2004 was an Olympic year. In Athens, finely sculpted
bodies were pushing themselves to the limit to be ‘faster, higher, stronger’
while on the Mediterranean island of Menorca my body, seemingly sculpted with a
blunt shovel, lay on a sun lounger, just about managing to turn over the pages
of a book and stretch out for the brightly-coloured cocktail beside me.
bodies were pushing themselves to the limit to be ‘faster, higher, stronger’
while on the Mediterranean island of Menorca my body, seemingly sculpted with a
blunt shovel, lay on a sun lounger, just about managing to turn over the pages
of a book and stretch out for the brightly-coloured cocktail beside me.
Like most people in the hotel complex in Punta
Prima, I had been making the most of the all-you-can-eat buffet at breakfast and
dinner, often getting a little peckish at lunchtime too. After a few days of
ensuring I was getting my money’s worth, I realised something had to
give…before the sun lounger did.
Prima, I had been making the most of the all-you-can-eat buffet at breakfast and
dinner, often getting a little peckish at lunchtime too. After a few days of
ensuring I was getting my money’s worth, I realised something had to
give…before the sun lounger did.
Both my husband, Dougie, and eight year old son,
Rory, were putting me to shame on the exercise front. Dougie was making a
decent stab at becoming an Olympian, joining all the other competitive dads in
the organised sporting events at this cosmopolitan resort. Huge national
fervour took hold and communication barriers were overcome using the common
language of shrugged shoulders, plenty of shouting and the constant peep from
the referee’s whistle. The Italian men encouraged my Scottish husband to join
them in the fiercely-contested volleyball and basketball tournaments. The
Italy/Scotland team triumphed and Dougie, the big kid that he is, raced up to the stage that
night to collect his medals.
Rory was just as active, spending a couple of hours
each day in the Kids’ Club. We would watch him walk by
in his yellow baseball cap, on a scavenger hunt or en route to the
football pitch with his little friends. He would then spend the afternoon with us: leaping in and out
of the pool, badgering his dad to throw the splash ball to him and clambering on
and off his inflatable shark.
each day in the Kids’ Club. We would watch him walk by
in his yellow baseball cap, on a scavenger hunt or en route to the
football pitch with his little friends. He would then spend the afternoon with us: leaping in and out
of the pool, badgering his dad to throw the splash ball to him and clambering on
and off his inflatable shark.
Did the spirit of the Olympics encourage me to
partake in some exercise? It was Pedro, the archery instructor, whose torch eventually
lit my fire. I had seen the tousled mop of dark hair belonging to this Spanish
god and noticed he ran a class each day. I thought archery might suit me: not
too exhausting, unlikely to make me perspire in an unattractive manner and
pleasingly situated far away from the volleyball court.
partake in some exercise? It was Pedro, the archery instructor, whose torch eventually
lit my fire. I had seen the tousled mop of dark hair belonging to this Spanish
god and noticed he ran a class each day. I thought archery might suit me: not
too exhausting, unlikely to make me perspire in an unattractive manner and
pleasingly situated far away from the volleyball court.
As Pedro stood very close behind me, placing his arm
on my arm, he helped to pull the arrow close to my cheek and whispered
instructions into my ear:
on my arm, he helped to pull the arrow close to my cheek and whispered
instructions into my ear:
“You need to have a firm grip, Senora…..now gently
ease it back….steady…steady….now release”.
ease it back….steady…steady….now release”.
The arrow sliced through the air and landed, ‘thwack’,
straight into the central gold section of the target.
straight into the central gold section of the target.
“I think maybe you have done this before?” he
enquired with the hint of a smile.
enquired with the hint of a smile.
“Oh no,” I replied, breathless. “This is my first
time.”
time.”
“I think Senora is a natural.”
“Do you? How marvellous! In that case, may I ask you one
thing?”
thing?”
“Si Senora.”
“Do I get a medal?”
…………………………………………………………………………………
This is an entry for the Tots 100 travel-writing competition in association with Thomson Al Fresco. Al Fresco has 54 holiday parcs across Europe, each offering plenty of fun activities for families (including archery!).
If you would like to enter the competition, you can find details on the Tots 100 blog.
