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DISASTER SPA...
Surprise weekends lost in translation...
 Internet has changed our lives. We can communicate globally with ease, move around funds at the click of a button, organise travel simply, network with fellow-spirits, share... But its not all "peachy." Internet is also an open door for misrepresentation. Sometimes we "click" just a little too quickly. Last weekend my husband decided to take me on a surprise weekend. My typical feminine reaction was initial horror and angst...my god what clothes will I pack??? He answered, passport and swim suit. My next question, the test question ( the camping question...I loathe and detest camping!), Will I need to bring my hair dryer? Oh joy, he answered no which meant it was probably a hotel. So far all systems go! We drove off, my husband beaming proudly, myself wondering whether my tramping boots were crushing the little black cocktail dress I'd packed...I was prepared for anything and had packed accordingly. To cut a long story short...my husband thought he had booked us, via internet, for a romantic spa hotel weekend in Spain.... We drove past San Sebastien and into the depths of the Spanish Basque countryside. We swung off the main national road in front of a large blue building. This is it, said husband proudly. It was then that we noticed a minibus with several very very elderly people being helped out. With the help of their walking frames, they hobbled in through the front entrance of the "hotel." We followed them, making our way through a cloud of spanish 80-somethings to Reception. Husband now less smiley and myself trying to keep smile painted on face. Clue #1 Overwhelming smell of disinfectant and chlorine Clue #2 Reception chap dressed like a psychiatric nurse and does not speak tourist languages such as french, english, german. My spanish is limited to ordering a glass of white wine... Clue #3 Reception chap seems surprised to see us...by now we have a dozen or so 80/90-somethings at reception with us, chatting loudly in spanish whilst reception chap hisses "sh" at them. We are clearly creating some interest. Am feeling confused and ready to use my limited spanish to order that glass of white wine. Look around, no bar in sight. Finally someone arrives who can speak limited ( capital "L") english with us...Where is the Spa? asks Husband. But no Sir, this is not a Spa, it is a thermal cure centre... Turns out my husband had booked us into a a thermal cure clinic for the elderly with respiratory conditions. By now I am laughing nervously and my poor husband swearing at himself. It is 7pm and we are in the middle of nowhere. We walk down to the "cure" area as I'm convinced I can at least have a decent massage, clay wrap etc.Eternal hope! Confronted with yet another reception replete with receptionist doing his best to look like and extra out of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest in full male nurse regalia. He speaks english..."Is for your mother?" he asks me. Chin up I ask if I can have a massage..he winks and tells me to come back at 11pm. Seeing my dour reaction he tells me I have to see the Dr before I am allowed a massage or any other "treatment." We go to our room..argh! Separate beds!... I go into the bathroom and really start laughing when I see the seat in the bathtub and the handles on each side of the loo.......vamos a la playa? ps my husband assures me their website was full of photos of slender 25 year olds covered in clay or sitting nude under fountains of thermal water ....I can only imagine these photos were taken in the 1950s ? Become a follower of Desperate Anglo Housewives NOW!! The off-shore AngloSaxon/American wives and mothers need you to join the network. 
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