In the Easter holidays, something magical happened. Something so out of the Seymour norm’ that we surprised even ourselves as we left for a family holiday – all six of us – to the Costa Blanca – and Benidorm, to be exact.
I can hear you asking – why Bendorm? And in asnwer, I can only say thay I am suggestible to a fault.
Benidorm is a famous holiday resort, is it not? It is by the sea, the sun shines, and British people have been travelling there in their thousands since flying became a thing. We could have chosen Rome, or the Costa Teguise, Kefalonia or maybe even Altea, round the corner from Benidorm, but we went to Beni’ proper, and it did not disappoint.
Of course, the real and only reason we ended up staying where we did was all because of the telly. I know I’m late to the party, but I recently finished watching the TV series “Benidorm”, and by the end of it, I had fallen in love not just with the characters (mmmmmMatteo) but the place, too. It looked like it was colourful, safe and familiar. So when, a few months ago, we decided this would be the year that we Seymours did a “proper” holiday, it had to be the classic hotel resort, with pool, palm trees, sunshine, drunken Brits and a nightly disco. It had to be done.
You may or may not know that we are fortunate to have holidays – fab ones, every summer. But these holidays are more like annual pilgrimages to the same sacred spot with the same people, a soul-re-set, and in some ways also an endurance test. Two to three weeks camping with limited resources is not everyone’s idea of a holiday, and it is not luxurious. But we love it. However, to my shame, Mini Seymour had still not flown at all at the grand age of thirteen and was without a passport. It was time to make amends.
In one way or another, all of the other little Seymours had gained their wings already, via French exchanges, post-exam girly hols or breaks away with friends. Number One has even managed to go to New York twice in the last nine months. But Mini Seymour, being the youngest, had not. And even I had flown by the tender age of three, in spite of an anxious mother and limited family funds. And even though I have avoided planes, especially the terrifying notion of our whole family on one of them together, for all these years, it was becoming apparent that we need to see more of the world. For there is a lot to see.
And so, equipped with a positive attitude, nightly prayers and a passport for every one of us, and with the go ahead from Big Seymour’s credit card, I set about booking a break.
The hotel Sol Pelicanos Ocas right in the middle of Benidorm is a massive establishment made up of two large buildings with many, many floors. There are three big pools, and a selection of bars. A dining room, two stages, a play area… you name it, all the usual stuff. But we Seymours had never been to “an hotel” like this before, all together. So it was an experience for many reasons.
The first thing to mention was that I had, in my wisdom (and remembering how much Mini Seymour can consume) chosen the All-Inclusive option. It was a no-brainer given the fact that we are not seasoned travellers and deciding where to eat and when and who should have what and how much would it all cost was bound to fry my brain and cause agro. So three times a day at Sol Pelicanos, we had free run of the vastly diverse buffet, which varied (but only slightly) from breakfast to lunch to dinner, and which was run with military precision by a team of attentive staff. So diverse was the buffet that it could cater to the picky Brits (chips, sausages and ketchup) and also to the more adventurous travellers, with local dishes, foreign foods and delicacies I’d never heard of. All of the food was labelled in both Spanish and English, with a (mostly) successful translation. Although I didn’t quite know what to expect from “Milk Fried”, so I gave that a wide berth. The Four Little Seymours’ eyeballs were on stalks as each one eyed up something different to try. Number One was partial to the bread rolls. Number Two was in heaven when she saw the sushi selection, Boy Seymour had a smorgasbord of EVERYTHING on his plate, and Mini Seymour opted for eleven courses, one after the other, often interspersing a savoury course with a sweet one, and then back again. Should one have so desired, one could have had a plate of whole spider crab, chips and mash. Or paella with gazpacho. Or simply just a plate of the most delicious gherkins, smothered in aioli. It was simply wonderful – the only downside being that our eyes were often bigger than our stomachs and we couldn’t quite do the selection justice.
For dessert there were mousses and jellies, cakes, tarts and pies. There were bowls of fruit, nuts, dried figs and bowls of sweets. There were fresh pancakes, an ice-cream machine and pump-action decanters of milk chocolate sauce. My only regret was not trying the kiwi jelly on the first night, as it didn’t appear again and I had to make do with a raspberry one.
And on top of that, there was the snacl bar… morfe of the same, only this time, by the pool.
After a hot first day mainly spent lying by the pool in disbelief at this tropical paradise we’d casually flown to, we started to explore our options for the next few days, and by the second day, our holiday was in full-swing as we started to realise that there were actually activities on offer, run by a young, highly energetic team of zany Spaniards earning themselves some extra money for the season. It must be a tough gig with some of the holiday makers who are simply there to drink and roast, especially this early in the season, but for one week only, they need not have feared, for rent-a-mob was in town.