Wow, what a Renaissance man Dougie is! (Does he know he's splashed across the interwebs in nothing but a towel and a medal?)
Great post – can completely imagine the darkly handsome archery instructor….did you get a medal?;)
Yes, I have permission from the man himself to publish that photo. I think he wished he'd pulled in his stomach just a tad more, but he's always game for a laugh.
And no, I didn't get a medal 🙁
Hi,
Just read your entry to the competition. It made me chuckle as I've also experienced the competitive nature that suddenly grips the Dads.
I usually hide behind my magazine when they call out for volunteers for water polo whereas the other half suddenly springs up and gets all active.
Good luck with the competition.
Michelle x
Aren't the men funny when they're on holiday – all macho yet childlike at the same time.
I used to be quite good at what they called the pre-lunch 'cocktail games' – throwing bean bags into hoops to win a glass of fizz was more my style. Anything more strenuous, like water polo, and I'd hide too.
Oh how I heard him say 'firm grip, ease it back and release' in a sultry accent. Now I'm all unattractively hot under the collar! Fine choice of sport Trish. I hope you were suitably rewarded.
Yes, it suited me just fine, none if this running about lark. My reward was to have a daily lesson after that. I was very keen, which is unusual for me 😉
Very nice, I can just imagine it 🙂 Best of luck in the competition — the writing one 🙂
I'm wondering if topless men and me flirting with Spanish men isn't quite what they are looking for in a family travel competition!
Good luck with the competition! I think you deserved a medal too… Pinch one of Dougie's, he doesn't need too surely?!
What a good idea! He still has them in a drawer – I should pinch one and say it's for my skill with a bow and arrow.
Definitely! And I am not sure what is wrong with my spelling this week!! Still singing the theme tune by the way! 🙂
My son told me about his dad on holiday a couple of years ago. Apparently he decided to enter the taureau piscine event at the campsite.
Years ago, when 18 or so, he and his 16yr old sister had entered a similar competition (where you have to run away from bullocks in an arena. You are told that you are safe in the paddling pool in the middle because bulls don't like water. Then you find that that isn't true. It's supposed to be hugely entertaining for the spectators).
This time, he was in his early 40s, and mortified to be called 'Papy' by the commentator. My son was hugely entertained to see him getting caught by the bullock and giving a bit of a duffing up.
I don't think there'll be a repetition of the taureau piscine for my ex-h!
I've never heard of this game, which surprises me as we are suckers for all that sort of holiday nonsense. Glad your ex entertained his son; that's always the job of a parent and we always do it so well!
I meant 'given'. It was the bull doing the duffing!
I don't think he meant to entertain in quite that fashion, he takes himself very seriously…
Awesome! What a great post captures all the elements of a family holiday… even mum flirting with the hot Spanish men, hehe 🙂
I think it's the heat that does it. I come over all unnecessary in the sunshine 😉
Brilliant entry, love it, really drew me in 😉
Thanks for your lovely comment, glad we are back in touch and so good to know people are thinking of you x
Thank you, glad you like it. I can't be serious when I write about our holidays!
It was good to read your post and feel I could share that feeling, with the first anniversary of our losses coming up xx
Fabulous – and they totally need to give you a medal for this article. Left to my own devices I am def more of the book-reading-in-the-sun type – do they give you a medal for that? (They should because there is a technique to it) BTW, your husband looks too young to be a doctor!
You should have seen him when he first qualified: he looked so young he could have been mistaken for Dr Doogie Howser!
And did you? Would've been completely deserved of course…
No, Lottie, I didn't. Not sure why. Huh!
Trish, you have a real talent for travel writing. You deserved to win!
Thank you, that's such a lovely thing to say. But I've read the other entries and there are some brilliant ones!
Your hubby looks very proud indeed with his medals, but where is the photo of you and Pedro?!
Good luck with the competition!
Photo of me and and Pedro? Heavens, no, I didn't want any photographic evidence 😉
This post really made me giggle. We are off to Menorca on Tuesday! Wonder if I will find a nice sexy Pedro to motivate me? x
Hi Emma! How fab that you should find this post. I hope you enjoy Menorca – so many happy memories for me. Just watch out for the archery instructors…