I woke up to blue skies, the rain and clouds from yesterday had cleared and all was right with the world. I had slept long and well, for all its faults Stalag Blue Star was the quietest place I had ever stayed at in Puerto Rico and I’ve been coming here since 1991. The resort is built into a couple of valleys between the mountains and the noise from the nightlife bounces around all night usually. Here though only a few hundred yards from the busy Europa Centre it was dead quiet.

The last time I was here in September I did so much walking I developed a blister on my toe which turned into a diabetic ulcer. The nurse reckoned I was two days away from losing the toe. I now have another blister on the same toe. Carefully treated and dressed by the diabetic care chiropodist from Hillingdon Hospital I am under instructions not to walk on it whilst my doctor has told me to do more walking as it is good for my diabetes. With these conflicting instructions in mind I decided to go for a saunter, a stroll, a wander, a mooch around but definitely not a walk.

I trekked down the mountain to Playa de Amadores, the man-made beach with all the fancy restaurants and boutiques. Not really my cup of cafe con leche as I prefer the more natural landscapes but it is a beautiful place.

I had a look around and thought about breakfast but it was still early and not many places were open. Funnily enough the Indian and Chinese restaurants were as was the Irish Cottage pub but none appealed to me. I thought I’d buy a newspaper. At this time of year English papers are hard to find as everything is geared to the Scandinavian market. Every place you go past there is someone trying to get you in to buy or eat and at one shop, Bazaar Bikini Parade I asked the guy outside “Periodico Ingles?” English newspaper? He pointed me at a Daily Mirror and the till where I waited to be served for about five minutes as there was no one there. After I had read most of the paper an elderly Asian man who I took to be the owner turned up, looked at me and grunted ‘two fifty’. No please or sorry to keep you waiting. I handed him four euros. Ignoring my outstretched hand he slapped my change on the counter without a thank you. I told him I felt this was incredibly rude. “Fuck you!” he shouted “Fuck you asshole! Fuck off!” I was astounded! He stormed off to the back of the shop. I called after him “Excuse me, can I have my money back, I don’t want this now after your rudeness”. He ran back, tore the newspaper from my hand, ripped it up and threw it on the floor. He got my two fifty back out of the till and slammed it in my hand again shouting “Fuck you asshole. Fuck you. Fuck off”. I don’t know what his native language was but I called him a mother fucker in Urdu, his mother a prostitute in Spanish and that he was fucking lucky I didn’t give him a slap in English. Well really!

After that little contretemps it was time to move on. The happy pills I take must be working because I wasn’t at all concerned about the episode. I took the coastal path along to the next beach, Playa de Puerto Rico with its two harbours, Puerto Escala where the ferry to Puerto Mogan and Arguineguin leaves from, and Puerto Base where the sport fishing and day cruise boats depart. I had a look around to see what was new then went across to Puerto Base for breakfast in the Red Rose Cafe. My friend Carol is the owner and she was just leaving as I was walking in. We hugged and kissed and she complimented me on how slim I looked and asked if I was still off the booze. Later she sat and joined me while I waited for my meal and we caught up on each other’s latest news. I forgot to ask her if I could rent her house in February as when I return with the princess I don’t want to stay in a shithole. I can recommend the veggie breakfast here by the way and at night this place turns into a first class restaurant.

I moseyed on up to the centre of town through the park and after a brief recce I got a cab back to Stalag Blue Star. I spent a pleasant afternoon on the patio reading and thinking how quiet it was. Even the kiddies playground ten yards away wasn’t in use. After a couple of hours I was starting to doze when I heard a woman on a balcony above me shouting into her phone. Why do people have to shout? They could’ve heard her back in Norway or wherever she came from as I couldn’t understand a word of the foreign language. After a while her husband joined her and they both started shouting at each other although they were laughing too so it can’t have been an argument. Then I began to notice the odd English word in their conversation. Could they be speaking some kind of dialect? Surely not! Eventually it dawned on me that they are Welsh when the husband exclaimed to one and all “I fuckin’ shit myself!” Well really ! I muttered to myself for the second time today.

I got a cab down to the Puerto Rico Shopping Centre, centro commercial the Spanish call it, and dined at Los Danieles right at the back away from the tourist bars. The taxi drivers stop here for cortados, the strong coffees that get them through the night, and locals eat here. Cheap, unpretentious Canarian cuisine, I had the tortilla espanol, potato omelette with chips and salad. I wandered around the centre avoiding the looky looky men selling snidy watches and the PRs trying to drag you into my idea of disco hell. Eventually I found a supermarket that sold the sugar free Schweppes Indian Tonic Water I have to drink to stop the cramps in my feet and retired for the night. How my life has changed! I was back indoors by eight o clock, the time when I would’ve been only thinking of going out in my previous life.

I read for a while and had an early night where I dreamt about Apu from the Simpsons in the Kwikimart telling me to fuck off and Welshmen shitting themselves.

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