Postcard from the all-inclusive buffet

We’ve just got back from a week in Spain. It was great, very much a “fly and flop” holiday where we did very little other than sleep, eat and read. Whilst the kindle has done wonders for not having 14kg of books and one pair of shorts in the suitcase, it didn’t help with the cardio, given that the only exercise I do on holiday is turning the pages of a book (or walking to the bar). 


Anyway. We stayed in the Holiday Polynesia in Benalmadena. It’s the second time we’ve been there now, as it’s a bit of a trusted pair of hands. Short flight, only two and a half hours from Gatwick, sensible bus transfer etc. And we knew the place was clean, the rooms were spacious, and that the grub was alright. 


The hotel itself looks like Spain’s answer to the Polynesian hotel in DisneyWorld, only without the £8,000 price tag. 

It has tropical birds, a turtle pond, waterfalls and Tiki statues in the main reception area.


Bonkers, perhaps, but we like it. 

It’s very easy to get into the swing of an all-inclusive holiday, especially if you’re as lazy as we are. 


The days went a little like this:

08:30 Get up

09:00 Breakfast

09:45 Walk down the road to the beach club. This was a pool complex with a water park at one end, and we preferred it to the pool at the hotel, which was so busy, noisy and full of rubber rings that it reminded me of one of the end scenes of Titanic. 

11:00 Beer

13:30 Lunch

17:00 Go back to the hotel

19:30 Dinner

20:30 Drinks, and listening to Juan bashing out Sweet Caroline on his Casio keyboard

10:3o Bed. 

I was asked a few times whether I’d be writing a trip report on this holiday. I don’t know if I have much to say though other than griping about noisy families with kids called Chardonnay-Marie and Bobby-Charlton. But perhaps I’ll do something more detailed if I have time. 


Anyway, given that the week essentially involved eating and drinking like robots (if robots ate and drank, you know what I mean), what I wanted to talk about are things I observed at the all-inclusive buffet. 

Day one:

“Oh my god, it’s like a veritable cornucopia of delights! I can have as much as I want! Oh my! I think I’ll have a spoonful of eeeeverything as I can’t commit to a “proper” meal. Slightly horrified by the waste though.”


Day two:
“Well this is still pretty cool. It’s a Mexican theme, so no-one is going to care if my meal is basically crisps, salsa, all the queso and guacamole. Oink!”

Day three:

“All the food kind of tastes like it’s meant to, but not quite. What’s that all about? I mean, I love a sausage, but deep fried? For breakfast? Totally on board with the fried bread and eggs though. Yeehah! Those strange people eating cereal and fruit though, it’s a full almost-English over here!”

Day four:

“It’s indistinguishable meat stew again. I think I’ll just have meat and cheese today. Oh look, there’s that woman who’ll only eat chicken nuggets from the kids’ section. And wayhey, they’ve chopped up the fried bread from breakfast and turned it into croutons for the soup. Crafty!”


Day five:

“The orange juice is from a machine and tastes weird. And the  coffee cups are so small that it’s gone in two gulps. Still, hash browns today! I swear to god though, if that kid Charlton-Heston drops his fork on the floor one more time…”


Day six:

“Hurrah, it’s prawn night! What better to torture your husband with? Ooooh. And a chocolate fountain. Who cares that we’d never eat dessert at home? Get me in there! The wine isn’t really doing it for me tonight though, I think I’ll just have a Fanta Lemon, ta.”


 Day seven:

“Nothing I want to eat tonight. I’ll just have some cheese, I think. And some more of those little pickled onions. Oh, but it’s the last night, I should at least try something. Not the weird pasta salad with chopped up fried breakfast sausage though. Husband, I’m pleased you’re enjoying your chips and strangely fruity curry sauce.”


Day eight:

“It’s 07:30 and we’re about to fly home so should at least eat something. I don’t know if I can stomach another deep fried fry-up though. Oh, who am I kidding, come here, lover. It’ll be leaves and water when we get home…”

Day eight (later):

“Oh crap. We have to cook for ourselves again now. Chinese takeaway?”


So yeah. We still managed to eat a lot. I daren’t go near the scales. We had a great time though. The place was beautiful, and we never once felt hungry. 


However, the cocktails left a little something to be desired, even though they were served by the pint. 


Still, home again now and absolutely wishing we were back there. 


Post holiday blues are the worst. 

Time to get planning the next one. Not before I’ve had a fry-up though…it is Sunday, after all. 

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