cheaps paradises Xabier Sagardia
I Xabier Sagardia Hotel
The bus goes from hotel to hotel and drops travellers off at the door. Everybody for “El delfín saltarín off the bus, please!”, shouts the tour-operator employee. The hotel was built in the 70s and was renovated last year or so they say. They did say it, didn't they? We’re doubting already.
The first reclamation
The next morning we heard a wrinkled old woman complaining. They had given her a room without a mirror. She accepts there was a frame. That's correct. Furthermore, she's found ahair on her bed, a stiff curly hair. We have a laugh at that. We realise that we are a lucky lot. Our room has a mirror and we haven't found a curly anything.
A new habitat
There are hotels all around us, they look like stacks of beehives. There are Jolly Rogers hanging from a few balconies. The Italians have red Ferrari ones on theirs. Hooligans and tifosi sharing the same 'stands.'
Dinners
The buffet is as at least as suspicious-looking as the wrinkled woman's room. The tastiest item on the menu is chips. We had chips for dinner for a week. Believe it or not, we have not lost our taste for them.
The nightlife
The bald DJ on the other side of the hotel terrace looks a little bored. The same song year after year. We now understand how he lost the hair. Rafaela Carra screams “hay que venir al sur”. We almost choke on our drink.
The beach
The beach is without equal. It has no poetry or ability to inspire. The water is brackish and warm. Dense. No waves. We think of Cesare Pavese's La spiaggia-ko noon and night. And of Hedaia. And Zarautz. And of the reservoir in Allotz.
The sun
The sun shines the same on everyone. Even in cheap paradises, too.
The bus goes from hotel to hotel and drops travellers off at the door. Everybody for “El delfín saltarín off the bus, please!”, shouts the tour-operator employee. The hotel was built in the 70s and was renovated last year or so they say. They did say it, didn't they? We’re doubting already.
The first reclamation
The next morning we heard a wrinkled old woman complaining. They had given her a room without a mirror. She accepts there was a frame. That's correct. Furthermore, she's found ahair on her bed, a stiff curly hair. We have a laugh at that. We realise that we are a lucky lot. Our room has a mirror and we haven't found a curly anything.
A new habitat
There are hotels all around us, they look like stacks of beehives. There are Jolly Rogers hanging from a few balconies. The Italians have red Ferrari ones on theirs. Hooligans and tifosi sharing the same 'stands.'
Dinners
The buffet is as at least as suspicious-looking as the wrinkled woman's room. The tastiest item on the menu is chips. We had chips for dinner for a week. Believe it or not, we have not lost our taste for them.
The nightlife
The bald DJ on the other side of the hotel terrace looks a little bored. The same song year after year. We now understand how he lost the hair. Rafaela Carra screams “hay que venir al sur”. We almost choke on our drink.
The beach
The beach is without equal. It has no poetry or ability to inspire. The water is brackish and warm. Dense. No waves. We think of Cesare Pavese's La spiaggia-ko noon and night. And of Hedaia. And Zarautz. And of the reservoir in Allotz.
The sun
The sun shines the same on everyone. Even in cheap paradises, too.
