Here is something I haven’t done in a long time: written a blog post from a hostel dorm. Room 11, Bunk 11. I refuse to trudge up to the hostel cafe to add a level of classiness to the scene. This is the most backpacker I have been in a long time and although I am enjoying it now, I am sure when the other 11 inhabitants show up we are going to be feeling the pinch of so many girls in so small a space.
I’ve hauled my tiny (by backpacker standards) 30L pack up here with me. Keeping everything inside the nest I am building for the night. The only truly disconcerting this is the vintage doll poster screwed into the wall opposite. I am going to be staring at Betty all night.
It’s time to finish the story of the Fuerteventura. The next morning was filled with intense excitement at the prospect of visiting the buffet. Being able to order eggs in every which way is the novelty of staying in hotels. In our excitement to get downstairs, Claire went down in her slippers. We had to go ride the lift two further times to get her into a proper state of dress.
After our hour long taxi ride we ruled out day tripping during this long weekend. We wanted to sink into everything the resort had to offer – and that’s an unintended swimming pool metaphor. But before we headed for the loungers, we decided to walk off our food babies on the beach.
Playa del Matorral is a milky stretch of white sand wrapping around the South East of Fuerteventura. A protected coastal ecosystem separates the resorts strip from the sand. It’s also entirely clothing optional. At one point I was convinced we were the most overdressed people on the beach in our maxi-dresses.
In March the water is still freezing and the days aren’t warm enough to tempt me into an icy dash and plunge scenario. Walking was the only beach activity we participated in during this excursion to the ocean.
The first morning we walked south where the sand seems to continue forever (it doesn’t, the beach is only 1 kilometre long). The second, we tried going north across the rocks, where the coast is more craggy and little ground squirrels parade their cuteness.
The novelty of the buffet had not worn off by lunchtime and we returned to it to find a new array of options. Two days is the perfect amount of time for buffet food; enough time for every meal to be a surprise, but not so much that it gets a bit samey. The desserts were deceptively beautiful. Look at this warm rainbow of what the northern Irish would call ‘buns’. They look good, don’t they? Tragically, they are all filled with mock cream and taste like nothing.
Armed (the puns are STRONG today) with our elite wristbands (see), we were able to use any of the food facilities on the resort. We swanned into the snack bar to abscond with tubfuls of ice cream and take them back to our chosen poolside spot.
The long term sunbathers committed to their positions at around 7.30am that morning. Arriving after lunch, we took whatever was left. Everywhere had a nice balance of sun and shade so we happily moved into the mocktail/cocktail phase of the trip. This is the only aspect of the trip I could have done more of. It was the first time I had switched off on holiday in years. Possibly since Boracay. I read an entire book and made so many notes for blog posts that I felt a great sense of achievement despite not having produced any of them yet.
Overall, I did not think this was going to be my sort of holiday. There were no museums to be visited, no 6am wake up calls, no hostel beds (save the one I am in now). I could eat and drink as much as I want and didn’t have to worry about a €15 per day food budget.
But I learned we could all use a bit of luxury once in a while. Simply reading a book by the pool or taking advantage of the massive tub and not adhering to yet another self-imposed deadline is absolutely essential to combat ‘brain-fried-ness’!
Have you treated yourself to anything recently?