Sunshine and Orange Blossom

By Ralph Morris

Ralph Morris’ horizons are broader than his modest upbringing on the coast of North East Lincolnshire might suggest. He combines the thrill of visiting new places and cultures with his love of people watching, a hobby which gives both him and his family much entertainment.
Ralph is a nervous tourist, however, prey to anxiety. Lamenting his lack of ability in both navigation and languages, he is always amazed to discover he has arrived at his correct destination, with the appropriate people and all belongings intact.
Financially astute, Ralph has striven tirelessly to enjoy travel on a budget. He strongly denies being mean! As his devoted and occasionally long-suffering wife readily admits, without Ralph’s ‘careful’ management, a place in the sun would have remained a dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ralph Morris
• Release date: Feb 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310252365

Book preview

Sunshine and Orange Blossom

By Ralph Morris

Published by Ralph Morris at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Ralph Morris

Smashwords Edition, License Notes



This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Ralph Morris’s horizons are broader than his modest upbringing on the coast of North East Lincolnshire might suggest. He combines the thrill of visiting new places and cultures with his love of people watching, a hobby which gives both him and his family much entertainment.

Ralph is a nervous tourist, however, prey to anxiety. Lamenting his lack of ability in both navigation and languages, he is always amazed to discover he has arrived at his correct destination, with the appropriate people and all belongings intact.

Financially astute, Ralph has striven tirelessly to enjoy travel on a budget. He strongly denies being mean! As his devoted and occasionally long-suffering wife readily admits, without Ralph’s ‘careful’ management, a place in the sun would have remained a dream.

*****

Contents

About the author

Dedication

Not so Smart

Chapter 1 Easy Holidays 4U…bargain breaks

Chapter 2 Panticosa…’The Long and Winding Road’

Chapter 3 Las Sirenas…‘Utopia’

Chapter 4 The Hollywoods…not shaken but stirred

Chapter 5 New Friends…and irregular bottoms

Chapter 6 Surf and Turf…getting acquainted

Chapter 7 Holiday…relaxing in paradise

Chapter 8 ‘The play’s the thing’…but a different theatre

Chapter 9 The Pineapple…eating our way through Spain

Chapter 10 On Mange…’The French Connection’

Chapter 11 Homecoming…Boulogne, Britain and beyond

Chapter 12 Opportunity…’Great Expectations’

Chapter 13 Peniscola…Papa Luna and El Cid

Chapter 14 Biting Deeply into Capital…’Que sera, sera’

Chapter 15 The Bossyboots…’Bleak House’

Chapter 16 ‘Up, Up and Away’…boxing clever

Chapter 17 Shopping…bags of change

Chapter 18 Expats Abroad…step up for a beer

Chapter 19 Neighbours…’Close to You’

Chapter 20 Mr Meticulous…secret snipper

Chapter 21 Xavier…a handy man to know

Chapter 22 ‘Youf’…teen spirit

Chapter 23 Anita…’Our Mutual Friend’

Chapter 24 Summery…all good things

Chapter 25 Transportation…Saxo to Volvo

Smarter than Smart

*****

About the author

Ralph Morris was born in 1952 in Cleethorpes. Educated locally at the Boys’ Grammar School, he left at eighteen, applied to teacher training college and was accepted at Bishop Grosseteste, Lincoln. Four years later, he graduated with a B. Ed. Honours Degree.

Ralph worked in two local comprehensive schools before being appointed English Manager at a special school.

In 2007, he took early retirement. He now tends two allotments, supports both his wife and family, is a school governor and holidays in Spain, for the most part.

Ralph is married to a teacher, also retired. They have two sons aged twenty-four and nineteen. Twelve years ago, they purchased an apartment in Spain whence this book derives…

*****

Dedication

For Jane, Paul and Richard

"… as I motor down the A7 south of

Barcelona, I feel the stresses of work

evaporating; long may it continue to

lengthen my retirement years."

*****

All names and some places have been changed to protect identity and the innocent.

*****

Not So Smart

‘Ees no possible,’ he said.

‘I don’t understand,’ I replied.

‘Your family?’ he indicated to the side of the counter. ‘Four persons?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, nonplussed, for I really couldn’t see the problem. Surely, he’d seen a family before!

‘The car, ees no possible.’

‘What do you mean, it’s not possible?’

‘They hold two persons.’

‘What do? Surely not. They can’t.’

