Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Durham
Do you have a hostel or hotel in any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Byers Green, Chester Le Street, Chester-le-street, Consett, Cornforth, Coxhoe, Croxdale, Durham, Haswell, Houghton Le Spring, Kirk Merrington, Langley Park, Sacriston, Stanley, Thornley, Ushaw Moor, West Rainton, Willington
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.
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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.
Short Extract
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After relaying back and forth rounding up the remainder of our wayward luggage, the air rife with the fragrance of squelching armpits, and with a nagging ache lingering in my gonads, we were welcomed to Tenerife. The arrivals hall was a bright but characterless warehouse stocked with a mixture of tanned locals and tour reps in dizzy florid blouses. Each held a board with their companys name emblazoned across it. Every tour operator that I had ever heard of, and a lot that I hadnt, seemed to be represented here. Some already had flocks of bewildered, washed-out faces huddled around them, fathers relieved that all responsibility had been passed on to someone who knew what the hell to do next. Joy and I pushed the trolleys through the milling crowd and emerged blinking into the glaring sunshine of our new country of residence. Hot blasts of air swept over us as we wheeled down the endless line of people waiting for a taxi. Overhead, a piercing blue stretched from the glittering Atlantic beyond the runway to where the mountaintops gashed the sky several miles inland. Families herded their belongings together. Their holiday started here and shirts were already off, revealing pasty torsos desperate to be toasted. As with all travel, replacing familiar surroundings with the unknown fires an electric charge that awakens a sense of adventure. Even those whose pool of adrenalin had long been suffering a severe drought were caught in this buzz of excitement.
Byers Green, Chester Le Street, Chester-le-street, Consett, Cornforth, Coxhoe, Croxdale, Durham, Haswell, Houghton Le Spring, Kirk Merrington, Langley Park, Sacriston, Stanley, Thornley, Ushaw Moor, West Rainton, Willington
The view until now had been one of stark ruggedness. The road had climbed through fields of sharp, black rock, a legacy of the frequent occasions when Mother Nature had decided to redecorate the island in hues of ash black and fiery red. Petrified rivers of grey tumbled over terraced ledges. Here and there, green cacti and mountain broom punctuated the apocalyptic vision, bursting resolute from the tiniest of fissures. Eventually the road began to level off and lone stragglers were replaced by clumps, then a whole forest of Canary Pine. Small patches of snow began to appear under rocky overhangs. Travelling along a rare straight stretch of tarmac, the freshly painted centre lines rushed ahead. Then suddenly they disappeared as a swirling wall of cloud rolled across the mountain road. We slowed down, visibility reduced to little past the rusty red bonnet of our car. Then, as quickly as the scenery had vanished, it burst forth again as we drove out of the other side and back into brilliant, sharp sunshine. Ahead of us, the towering pinnacle of Mount Teide soared into the sky. To its right, the jagged rim of Pico Viejo serrated the bright blue. Side by side, the pair stood ominous, threatening future cataclysms. In front of them lesser volcanic cones poked out from the black landscape like minions of destruction, softened with smooth slopes of loose ash and basalt.
That night we both lay on top of the sheets unable to sleep, listening to the high-pitched excitement of a mosquito as it chose its next supper venue. For such a tiny creature, I have to say it has a helluva loud squeal, and the more I flailed the louder it became. There arent many more irritating noises than what sounds like a dentists drill kamikaze-ing at your head so in the end, armed with a size ten flip-flop in each hand I stood on the bed, head slightly cocked waiting for the manic squealing to return. Thwack-thwack. I let off both barrels of the flip-flop cannon, causing a snowfall of plaster flakes to drift slowly onto Joys head. Eeeeeeeee.