The Gran Canaria Getaway

After the hotel fire drama in Ibiza, we headed to the airport early. We didn't need any other dramas unfolding. As soon as we stepped onto the plane, the English woman sitting next to us struck up a conversation. She had lived in Sydney 20 years ago but now lived on Ibiza, dedicating her life to saving Ibiza's hippie lifestyle. As we took off, I got a run down on all of the island gods and goddesses. At one point, Jason kicked me, as a secret code for “this woman is loco”. As he did, she caught a glimpse of it, but it didn’t deter her from continuing her Ibiza tales.

We were staying in Maspalomas not far from the Yumbo Centre, and a little walk to the Cita Shopping Centre. The Yumbo Centre would become the epicentre of our Gran Canaria getaway. After bouncing around Spain for the last month, we were looking forward to setting up camp for six days to bask in the sun, sand, sea and other shit 😂.

Before arriving we didn’t have too many expectations. Gran Canaria is known for its black lava and white sand beaches, and also as a popular destination for the Brits. And based on all the signage in German, it seems the Germans too like to visit the island.

On our first night, we wandered to the Cita Shopping Centre to grab a bite to eat and a little beverage to drink. One prominent theme on our holiday, apart from drinking and eating, has been mazes and labyrinths; the Cita Shopping Centre was no different. We ended up in the dungeons of the shopping centre, where another theme started to emerge. We noticed there was an unusual number of sex cinemas and sex/swingers clubs in the vicinity. It turns out that Gran Canaria is also a popular destination for British and German swingers. It reminded me of Magda Szubanski's and Peter Moon’s Full Frontal characters, Bob and Cheryl Ugly, who were avid neighbourhood watch champions, watching their neighbours for more than 8 hours at a stretch (https://youtu.be/_bBNyxqym-8). Exit, stage left!

Most of the Island seems geared towards European tourists. The bars played British artists (or whenever we entered the room INXS or Sia would come on as if they knew the Aussies had arrived). The only exception was the cars booming with loud music, most blaring the sounds of Bad Bunny’s “Tití Me Preguntó”. That syncopated reggaeton beat is recognisable anywhere!

The only Spanish spoken is by the shopkeepers, and even then Spanish is their second (third or fourth language). So there's been even less opportunity for us to practise our Spanish!

Each night, we seemed to end up at the Yumbo Centre, and somehow managed to appear at Ricky’s Bar and Cabaret for the Drag Show. I mean it seems fitting that we ended up there. But the drag shows were really sub-par. Bad bingo drag queens imported from the UK seem to rule the roost in Maspalomas. By day, the Yumbo maze is a bustling shopping centre with all kinds of merchandise. By night, pubs and clubs for all persuasions are pumping.

The beach (Playa del Inglés) was a little walk away from our hotel, and we probably needed a packed lunch for the trip. On our second day, we made the mistake of heading out too early in the blaring sun. Needless to say the shadow-hopper, Jason, managed to get to the beach without frying, unlike the burnt Brits, Bob and Cheryl Ugly, who displayed their battle wounds with pride. The skin on some dangled like a thread on their bali-inspired sarong or boob-tube bikini. I really just wanted to go over and rip it off like a wax strip.

The dunes of Maspalomas are one of the main tourist destinations (that is, other than the swingers clubs). The dunes were even further than the beach but we decided to up the ante on our step count for the day. We only did that once, and never again. Instead we opted for the €4 taxi trip for all future dune adventures. We needed our energy to traverse through the desert sand dunes. The first time, our legs and calf muscles didn’t know what had hit them.

In between visits to the beach and the dunes, we shopped, taking advantage of any bargains that were on offer. The only problem was how we were going to fit it into our bags. Packing next time is going to be a real treat!

By Friday afternoon, our hotel had transformed into a gay pool party, for the fifth annual Freedom party. Men in skimpy swimsuits and oiled up torsos paraded around the pool. We sat back, sipped our mojitos and took in the views. Is it time for another mojito?

By the way, the Lost World syndrome has spread like COVID and I'm now a victim too (but still trailing Jason).

Next stop: Marrakech.Read more