‘The smart car it holds two people, ees no for families.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Cars hold four people! I understood when I booked this car, many months prior, I was getting a car for smart people. It was cheap, ordered in advance over the internet. I realised, in that instant, I had blundered. I was devastated. The incredulity which blasted across my face showed painfully. I didn’t know what to say or do. I turned to my wife who burst into tears and I felt completely helpless. Richard’s face crumpled and I wondered then how we had got ourselves into this mad adventure.

Chapter 1 - Easy Holidays 4U…bargain breaks

As teachers, my wife and I have always felt it important to take full advantage of school holidays, one of the few perks of the profession. Before the children, we were always bombing off to Europe but once the children were born, it seemed even more essential to get away from home, chores and schoolwork. We’ve frequently left England with the car so loaded with nappies, wipes, changing mats, toys, clothes and food, that the car suspension has noticeably groaned on the southward journey through Britain and into Europe.

Return journeys have seen the nappies and wipes replaced by bottles of wine, presents for the family and once, a rocking horse purchased at a French car boot sale! The customs officer, on our arrival in Calais, peered into the car for a sign of the child named on my wife’s passport. Eventually, he was just able to make out the head of our elder son, Paul, then three years old, shoehorned in a car seat at the back, surrounded by an array of bargains purchased ‘en vacances.’ Suffice it to say, the rocking horse, so carefully and lovingly packed for the homeward journey, was rarely used back home by either Paul or his younger brother who was born soon after this trip. I wonder what possesses us to make such purchases which back home seem hugely impractical? There’s a moral there somewhere.

Over the years, as we travelled with our children, holidays became increasingly more expensive and less affordable and some other way had to be found to retain that to which we had become accustomed. I enquired of a mature college friend who went away with his family on every holiday, how he could afford it on a teacher’s salary. He explained the wonder of house swaps and recommended it as the perfect way to see the world. No need to pay for accommodation, just swap houses and live as you would at home – it seemed ideal and practical. As a veteran, he was registered with many different agencies but recommended Easy Holidays 4U for the novice.

We paid our registration fee and composed a thumbnail sketch of our home and area for the listing in the brochure, together with a suitable photograph of our house. We purchased the official guide called ‘Xchange Club’, recommended by the company; the book of ‘how to’ organise your first swap. It was suggested that each exchanger draw up a letter about their home, family and area which could be sent out to prospective exchangees. This was our first attempt back in 1995.

Hello from Grimsby,

We live in a fully modernised and refurbished Edwardian semi-detached house with large conservatory overlooking private gardens.

We are within easy walking of town. People’s Park is close by with its lake, hothouses and open views. In the opposite direction are tennis courts, bowling greens, football pitches and an indoor swimming pool.

GRIMSBY was once the largest fishing port in the world and the National Fishing Heritage Centre, a modern museum recalls those days and is well worth visiting. Grimsby borders onto CLEETHORPES, once a thriving tourist attraction to visitors from the Midlands. It offers a large modern Leisure Centre, three miles of sand, a miniature railway, boating lake, Discovery Centre, Bowling Alley, Golf Course and theme park called Pleasure Island. There are good restaurants and takeaways locally as well as traditional fish and chip shops.

Close by are the WOLDS and excellent walking along the VIKING WAY.

LINCOLN (Cathedral and Castle), YORK (Minster and Viking Centre), HULL (via the Humber Bridge – the largest single suspension span in the world), LOUTH, (market town which has a beautiful natural park called Hubbards Hills) and SKEGNESS, (large seaside town) are all within easy travelling.

Our family consists of four – RALPH (41), JANE (41) and two sons, PAUL (5) and RICHARD (1). We are both teachers in local secondary schools and our families live locally.

By the time the Easy Holidays 4U brochure arrived in January, we were ready for the world to unfold. Pages and pages of glossily tempting properties and locations appeared before us; country, coast, town and city ranging from studios to detached villas. Having decided on Europe for summer and England for spring and autumn, we mailed our introductory letter, as recommended in the ‘Xchange Club,’ sending around thirty copies to distant locations, during the cold, grey month of January.

