Two Weeks in Lanzarote and One Very Loyal Grey Blanket

Our flight to Lanzarote was completely uneventful, exactly how you want a flight to be, until we reached the airport in Lanzarote. There we were greeted by the now infamous e-gates, which appear to have been installed specifically to remind British travellers that someone, somewhere, is keeping an eye on us.

The queue was impressive. The sort of queue Britain could be proud of. Still, after 45 minutes we made it through, which apparently counts as a success story compared to some of the horror tales doing the rounds online.

A minibus whisked us off to our accommodation. This year we’re trying a new apartment complex, one we’ve walked past many times before thinking, that looks quite nice. Having now checked in, we can confirm that it is indeed quite nice.

The apartment consists of an open-plan living and kitchen area, a bathroom and a bedroom. Perfectly comfortable. Unfortunately, the weather had decided not to cooperate with our holiday plans.

It was overcast, with a rather enthusiastic northerly wind, when we headed out to the local Spar to buy supplies. Around 4pm the sun finally made a welcome appearance, although you had to wedge yourself behind a wall, plant pot, or unsuspecting building to actually feel any warmth from it.

Over on the other side of the pool, my people-watching instincts have locked onto a particularly loud group who appear to share roughly ten teeth between them. They give the strong impression that breakfast consists of a can of Monster, lunch is a vape, candy-floss flavour, and dinner is a pint of the cheapest chilled beer available.

I do, however, feel a surprising wave of relaxation when I overhear one of them say between clouds of sugary vapour that they’ll be sad to go home tomorrow. It’s strangely comforting. No matter how different our holiday habits might be, the looming tragedy of returning to real life is clearly an experience we all go through. I don’t think I’ll be sad to see them go though.

We haven’t hired a car this trip. We know the island well and have visited most of the attractions several times already, along with a few places we accidentally discovered while getting lost on previous visits. Steve does, however, plan to hire a bike. He found a good cycle hire place last year, and it works well for him if he only wants to ride occasionally.

Although, looking at this wind, I’m not entirely convinced this is the wisest plan.

On our second day the rain pounded against the patio doors with such enthusiasm that we had to place a towel along the bottom to stop it sneaking into the apartment. After lunch it stopped, although the clouds stubbornly remained.

I mentioned to a neighbour that hopefully it might brighten up soon. She laughed, properly laughed and informed me it had been like this for the past two weeks.

Still, I remain optimistic. Possibly delusional, but optimistic, which is strange for me as I’m a glass half empty kind of girl who always looks at the worst case scenario.

As the days went by the wind remained relentless. The rain came and went, and the temperature hovered around 19°C which, when combined with the gale-force breeze, felt more like 16°C. Definitely less if you were standing still.

My “warm clothing” consisted of a fleece, shorts and T-shirts. I had packed one pair of socks and one thin pair of summer trousers, which now seem useless in this weather but soldier on I must.

While rummaging through the cupboards I discovered a huge fleecy blanket. At the time it seemed like a nice extra.

Little did I realise it would soon become the most important item in the apartment.

Restaurants here are designed for outdoor dining and are largely open to the elements. In theory this is lovely. In practice it becomes a competitive sport when the wind arrives. Diners scramble to grab the most sheltered tables, edging further and further indoors as the evening progresses.

We tend to eat earlier than most, which gives us a slight advantage. By 7 pm however, it’s every diner for themselves. The true heroes sit outside regardless, wrapped in jackets, scarves and expressions of quiet determination, normally only there because they also need to smoke so inside doesn’t suit them.

We’ve walked quite a lot, although walking into a strong headwind isn’t exactly relaxing. We’ve also spent a fair amount of time sitting down, binge watching Netflix, drinking copious amounts of tea and huddling under our now legendary big grey blanket.

I brought some wool and a crochet hook with me. Normally on holiday we’re too busy for me to make much progress on any project I start.

This week, however, I’ve completed an entire shawl.

It now lives permanently around my shoulders like some sort of portable heating system.

Thankfully, after the first few days the rain stopped, although the wind continued with impressive determination and the clouds remained stubbornly overhead. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still glad to be here. We just weren’t quite prepared for it.

The cheerful little weather symbols on the BBC forecast somehow failed to mention “bring winter clothes and possibly thermal underwear.”

One afternoon we were treated to a glorious three hours of sunshine. I immediately positioned myself in a chair with my face tilted directly towards the sun, clutching my book and absorbing vitamin D like a solar panel.

Meanwhile, every other day the poor lifeguard sits by the pool, wrapped up to the nines, completely alone and staring at his phone as if wondering where all the holidaymakers had gone. If you zoom in on the photo near the life buoy you’ll see him hiding.

Steve eventually decided to brave the bike rides he’d been planning. After carefully studying the weather app, he chose two days when the wind was due to drop by a couple of miles per hour.

Naturally, those were the exact days the wind decided it had other ideas.

Off he went, cycling up into the mountains in full summer cycling gear while the temperature outside was confidently announcing 12°C first thing in the morning. He said it was 10mph into the wind and 30mph overtaking cars with the tailwind.

Just over 50 miles later he returned looking thoroughly windswept and announced that it had been “a bit of a hard ride”.

And for an added bonus, he got to repeat the entire experience the next day.

After a phone call with our youngest daughter, I felt much better about the whole holiday.

She said she had absolutely no sympathy whatsoever and would happily swap places with us rather than going to work.

Fair enough.

We’re now entering our second week and the forecast still isn’t looking particularly promising.

I may have to return to the shop.

For more wool.