We arrived at our destination in Lanzarote after a challenging journey, just as the sun was setting. As we drove, my son asked if there were any volcanoes on the island. I found his belief that all geological features are like those in picture books charming. To satisfy his curiosity, I did a quick Google search and discovered that Lanzarote not only has an active volcano but its entire landscape is shaped by volcanic activity. It is renowned globally as the Island of Volcanoes.
We were staying at a luxurious resort near Playa Blanca with my wife’s parents, siblings, and their children. The resort was a maze of square white buildings that stretched to the sea. It was a far cry from the caravan parks and campsites I remembered from my own childhood, which were mostly in Ireland. Those places were about as exotic as vacationing on a traffic island, albeit with donkey rides.
The resort looked extremely fancy and slightly reminiscent of the set of the cult 60s sci-fi series “The Prisoner.” It had restaurants, a cinema, a spa, and an abundance of pools. I didn’t need to count them myself because my son, who loves numbers, kept track of everything. Every eight minutes or so, he would announce fascinating facts like the number of chairs or the number of squares on a floor. I thanked him for his vigilance while the tanned residents smiled appreciatively at his talents. I made sure to take him away before testing their patience further.
My daughter, on the other hand, reacted to the scorching 40C weather with a persistent cough. It was as if she was traversing the peat bogs of Athlone with no supplies except duty-free cigarettes and matches. Fortunately, the resort offered ample childcare services, and she quickly adapted to the Baby Club. I can only assume they included some well-deserved cigarette breaks for her.
As for my son, he was not a fan of the Kidz Club due to his irrational fear of the mascot, Daisy. Daisy was an anthropomorphic plant with a giant flower-head. She divided the opinions of the resort’s young guests. Some were thrilled by her presence and her love for late-90s trance music. Others were terrified the moment they saw her lifeless, felt-embroidered smile. Luckily, it was easy to avoid her as her arrival was always accompanied by the unmistakable sound of Gigi D’Agostino’s “L’amour Toujours.” This warned us of the impending trauma she might inflict.
Most of the time, my son stuck with us, playing draughts with his grandad and swimming in the pool with his mom. As for me, I chose to stay completely out of the sun. I settled into a comfortable spot with a drink and a good book.
At a certain point in the afternoon, my son boldly declared, “You’ve had three beers today, Daddy.” I acknowledged his keen observation amidst the laughter of sun-kissed strangers.
Seámas O’Reilly’s book, “Did Ye Hear Mammy Died?”, is available now from guardianbookshop for £14.78. Stay updated by following Seámas on Twitter @shockproofbeats.
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