During the five years we were members of Easy Holidays 4U, we had some super breaks both in Europe and the UK but of the one hundred and fifty letters we actually posted, only three ever led directly to a holiday agreement. Most people didn’t acknowledge receipt of our initial letter and after the first flush of enthusiasm each year, we got used to this disappointment and waited, hoping for offers to fill the void. They came in dribs and drabs – apart from an avalanche from Belgium every year! We felt sorry for the Belgians who put so much effort into their letters that we took to composing special no thank you replies on coloured postcards, saying just how sorry we were but ‘not this year’, ‘perhaps another time’ and we would ‘keep their letter on file’. It salved our consciences whilst we hoped for a more agreeable offer and destination further south.

Our first swap was in Wiltshire, a beautiful detached bungalow owned by a retired army officer who liked to be known as the Lieutenant Colonel. After leaving the armed services, he had become a teacher in a private school, employed solely, it seemed, for his military expertise. The headmaster, as a condition of his employment, required him to set up and manage an extra curricular cadet corps for the boys, to build character. He and his wife, a language teacher, also retired, lived an enviable life of ease. Money was clearly no object. They owned two cars, played golf, had friends round for bridge, were members of the local Conservative Club and went on holidays when and where they pleased.

Grimsby was their first swap and, like us, they were just a little concerned about giving their home over to perfect strangers. They requested a meeting and we arranged for them to come to our house the night before our departure to their home. The Lieutenant Colonel was a tall, slim and dominating individual with a loud, booming voice. He was addicted to snuff and there was evidence of his habit in every room of their home, including a large box of tissues on the ‘peninsular unit,’ as he called it, in the kitchen. These were the only people we met during our years of home exchanging. In all other swaps, we probably crossed somewhere on the motorway, never knowing the true identity of the people who were about to inhabit our home. We tried to picture the people we swapped with by observing their homes, a favourite holiday pastime. I wonder if we ever got it right? We even incorporated fresh ideas into our own house from things we had seen and admired. Our welcome bower hanging in the porch is reminiscent of a holiday in Germany.

One Easter, we exchanged with an airline pilot in Perth, Scotland, who so badly misjudged his journey time down to Grimsby by car that he had to stop off on the A1 for the night and continue his journey the following morning! We exchanged with a mature student and her partner who lived on the outskirts of Sheffield and had a fantastic long weekend. We stayed in a Doctor’s house just outside Birmingham which had a nursery attached which his wife ran along with her staff. This was a wonderful opportunity for our own children. Toys aplenty, whiteboards and markers, stickle bricks and building blocks. It wasn’t long before Paul was playing with toys he’d grown out of years before! The following Easter we stayed in a large modern house in Droitwich Spa. We also had a couple of autumn holidays in a bungalow in the North East, near Whitley Bay, in the home of a retired lady civil servant. Easy Holidays 4U served us well.

As for European holidays, our first was a month in Spain during the summer of 1995. We received the introductory letter during the Spring of our first year’s listing. It came from an elderly couple living in America; actually he was British and his wife, American. His name was to be found in Who’s Who in the World in the 1993/4 edition, a copy of which we found in their condo. He had worked both in England and America. He was published and well known, unlike his exchangees!

Their apartment in Spain was on a modern complex and they wondered if we might be interested in an exchange. We leapt at the opportunity but our hopes seemed dashed when his wife wrote back, after we’d accepted, saying she felt the pool might pose too much of a danger for our younger son who was then only two and a half years old. After numerous letters to America, which seemed to take an age to be answered, the agreement was finally struck and we set off to Panticosa that August. And so began our long association with this little village on the East coast of Spain, some 240 kilometres south of Barcelona.

Chapter 2 – Panticosa…’The Long and Winding Road’

Travelling with children has always been a difficulty to be endured for its final outcome; that rest and relaxation one is supposed to achieve whilst away from home, chores and work. Having agreed to the exchange in Spain, we completed all necessities prior to departure. Cases taken down from the loft, sun creams purchased on a buy two and get the third free basis, medications amassed, clothes bought, others washed and ironed and packed accordingly and passports checked. Tickets bought and money ordered. Green cards and motor insurance abroad requested and paid for, including ‘bail bonds’. Apparently, on reading the small print in the AA motor insurance package, motoring offences might include ‘on the spot fines’ and failure to pay, imprisonment! Each year, it amazes me how much money must be exchanged before it’s possible to set foot on foreign soil.

