Three months - three holidays

Mt Tiede, Tenerife's volcano, from the
EasyJet window.

This is a first for me. I've never had a week's holiday in the sun during the middle of winter, normally I'm heading somewhere colder for skiing.

The holiday was Sam's idea, he arranged it and asked if we wanted to come along. Tenerife was chosen because you can fly directly from Jersey. We had an early flight from Gatwick (bag drop 6am), so we stayed overnight at the airport to avoid a miserable 3am start.

Tenerife is a popular winter destination for we Brits. I didn’t realise how popular until I mentioned I was going on holiday there. So many people seem to own property in the Canaries, or have mates who let them use properties or go there every year for a break from the gloomy British winter.

I was particularly looking forward to going to a Spanish-speaking destination, so I could practise my language skills and (perhaps) even show off. As it turned out I didn’t get much further than hello, good morning, please and thank you; although I did ask for a spoon once. The only place where I could have let rip, the waitress had gone to university in Cardiff and relished the chance to practise her English!

We stayed at the Roca Nivaria, part of the Adrian Hoteles group, at Costa Adeje. We didn’t book all-inclusive as we expected to get out and about a little (perhaps to the top of Mount Teide, the volcano that dominates the island). As it happened, we found everything we needed inside the hotel, so we emerged only to buy water, snacks for Arthur, wine and beach stuff. We  also found a small play area, which Arthur liked, Margaret and I went to a restaurant one evening and we had a short walk around the coast promenade. That was it.

The hotel has restaurants, pools, sports and games areas, shops, nursery, soft play, gardens, walks, putting green and a lift down to the beach. It was a bit like an upmarket Butlin’s (very upmarket, but the principle was the same).

Arthur tucking into breakfast

Food was great, staff were nice, decor was lovely, and the weather was pleasant (up in the low 20s). It was good to be able to spend some time with Arthur. He recognised Margaret straight away at the airport, which she was rightly pleased about. I was also to form more of a bond with him, which was great. Because of distance, Arthur knows us a lot less than Julia or Aureliano and so it’s good to have some quality time with him.

We’d taken some books along and Arthur had a new book each day. He loved Bear Hunt. Our routine soon settled into a pattern:

1.     Breakfast would be taken in turn so that Sam and Lucy got Arthur some food, then we went up for ours (help-yourself buffet). Arthur would soon be full or fed up and so I’d take him for a walk around the gardens and pools for 20 minutes or so while the others ate. There was a fish pond with some large fish and terrapins. That was out first port of call, then there was a wall to balance on, a cave bar/restaurant (that may have contained a bear) and a waterfall that you could walk behind. Back at the restaurant, Sam, Lucy and Margaret would be on the cava and their third coffee; so I’d tag Margaret to take Arthur to the soft-play area and I’d grab some cake, cava and coffee myself. Soft play was a life-saver!

2.    We’d then do the pool or football. Arthur doesn’t really like swimming pools, he isn’t confident, or particularly happy, in the water, but he does love football, throwing things and chasing around. There was a big five-a-side pitch, basketball court, volleyball court and giant chess and draughts games. We bought a ball and Arthur was in his element.

3.    He would normally have a sleep late morning or early afternoon, generally with Sam or Lucy, then we’d have time for pool or more play afterwards. We tended to snack for lunch and then have dinner quite early. Dinner would be similar to breakfast, with us working in relays to amuse Arthur and keep him provisioned. He does have a good arm for throwing and will hurl food, cutlery or crockery once he’s done with it. You have to watch him closely and soft play was again a facility that was very much appreciated.

I tried to teach Arthur buenos días, hola and gracias, but only ‘hola’ stuck and he shouted it loudly to staff and fellow guests, which was very cute.

Playing in the sand at the Volleyball court.

Tenerife was the second of three holidays I was taking in the first three months of the year – quite an impressive record. With grandparent duties for Aureliano and Julia, allotment and Thorney Post, it was a very busy start to the year.

