Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Ilford
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Barking, Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell, Ilford, Loughton, Woodford Green
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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Our branch was is in Los Cristianos. With the arrival of tourism, this sleepy fishing village had been hauled out of bed and re-dressed from top to bottom in hotels, apartments, souvenir shops and banks. As was the norm, I took my place in a queue that started just outside the adjoining cake shop. I wanted to explain that I was not a charity, and just because I had been seen making polite conversation with other account holders in the queue, we had not yet reached that cosy stage of friendship whereby my funds were freely available to all and sundry. There were two counters at the branch but as the queue inched forward I could see that, as was customary, only one was in use. Behind the other sat a stern-looking madam, inattentively flicking through a bulging wad of 10,000-peseta notes. Occasionally she glanced up, and from over horn-rimmed glasses, cast a lofty look of contempt over us all. The man at the front of the queue had emptied the contents of one of several large brown envelopes onto the counter. The clerk set about sorting the notes into separate piles, meticulously making sure they were all face-up. We were in for an exceptionally long wait.
Barking, Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell, Ilford, Loughton, Woodford Green
This stickiness was nothing compared to what carpeted the terracotta floor tiles behind the bar. For some reason this region seemed to have been a mop-free zone with the previous owners. The bar area was overrun with gas bottles, soft drink canisters, beer barrels, fridges and drink coolers. Thin yellow tubes ran in all directions, looping around each other like a treacherous roller-coaster before disappearing into the many black recesses. All this in an area not much bigger than a double bed. What clear floor space remained was tar-black. Every step involved a ‘schlup, schlup’ to free footwear from the glue-like texture. We drew up a long list of all the cleaning jobs that needed doing over the next few days. We also decided on a work rota. As we were going to continue Mario’s opening hours 6 p.m. until midnight until the busy summer season began, we decided that we could work in couples, one night on, one night off. Daytimes would be spent cleaning and removing much of the tack that sullied the bar. We’d decided that once the summer season got underway we should open for lunch as well, but we would deal with that once the initial shock had subsided. It was during this first session that one of the biggest shocks to our business partnership was revealed. Joy had set about sweeping behind the bar, amassing an impressive collection of bottle tops, cigarette ends and spent matches. Faith was just about to help herself to a Fanta Orange when suddenly, ‘Aaargh,’ she screamed. ‘Daaaaaviiiiid!’
There were also those foolish few who insisted on wearing beach wear all the way back to the arrivals gate at their UK airport. The wisdom of their choice would be seriously questioned when they stood ruffled and shivering, shuffling from foot to foot at the luggage carousel, as clouds of breath carried muttered obscenities across the empty luggage carousels. The end of a holiday is like the day after Christmas. The thump of reality presents itself in many guises; the Hoover lying in wait when you return the suitcases to the cupboard under the stairs; the pile of florid laundry seemingly out of place in such familiar and faded surroundings; the thick waft of cold air as you put the cat out last thing at night. All serving to remind that the fortnight of fantasy is now just another memory, destined to fade as quickly as an Anglo-Saxon tan. Right, Joe, thanks for all your cooking. We’re off now.’ Another family had popped their heads into the kitchen to say goodbye. This always made me nervous, as it was usually at this point that one of the hardier cockroaches that had somehow escaped the exterminator would be taking an evening stroll along the ceiling or one of the white-tiled walls. Take care. It was nice meeting you. See you next year.’ I waved them off with a dripping spatula.