One of the vagaries’ of booking hotels on the internet is that you are presented with a random selection of choices, and you run down the options using your own criteria; number of stars, does it have a pool, do the pictures of the rooms look nice, and of course the price. Then you book it. But because of the wide sweep of the net you might find yourself in a place you would never have found yourself or even considered before. This is how we have found ourselves the only British people in a hotel entirely given over to German tour groups.

We are in Puerto de la Cruz on the north coast of Tenerife, a resort described as ‘fashionable’ in one of our guide books and it was in the past when the British ‘discovered’ it in the days when only the rich could travel. It still has an Anglican Church and an English school; but it’s clear that in recent times it has become a German colony, mainly populated by elderly Germans either living here year around or just for a few weeks,  escaping the northern winter. All the signs are tri lingual, Spanish, German and English and you can get by easily in German, as most of the people you meet speak it. Most of the Spanish are quite thrilled when spoken to in Spanish, especially when it’s pronounced properly.

Our fellow hotel guests could all be described as senior, mainly late fifties and sixties, ‘though a few younger couples help lower the average age. They are all very friendly and speak to you in German as if you are one of them, after all, how could you be any different? I don’t mind this as I speak some German and I like the practice. They probably consider me a little odd as my replies are never as allusive as their questions and comments, as usually I’ve only understood the outline of what they are saying. Still they are pleasant company, and we usually have the massive outdoor pool to ourselves as well, even getting a sun lounger is no problem; also for its size it has to be the quietest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.

I had one moment this afternoon when I nearly lost it though, when the desire for tectonic neatness almost pushed me to open up hostilities. Driving into the hotel car park I quickly pulled into a space, as rain was beginning to fall and a storm was clearly on the way. Having turned off the engine, I was surprised to be harangued by a passing German senior citizen because my back tyre was over the white parking line. My German isn’t up to yelling ‘so bloody what we’re not in Germany now we’re in a hotel car park in Spain’, so I just ignored him. I did move the car though. After all it’s not wise to alienate yourself from the dominant group even if officially you’re not even part of it.