Chapter 21
I’ve only been on one all-inclusive holiday, which was to Turkey when I was twenty-five.
Jason and I went to a hotel in Belek, recommended by a friend of his, Nick.
From what I remember, Nick was a professional arsehole in his thirties, known for making people take their shoes off before getting into his Mercedes, despite religiously having his car detailed weekly.
The hotel was beautiful: pristine, large, airy rooms and set right on the beach.
It could have been romantic as hell if Jason hadn’t spent the entire week on the eighteen-hole golf course attached to the hotel.
His new golf buddies also had five-aside football booked and Jason was happy to make up the numbers.
When I complained, I was told that we didn’t need to spend every moment together, reminding me that he’d spent a fortune bringing me along.
I spent the week feeling grateful when he’d join me for dinner, or show me ten minutes of affection in bed, worn out from his already strenuous day.
If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have booked myself a flight home and he’d have been dumped before my feet touched UK soil.
The dining room is chock-a-block when I arrive.
There’s a party atmosphere in play, especially with the twentysomethings, but on the faces of the parents with younger children I can see the exhaustion and fear already beginning to set in.
The buffet set-up is pretty much identical to the hotel in Belek.
Food stations around the side of the room, offering everything from fresh fish, salad bars, meat and of course burgers, to nuggets and chips for the kids (or adults) who refuse to eat something as outrageous as a vegetable.
There’s also a massive dessert trolley in the middle of the room and a vast array of fresh fruit, bread and cheese nearby.
I take my place in the queue and start working my way around, completely ravenous.
I could happily kneel at the end of the food station and have someone slide the food directly into my mouth, like a bartender in a western movie.
Instead, I place normal portions onto my plate, hoping that no one will bat an eye when I inevitably go back up for eighths.
Plate in hand, I turn and survey the seating area.
My heart sinks a little. Every table looks full, despite it already being open for hours, and there are parents chasing kids around, no doubt trying to stop them smacking their heads on the floor or rugby tackling a nearby pensioner.
I walk around for what feels like forever before a woman in a blue velvet tracksuit waves me over.
She’s sitting with a man who’s wearing his sunglasses indoors.
‘Sit here, love, we’re just leaving.’
I smile gratefully as they push their dishes to one side. ‘Thanks so much. I thought I was going to have to sit on the floor.’ I pause as a toddler, high on ice cream, zips past me. ‘Is it always like this?’
She laughs. ‘First timer? You’ll get used to it. A lot of people just want to dress down and keep it simple on the first night. If you haven’t booked into any of the restaurants, I’d do that. You can turn up but sometimes they’re full. Just give them a call.’
I thank her again as they leave and take my seat, feeling a tad overwhelmed already.
I hadn’t thought about making reservations because I didn’t expect four gazillion people to all want to dine at the same time.
I begin to eat, thinking that eating here every night wouldn’t be the biggest hardship as it’s delicious.
I have a combination of garlic potatoes, seafood, a lamb cutlet, rice and mixed vegetables.
It shouldn’t work but it does. I leave briefly to get some water, placing my cardigan on the chair, hoping that no one steals my seat while I’m gone.
I’m not bothered about my cardigan. If anyone desperately needs a bobbly, off-white ASOS cardigan, they’re welcome to it.
This is just one disadvantage of sitting alone in a public space.
Last time I was in Starbucks, I went to the loo and came back to a man sitting in my seat, on a phone call, with my full coffee and magazine in front of him.
At first he refused to leave, informing me that ‘you snooze, you lose’.
Eventually he called me an old bitch, storming off when I stood beside him, talking loudly over his important call for three minutes straight.
Kieran said I should have been warier. The guy could have been mentally unwell, carrying a knife or just an all-round violent prick.
I replied that a skinny man-child with a middle parting who orders a white chocolate Frappuccino isn’t someone I’m backing down from.
However, as fun as that was, I have no desire to repeat that here.
Thankfully, I return, and everything is as it should be, cardigan and all.
I consider going back for seconds but the rice and potato are quickly inflating my stomach.
My eyes dart towards the dessert table while my brain informs me that fruit is the healthier option, so naturally I choose cake.
A chocolate mousse cake square with white chocolate decorations.
And a strawberry tart that definitely counts towards my five-a-day.
Again, in a room bursting with passengers, no one pays me any mind at all, and I begin to understand that I’m not an uncommon sight.
There’s nothing weird about someone travelling on a cruise alone.
There’s no whispering or pity glances, no one telling their kids not to stare at the pariah in the corner.
It’s like a big cruising family, but one where everyone minds their own business and doesn’t borrow your shit without asking first.
As I’m getting ready to leave, I spot a young couple, plates in hand, scanning the room. I wave them over.
‘You can sit here, I’m just leaving,’ I tell them.
‘You’re a lifesaver! I didn’t expect it to be so busy!’
I smile. ‘First timer? Me too.’