The Four Little Seymours did not disappoint. Even now that two of them are adults! They left their street cred’ at Gatwick and embraced every opportunity to have fun together. They did pilates and zumba with David and Pablo, pool-side quizzes with Diego and Javi, a music quiz with Miriam and Laetizia, discos galore with the whole team and impressive karaoke duet sessions. Boy Seymour wasn’t a fan of the singing and dancing, but managed to dominate in the pool tournament, which made up for his epic failure in the water walk at the actual pool earlier in the day. Big Seymour and I partook of several of the activities too, but they mainly involved alcohol.
In addition to that, there was a magician! And when he needed volunteers, of course, the Seymours obliged. There was a small language barrier, and on one occasion, I stood on the stage like a plum as the tiny man tried to reach round me to perform a trick with his ring. He was asking me to do something, but the bright lights and the general discomfort of being up there meant that I did not know that he was telling me to let go of the ring. And as much as I like to think I can, to my shame I cannot speak spanish. On another evening, there was Michael Jackson! We all got a bit worried when MJ appeared repeatedly before his set, mumbling to one of his songs, only to disappear again. He must have done this seven times, whilst a raucous woman in the crowd harangued him for disappearing on us. The poor guy looked terrified. But when he came on – finally – to do his thing, he was actially quite passable. And very grateful for the applause coming mainly from the Seymours in the front row.
Of course, we did see a bit of culture and learn some stuff. Thanks to poor weather (typical) we took a walk to the castle in the old town – spectacular! And the coastline there is really stunning and unusual thanks to the wide sandy beaches lined with skyscrapers and backed by enormous mountains. We went to Benidorm Palace for a night of culture and impressive entertainers, and Boy Seymour had some impromptu spanish lessons from the lovely Javi at the dinner table. I swear I will never forget “Mi fiesta favourita es La Tomatina”. But I bet Boy Seymour will. And he has his spoken Spanish GCSE exam next week…
I am in love with the pool garden at Sol Pelicanos – it is enormous, interesting and beautifully kept. Like some sort of nerd, I wandered around the area with my phone, taking pictures and using the “Look up plant” feature. I now have plans to tropicalise my secret walled garden, and add all the shrubs that I saw on our hols; Chinese Hibiscus, Cape Honeysuckle, Crane Flowers, Myrtle-Leaf Milkwort, Texas Boarometer Bush, Dwarf Umbrella Tree, Geraniums, Silky Eremophila, Lantanas, Teucriums, Cheesewood and Canary Date Palms to name but a few. And so many cacti! (Our house’s builder and eminent succulent man Clive Innes would have been proud of me – travelling to Spain on a plant safari). The Pelicanos pool area really is an oasis – clean, well-kept and planted many years ago, surviving to create the mature botanical delight that is there today.
All too soon, our holiday came to an end and it was time to fly again – I am not a fan. But when the little orange plane touched down at Gatwick at last, I felt an enormous sense of gratitude and accomplishment. We had made it! All of my fears – the things that might once have been reasons not to bother travelling at all – had not come to pass. I had not forgotten anything important! The plane did not crash, Mini Seymour did not get stolen and we (mostly) escaped with only minor sunburn and a touch of Benidorm Bottom (a bit like Lanzarote Botty but not as bad). There was a moment when I had twelve keycards for three rooms (which was quite a mindf@ck) and I inevitably got locked out, and my Monzo card did go missing. But The Four Little Seymours, Big Seymour and I went to Benidorm and we all had a jolly good time. Apart from anything else, it was nice for the six of us to actually be in the same place at the same time for a few days. That is a rarity now.
Will we do it again? I am going to say… YES! We need to save up, and I need to stop feeling like our flight to Spain equates to the recent moon voyage in endeavour and endurance. I swear that any kind of flight is unnatural unless you have your own actual wings, and I do struggle a bit if I overthink it. Take-off is the worst, and every noise, every judder, every unexpected minuscule deceleration sends me into a tirade of questions; Why did that happen? What was that? I tried to keep these questions in, and as Mini Seymour declared she wanted “more turbulence” on the flight out, I don’t think I can have vicariously scared her. Thank goodness.
Travel is, I guess, essentially an exercise in going out of your comfort zone and not being in control. Handing over the reins to a pilot or a travel agent, the coach driver or the hotel staff. It is supposed to be a break from the norm’. That’s what holidays are! And now that I am out the other side successfully, I can appreciate that. I feel empowered!
Thank you, Benidorm! I am sure there are many more delights you have yet to show us, but on this occasion, we kept it quite tame. We’re not ready for Sticky Vicky just yet. And probably never will be.
Hoorah!
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