couple who were clearly in this category, she enjoyed many an outfit picked from the finest mail order catalogue; “easy terms £1.27 a week for 52 weeks”. However, I’m not sure who told her the more sparkly faux gems on it the better. They both had clearly either been serial holiday makers, or had spent a small fortune building up the holiday look at the local “Tan-tastic”. More of this couple later.
The problem is, “we” find ourselves slipping slowly into the compartmentalised holiday demographic, it’s only the fact we have a teenage daughter that keeps us safe. For now.
It was on this first night that we met up with our first “friends” of the holiday; Alan and Jackie. Alan was semi-retired and Jackie had been made redundant and was quite happy with the fact. She was also very pissed, having discovered the delights of no optics and the Italian measure of spirits, which is half fill the glass with ice, cover all the ice with the spirit of choice and top up with a mixer. Jackie had clearly had a couple of these and was now hugging everyone and everything in sight. Mrs Dave, who seems to attract nutters like flies around an effluent pipe, trailed back into the bar, after a brief sojourn to check the Italian air, with Jackie almost conger-style in tow with an apologetic Alan following behind. To be fair, they were rather nice, friendly and always up for a chat, unlike the Germans!
Roll on Day 2, let’s have some proper holiday!
Day 2
Time to redress the balance and add some gravitas to this blog, on Thursday morning, we threw back the curtains and were hit back the most tremendous vista. Stepping out onto our terrace, (not a balcony as paid for, but a shared terrace, refund request has been sent), we saw the most amazing sight, the sun shining gently off the lake, flashing early morning brilliance all around. On the far side of the lake, nestled into the mountains were small terracotta clad villages, with quaint tiled roofs, small churches and bell towers. Basic colours of beige and terracotta repeated across a background of dark green hues, sandwiched sweetly between clear blue skies with floating mountain mist and a reflective shimmering lake offering beautiful views with every morning blink. Stunning.
For us today was to be a relaxing day, no planned excursions and as the weather was perfect for the swimming pool, that's where we headed. We had a choice of two pools; one was the Lido which was a pool (swimming caps must be worn!) nestled next to a bar and restaurant, with sun beds all around. The other pool was the ‘floating pool’ and ingenious affair, the size of 3 or 4 tennis courts, moored securely to the wall but essentially floating on the lake. In the middle of this huge pontoon was a full-size swimming pool. Excellent idea, but it did take some getting used to as it used to bob around with each passing boat and you would have sea legs for hours afterwards.
After lunch, we decided to take in the ambiance around the pool at the lido and very relaxing it was too. Unfortunately, I fell into that holiday trap of enjoying the sunbed, the gentle sound of waves lapping all around and the warm summer sun just a little too much and fell sound asleep, only to be awoken from a rather large guttural snore that managed to wake me up and send a fit of giggles through the German lady lying next to me, who seemed to intimate, via sign language, that it’s what her husband did as well. Unfortunately the downside to relaxing so much in the sun, is that a few hours later, after the pre-supper shower, you find you are redder than a butchers apron! Ouch.
However, falling asleep in the afternoon and not caring about the consequences, does mean at the very least that you are relaxing, that or too much white wine was drunk at lunchtime!
Roll on Day3, let’s go on a trip.
Day 3
Today was the first of our trip days; we were off over the Alps to St. Moritz, via the Bernina Express railway, starting at Poschiva and ending up at St. Moritz. If you ever get the chance to go on this railway, then do it, the views, if you are lucky with cloud cover, are stunning.
We set off early from the hotel, in the dutiful care of Alexandria; our guide for the day. To be fair, she was very knowledgeable and funny, but she wouldn’t shut up for hours! Her husband must send her out to work for a rest and there must be a load of three legged donkeys grazing in the mountains surrounding Cadenabbia. After what seemed like a lifetime on the coach, suffering from Tour Guide overdose, we arrived at the Swiss town of Poschiva, where we stopped for a quick coffee and waited for our train to arrive. I cannot do justice in words to the railway, you have to see it to believe it, how it winds itself around and about the Alps, gaining height all the time is magical and an engineering wonder. Its highest point is 2328m at Ospizio, a strange place to find a railway station, but there’s one there! Take the opportunity to Google this railway, if you like railways and Swiss precision, then you’ll love this.
After the Bernina Railway, St. Moritz was a bit of a let-down. It is only a small town, but it has a big reputation which belies its size. Having said that, the views were stunning; beautiful Alpen scenery, majestic lakes and fantastic buildings in the town. Very chic, very up market and designer shops by the dozen.
One thing I noticed on this trip, was the English style of queuing. Generally speaking, the English enjoy a good queue and will form a line at the drop of a hat. However, there seems to be a special breed of queue’r for coach holidays; the ones that are determined to get the front seats! Normally, with allocated seating, you sit where you are told, but our trips were a free for all and there was one couple that had got the art of the queue down to a fine art. The same couple I mentioned earlier, the bronzed rotund husband, who liked to keep himself smart, if you class heavy gold neckwear and rings as smart, along with his trophy wife, who sparkled more than a fistful of fireworks on bonfire night. At the beginning of the trip, they were at the front door of the hotel waiting, they must have been queuing for breakfast as well. And at each stop, they were always first at the pickup point when we had to resume the journey. They had to do this, as horror of horror, some people on the coach had taken to moving seats after a stop!! This really threw the coach out of kilter! It’s an unwritten rule in English coach etiquette to ensure you maintain your seat position at all times. This did not happen and there was some furrowed brows, some hard stares and mumbles floating around the coach, as disgruntled passengers amended their seating positions. However, the pain soon eased off, as Alexandria went into a new hour-long speech about Italian food and folklore, causing the disgruntled few to be just gruntled and fall asleep.
The highlight of the return trip was a visit to the quaint Italian municipality of Chiavenna and then the trip down the Maloja Pass; a series of 13 hairpin bends that in a car would be quite adventurous, but in a 52 seater coach was mental! Again, more stunning scenery and beautiful vista’s. A great day out.
Back at the hotel, a hearty supper was had and we retired to the pool bar across the road, which was quiet, with lovely lake views. The alternative was the hotel bar, but this would be overrun by OAP’s supping their drinks through plastic teeth, whilst swapping stories of the old days, when things were really bad. Unfortunately they could not do this quietly, as half of them were deaf, so it was just a cacophony of rattling dentures, slurping Baileys and whistling of hearing aids. And don’t get me started on Eduardo and his bloody Bontempi organ! Live entertainment? I think not. More of that later.
Roll on Day 4, let’s have a rest.
To be continued.
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