Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Cleveland
Do you have a hotel or B&B in any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Billingham, Guisborough, Hartlepool, Middlesbrough, Redcar, Saltburn-By-The-Sea, Stockton-On-Tees, Trimdon Station, Wingate, Yarm
For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.
List your Hostel in Cleveland
Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.
Short Extract
Get the book
Out with the hammer again, I bashed all three steaks and chucked them amongst the pork chops and burgers. I turned the chicken in the pan and turned the microwave on for the half chickens. The chips were plunged into the fryer, spluttering and spitting burning oil onto my hands and forearms. I laid more plates onto the table and grabbed handfuls of tomato, cucumber and onion slices and chopped lettuce, dumping a pile onto each plate as the aroma of burnt chicken filled the air again. I snatched the pan from the heat and decided that this time they would have to be resuscitated, so I added some white wine, crushed garlic and sliced mushrooms and replaced the pan over the blue flame. The first order was nearly ready so, slicing two burger buns in half and drawing only a little blood from my left palm, the buns were added to the hot plate. The microwave dinged and I felt to see if the chickens were hot. They were painfully. The wine for the chicken dish was bubbling away and I added the cream and black pepper. Slices of cheese were slapped onto the now shrivelling burgers. The buns started smoking. I picked them off the hot plate, burning fingertips in the process and hurled them binwards. One missed completely and rolled out of the kitchen into the main customer area. I noticed several moments later that someone had discreetly kicked it back in. Half a chicken, chicken burger, mixed grill, two chicken in wines, all with chips and salad, oh, and a tuna salad. How you doing in here?’
Billingham, Guisborough, Hartlepool, Middlesbrough, Redcar, Saltburn-By-The-Sea, Stockton-On-Tees, Trimdon Station, Wingate, Yarm
I scooped the egg off the terracotta tiles and dusted it down with the edge of my apron, then replaced it on the plate and made my way out of the kitchen. At the bar, two men that I hadn’t seen before were drinking beer from the bottle. They had the deeper tan of residents, appeared more confident and purposeful than holidaymakers, and there was something too cocksure about their manner. After placing the plate in front of Friedhelm I went behind the bar to get a closer look. One had a scar running from just below his left eye to the corner of his mouth, while the other looked old enough to be his father and wore a cocky smirk across a boxer’s face. Joy was chatting to them; ‘This is Joe, my other half,’ she said, throwing an anxious glance my way. The younger of the two nodded while the other ignored me and looked round the bar. This your gaff, then?’ asks the older one in a nicotine-raked London accent. He continued to survey the premises. Well, ours and my brother’s, actually,’ I replied, figuring there was strength in numbers.
Naturally, environmentalists were none too pleased with this trans-continental transfer of earthly treasure. Consequently, many of the South’s other beaches had to draw on sub-oceanic reserves, sucking golden sand (and startled marine life) off the seabed, blowing it along lengthy sections of tubing and spitting it back out onto dry land, just like the one in Las Américas. Joy and I pitched camp between two families. One was Spanish, several generations sheltering from the sun under a marquee of overlapping beach brollies. A wall of towels draped from the umbrellas provided security from the gusts of sea breeze, protecting the picnic they had laid out on one of the white plastic sunbeds. A carpet of remaining towels protected the delicate feet of the younger members of the family from the hot sand. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were all dressed in swimsuits, except the grandmother, who was clad all in black save for a straw boater, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you were peering into someone’s living room. Huge efforts had been made to repel the conditions that you’d normally seek on a beach sand, the sunshine and a sea view. A red-top newspaper protruding from the top of a straw shopping bag gave an obvious clue as to the nationality of our other neighbours. The family of four couldn’t have displayed a more contrasting outlook on beach excursions. They were here to revel in all three enemies of the Spanish clan.