My first holiday was skiing with Sam in January. We got a very cheap late deal at La Rosiere and ended up in a catered chalet with four firemen, a dad and his two sons, a couple from Worcester and a couple from Essex. It wasn’t a bad mix and our chalet host (a public schoolboy called Josh) was aimiable, if a little disorganised.

We went with Ski Beat for the second year running and it’s a flight to Lyon, then a pretty long coach transfer to the resort. Sam and I both stayed over in Gatwick the night before our outbound flight and so the early start was quite tolerable.

Very snowy - La Rosiere

There had been huge snowfalls in the Alps and we had more snow during our stay. Some resorts had closed due to avalanche threat and at La Rosiere, the link to Italy wasn’t open until the last day. I really enjoyed the skiing. I managed to persuade our resort rep to sell me an over-65 ski pass, which saved some cash, and then signed up for four days with the ski school. I had nice instructors and small groups and I was twice promoted to higher levels, which was good for my confidence.

One of the ski instructors lived in the village and worked as a golf pro and carpenter during the summer. I asked him whether he was busy and had classes in the afternoon and he said he was going to spend the rest of the day clearing snow from his chalet roof. All the roofs had a good three or four feet of snow on the top and I asked if they were designed to cope with that weight. He said this year was particularly thick and said he knew he had to move some snow off when they couldn’t open the windows upstairs. The weight of the snow bends the window lintels downwards and you can’t open them. He also showed us the golf clubhouse up on the slopes at La Rosiere. There’s a nine-hole golf course in the summer, but now the top of the roof of the clubhouse was just visible. That’s quite a thickness of snow.

On the last day, Sam and I skied across into Italy, which involves a couple of reds and two long drag lifts and I managed to survive all that. Quite a contrast to the year before at St Martin de Belleville, when I’d crashed hard a couple of times and was pretty sore by the end of the week. The end of my left thumb is still numb – nerve damage from one of the falls.

First job: buy a sledge!

My third holiday, a second ski holiday, was in March and this time we went to Arc 1950 with Sam, Lucy and Arthur. We had decided to drive, even though I was a little worried about whether the BMW (220,000 miles) would make it there and back. Sam was flying and we said we’d pick them up on Sunday morning from Chambery. It was a bit of a squeeze, but we managed it. Margaret was pleased to see Arthur and even sat in the back without complaining.

Sam and I had gone to Arc 1950 last year, and we thought it would be good for a family holiday. The car park (a massive underground construction) took some working out, but the BMW had performed effortlessly and we managed to unpack and get in our accommodation by late afternoon. I’d got a dozen bottles of wine stashed over the wheel well, plus gin and sherry, so we were well provisioned for booze. We’d also bought essentials from home and there was a Huit a 8 in the resort.

Like La Rosiere, there was plenty of snow and it snowed several times during the week. I was back on my old red skis and boots. My boots were hurting (surely my feet haven’t grown) and the skis were dragging. I got the skis waxed and hired some boots for the rest of the week.

Arthur got a sledge on the first day and enjoyed being dragged around the village in the snow. It must be a massive culture shock for a toddler to swap his regular St Helier nursery for mountains, cold and deep snow.

I am very familiar with Les Arcs resorts and it was good to be back on those slopes. Sam and Lucy tried to trick me by taking me back onto Renard. They thought if they brought me in a different way and didn’t say anything that I wouldn’t know where I was. There’s no forgetting Renard for me, I knew exactly where I was, but went along with the ruse. It was OK actually. It is a tough blue, but I’ve done worse.

They were waiting at the bottom cackling like a couple of old crones.

Skiing was good most days, but there was quite a lot of snow during the week and on a couple of days visibility was pretty poor. I struggle a bit when I can’t see the contour of the slope. I find myself speeding up when I expect to slow down. Sam says I need to relax and feel the slope. I think I might feel the slope with my bum.

On the final day, we all went out in the morning, but the visibility was so poor I packed it in on the first run and turned for home.

Apart from revisiting Renard, I did the Mont Blanc run, which I’ve not done for a couple of years. That’s probably a tougher blue than Renard, but the toughest blue of all is the last run in to Arc 1600. I always managed to fall on that and although I managed it OK several times, it did catch me out once.