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Sun, sea and tinned fruit

Sun, sea and tinned fruit


Diary of a home bird
Ciara Galvin

AS you’re reading this I hope to be relaxing on a beach in Mexico. It’s not a wishful daydream: I really hope to be, along with two compadres, on a week-long all-you-can-eat-and-drink extravaganza in Cancun.
The reason I stress the words ‘hope to be’ is myself and my friends don’t have the best track record when it comes to booking holidays. And considering one of my travelling companions asked me last week (three weeks after we booked the holiday) if Mexico was in America, we will be doing well to make it to Dublin Airport.
In the past, we have tended to go the most economical route when booking a sun holiday. In other words, we’ve gone for the ‘cheapy cheap’ option – and believe me we’ve stayed in some dives. Last October, we checked into a place, let’s call it Hotel California, ’cause boy did I want to check out and leave. Think pots strategically placed all over the lobby collecting water from the leaky roof, and you get the first clue. No matter where we end up though, I’ve always returned describing these places as ‘full of character and charm’ so as not to worry the roomies.
This time, however, we’ve gone all out and chosen the all-inclusive option. This seems to really be entertaining my family. My brother noted, ‘Well the hotel won’t be making money on ye that’s for sure’. A reference to our healthy appetites I assume.
Though we’ve gone for the ‘wine and dine’ option we still have some reservations, no doubt stemming from our past experiences with the hotel and leisure industry.
After we finally decided on a hotel after days of research, one of the girls brought us right down to reality: “Knowing us we’ll probably be eating tinned fruit while everybody in the other hotels will be eating the best of the best.”
Still, we figure we’ve learned from past mistakes and have picked the most suitable hotel – i.e. one where the average age of the occupants is 25. Arriving at this decision did throw-up some problems though, we knew we wanted to steer clear of honeymooning resorts as we assumed three women from Ireland might get a strange reaction.
On perusing one hotel’s website one of the girls didn’t exactly get its marketing pitch. “It’s was obviously for couples,” she poclaimed, “We should rule it out as says its ‘the perfect hotel for gourmet lovers’.” After the penny dropped and her blushing subsided, we motored ahead. And what did we do? Well, we booked the hotel we had done the least amount of research on of course.
Next on the list was organising activities. We decided that because we are travelling so far we should at least get off our butts and do something. My goal is to go scuba diving again, from one experience on the Great Barrier Reef I’m itching to take the plunge again. However, I fear my compadres aren’t as enthusiastic about the prospect, with one asking “Will I have to get my hair wet?”
Oh and did I mention one translation for Cancun is ‘Nest of snakes’? Wish us luck. Adiós amigos.

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.

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