I like people. A lot. Just not on vacation. Right now, far too many of them are trying to kick away the mediocre burgers from the lunch buffet on their brightly colored pool noodles in front of me in the pool. At the edge of the pool, an entertainer with too good a mood and too big abs is demonstrating how dynamic this kicking could look.
A techno version of “Bella ciao” blares from the speakers. If the partisan in the song hadn’t died, I think the sight would have been the last straw for him. The ladies from England, whose impressive sunburns will provide work for the next generation of British dermatologists, don’t seem to mind.
Our daughter (6) shouted through the shuttle bus: “But that’s not our hotel, it only has three stars!”
My midday gin and tonic, the club holiday survival elixir, helps me dream of the Sardinian hinterland. Oh, how beautiful were our Holidays earlier! All the individual trips, the remote restaurants where some “nonna” cooked for us and there was only one dish of the day.
They are (almost) everywhere on a club holiday: entertainers who entertain the holidaymakers (here in a hotel in Egypt)
We made these trips before we had children (now two and six years old) and tried them with them for several years without success. “But I want Pizzaaaaa“-Disaster, the 243rd. “I’m boooored” and the surprising realization that small children find Phoenician temples in 35 degree heat less exciting than building pirate ships at the children’s pool, finally made us rethink things. So a club holiday. Lanzarote.
One of the negative reviews said: “Unfortunately, no German is spoken in this facility.” Let’s take that! I had factored in the applause after landing. I also factored in the fact that a ride in a bus shuttle would take a long time. But I hadn’t factored in how long the journey to the hotel can feel when your six-year-old shouts through the entire bus at the first stop at the first hotel: “But that’s not our hotel, it only has three stars!” Luckily, thanks to the lack of air conditioning on the bus, my face was already bright red in front of the 3-star travelers.
“Macarena” and “Baby Shark” make the hotel shake
We’re here! First visual impression: Welcome to Crocistan, Bingonesia and Tattoonia. While we were used to the sound of the sea in our private apartment in the evenings, “Macarena” and “Baby Shark” now made the concrete walls of the hotel shake. And we were right in the middle of it all on the dance floor.
I wash down the lack of fire in the man who was supposed to be a Polynesian fire-eater to amuse the guests with another gin and tonic. And with the next drink I ask myself whether the Spanish Polynesian with the flower crown is actually politically correct. The all-inclusive wristband that has to be worn at all times, a kind of ankle bracelet for a previously independent traveler, finally makes sense.
Relax and float in the pool? The silence in the club hotel is often interrupted several times a day by water gymnastics
Yes, even a vacation like this has a long-term effect. But not a relaxing one. Back in Germany, a baby shark continues to attack my nervous system at regular intervals.
And yet it was probably the best Vacation for a long time. Because the (holiday) world no longer revolves around me. The children were more relaxed than ever and fell asleep happily every night. My realization: Everything has its time. Even the dream of a dream holiday. To all other parents: Welcome to the club!