After a short five and a half hours in a perfectly adequate Days Inn room, the alarm rudely dragged us back to consciousness. Karen was understandably sluggish getting going, and we left slightly later than our carefully planned 5.40am departure time. Planning, as ever, is theoretical.
It only took a few minutes to reach the Meet & Greet parking facility I had triumphantly booked at a bargain price almost 12 months earlier. Occasionally, my forward planning does pay off — I dined out on that fact for at least ten minutes.
As ever, Karen’s attempt at “minimal packing” had stretched her hand luggage case and rucksack to near structural failure. I genuinely do not understand how this happens, especially as I carry everything that is “joint”: charging cables, laptop, iPad, travel papers, tea bags (essential), and my own small pharmacy of medical supplies. Yet somehow my bags are lighter and less bulky. It defies physics.
While navigating the Disney-like snake queue for security, Karen suddenly realised she had left her trusty yellow umbrella/walking stick in the car. I rolled my eyes internally. There was no point saying anything, but sometimes it feels less like travelling with a spouse and more like shepherding a mildly distracted toddler.
“Have you got your hanky?”
“Do you need the toilet?”
“Are you sure you’ve got your umbrella?”
At security, both our bags were sent down the “problem” lane, which caused another inward groan. Mine was apparently just a system blip and was handed straight back to me. Karen’s, however, required inspection because she had crammed so many 100ml liquids into her plastic bag that it resembled a small cosmetics warehouse. I suspect most of them will return home entirely unused.
Normally at Stansted we head to the Escape Lounge if we have complimentary access. Ironically, it had closed for renovations the day before, and the temporary replacement wasn’t due to open until the following day. Timing is everything sometimes.
Instead, we headed to the Camden Pub, where our passes gave us £18 credit each. This is essentially the airport’s “Spoons alternative” — but with prices that suggest you’re buying shares in the establishment. Our £36 credit covered Eggs Benedict and a single cup of tea each. No refills. Ridiculous. Still, technically “free”, which made it taste marginally better.
Boarding was straightforward. My principled refusal to pay for selected seats meant we both had aisle seats in row 21, separated by the middle seat lottery. The flight was about 80% full, and those at the back had entire rows to stretch out. I briefly reconsidered my principles.
We both dozed fitfully for much of the flight, in between which I read my Kindle. The Mark Watson book I was reading was just about good enough to keep me turning the pages — not exceptional, but I was invested enough to need to know how it ended. The literary equivalent of a decent in-flight snack.
We landed five minutes early, which we immediately lost waiting for the even greyer passengers in front of us to retrieve their bags and carefully disembark as though stepping onto the moon.
I had been mildly anxious about immigration. This was our first time through since the introduction of the new ETA system across Europe, and Lanzarote Airport had reportedly seen queues lasting over two hours in recent weeks.
We needn’t have worried. There was no queue at all.
The process, however, was long-winded and utterly pointless. All non-EU passport holders were directed to machines to take a photo — regardless of whether they had done so before. No fingerprints were taken, no questions asked about funding or length of stay. So presumably that will all need doing yet again another time.
We then went through the electronic gates, where our passports were scanned again and another photo taken — proving the first stage largely superfluous. Finally, we stood in front of immigration officers who, without even looking at the passports, stamped them.
A complete and utter waste of time. The e-gates alone should be perfectly capable of doing everything. EU bureaucracy at its finest… and worst.
Without luggage to wait for, we were outside swiftly and within 30 minutes of landing were in a taxi heading to La Peñita.
Our apartment had been booked through Airbnb and was 30% cheaper than booking directly through the complex — a victory I mentioned more than once. Entry involved what can only be described as low-level Escape Room challenges. We bypassed the first task when someone kindly opened the gate for us, cracked the lockbox without drama, and were soon inside our ground-floor apartment.
It was larger than any we’d stayed in before, with a generous patio, a washing machine and even a dishwasher — luxury. The furnishings were different from the usual style, and easy-going Karen wasn’t entirely convinced at first. Change can be unsettling when you’ve mentally pictured the room already.
After the obligatory cuppa (priority number one), we headed to Spar for provisions. Before shopping, however, we fortified ourselves with ice creams in the weak sunshine. It was already cooler than we had optimistically imagined and hoped.
Back at the apartment, we sat outside for a while before getting ready to head out for dinner. We turned left towards our old favourite, Pizzeria Napolena — only to discover it was closed for staff holidays. Crushing.
Karen then declared we would walk back down to Pinocchio’s instead — a bold call given her hip and the threat of rain. On arrival, she was greeted with a hug and kiss from the maître d’, which was significantly more than my allowance so far this year. We still waited ten minutes for a table.
I ordered my reliable favourite, the Tipica pizza, which did not disappoint. Karen had the lasagne and approved. We shared half a bottle of red wine, and she finished with Pinocchio’s famously strong Irish coffee — which could probably power a small fishing boat.
While we were eating, a full monsoon began. We stretched out our drinks and chatted to the couple at the next table, who were equally reluctant to step outside. By the time the rain eased, we were almost the only people left in the restaurant.
We made our way back just before the heavens opened again.
Karen managed the walk only by leaning heavily on my arm, so we agreed we’d need to sort some additional walking support in the morning.
By the time we returned, we were exhausted. After a swift cuppa (naturally), we retired for the night, optimistically hoping the weather would have a quiet word with itself by morning.
So much for blogs in Lanza covering 2 days and so for now I will end here.