So, all things necessary for the journey were accomplished, the only thing left to endure, the interminable last days of the school summer term. Those final hours seemed to crawl by in a never-ending stream of confusion and abject tiredness. The third week of July finally approached. We said goodbye to our classes and repaired to the staffroom for the customary cheese and wine end of term ‘do’, though nowadays no longer free entry. We bade farewell to those leaving us; the retirees, those taking up new appointments in other halls of learning and colleagues embarking on new career paths. Then the final commute of the year. It’s holiday time!

Our final checks were made ready for departure; tickets, passports and money carefully stowed in Jane’s hand baggage. Jane makes detailed lists of the contents of cases which gives her confidence as she crosses off the items she stows safely away. These same lists are then used at the close of the holiday to avoid leaving items behind. Unfortunately, I cannot be bothered with this tedium and in consequence I remember things at odd hours of the day and night and continue slipping bits and pieces into my luggage as the days to the holiday shorten. I admit Jane packs for everyone, apart from me which has always seemed to me entirely appropriate and it is therefore much more important for her to be organised. My more haphazard approach means I forget the contents of my case. Therefore, I secretly feel the edges of my clothes trying to locate swimwear, socks and hankies. Would it really matter if I did forget something? It certainly wouldn’t be the end of the world. We’re hardly travelling to the ‘heart of darkness’.

The evening before departure consists of heaving the cases and bags downstairs, all of which are deemed essential for our forthcoming journey. They line the hall, increasing in number, until it seems inconceivable that they can possibly fit into the boot. I’ve always been relieved we decided, years ago, to purchase a Saab with its cavernous trunk. Most of the early cases disappear within the space but as the minutes pass and more things are remembered, the area inside the boot becomes so tightly packed that it looks as if there won’t be enough room for the camera bag. Luckily, a number of years ago, I discovered that this fits snugly in front of the driver’s seat, on the floor, behind my legs, thereby taking no room at all. I continue to fill in spaces beneath the seats and even the nooks and crannies where the tools and spare wheel are stored. Eventually, as tempers soar and another bag hits the drive, I am on the point of giving up, when Jane, by strategic manoeuvring, finds that final little space still required. Eventually, I begin to relax, feeling it will all be worthwhile in the end.

At last, we make the pilgrimage to our respective parents to say goodbye. We usually sit through tea and possibly cake or worse still a warm glass of Liebfraumilch. Time drags, there are still things to do as well as another set of parents to visit, more tea and more time. I need to water the house plants and the hanging baskets. I must tend the grass, water the tomatoes in the greenhouse, feed the fish and leave instructions for their feeding during our absence. The hamster needs cleaning out too. I just know there won’t be time. Then there’s the drive tomorrow. What time should we leave? What will happen if we miss the boat or the train? Will all this preparation be in vain? I need a holiday!

I don’t sleep well, not that unusual for me but when you’re facing a long drive, it’s always somewhat daunting. Finally, I get up. Jane, as usual, is sleeping. How does she do it? I’ve worked just as hard and I’m bone weary. I needed to sleep. Never mind, there are too many things to do to worry about unfairness. I make tea, take a cup to Jane, gulp down a few spoons of Weetabix, have a shower and dress. I feel edgy this morning. I want to hit the open road now. Whilst I go out and check the car, Jane gets the children washed, dressed and breakfasted. I do a quick sweep of the garden. Everything seems in order. I feed the fish and dead head a few flowers. It’s time to go. Have we forgotten anything? I check the tickets and passports one last time. They are there. I know they are but I still need to check them. I pass the responsibility over to Jane and feel instantly relieved.

Whilst Jane fastens Paul and Richard into the car, I make a final trawl of the house. I close and lock windows. I check plugs are switched off and removed and that the central heating control is set to zero. I check taps by placing my hand under each one to assure myself no water is leaking. I make sure that one of the cats hasn’t sneaked back into the house and isn’t lurking behind a sofa or on a chair under the dining table. One year Emma was found, twenty-four hours later in the cupboard under the stairs, where she had hidden on the morning of our departure. Finally, it’s time to set the alarm and lock the back door. This done, I walk down the drive, close and lock the double gates and climb into the car. It’s time to go. We’re late. We should have gone at least an hour earlier!

We had decided the long drive through England, France and then Spain was too much with a young family. No expense spared, we had booked the motorail from Boulogne to Narbonne, an overnight sleeper in a cabin designed for two persons. The journey down to the south coast, though long, was generally uneventful and as luck would have it, we arrived with time to spare, as Jane predicted. I was pleased the distance had been covered and we were really on holiday, the first leg of the journey