Early breakfast, early trek to the bus station with our packs and three and a half hours later we are searching Las Americas for our hotel booked yesterday on the internet. Against a backdrop of magnificent mountain ridges and volcanic plugs there has been built the eyesore abomination that is Playa Las Americas.
Coming down into town we passed Wigan Pier, Hyde Park Corner, The Cheshire Cat, the Manchester United bar, numerous branches of Macdonalds and Burger kings There are so many tacky shops, dubious looking bars and restaurants that there can't be enough money in the whole world to keep them all going. It's our vision of hell. About two hundred yards short of our hotel I suddenly realised we hadn't picked up our passports from reception at the last hotel, now three and a half hours away back across the island by bus. The only asset our hotel has is the main guy in reception who phoned our last hotel up for us and we arranged for them to post them by fast delivery, hopefully arriving tomorrow. They faxed copies of our passports so we could book in - then we went to walk the town.
For dinner we thought we'd try out Gordon Ramsay's, but at 6.95 euros for a three course meal ( free drink included ) we deduced it probably wasn't that Gordon Ramsay.
I hadn't realised I'd subscribed to the hotel's in house music entertainment, but it came anyway, courtesy of the Sound of Cream nightclub two hundred yards away down the road. Even inserting earplugs till they almost met in the middle failed to quiet the din of nonstop techno. We slept .......occasionally
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