We've established already that MdM was chock filled with the elderly. The big poolside fashion statement was the knee-length short/knee-length sock combo. It was, at times, roasting; yet still the olds persisted with their fucking coats.
When we surfaced for our evening meal on the first day, we walked into a busy dining room. Literally everybody in there stopped and looked at us, like a reanimated vampire might look at a virgin's soft, tasty neck. The wife is getting on a bit (she's 30), but she was at least 30 years the junior of the vast majority of people in the room.
The old-people's home feel of the place continued when we finally filled our plates. Everything was soft and not chewy in the slightest, to help those in the hotel with false teeth. One night, just before we were due to come home, they had what appeared to be cows testicles. They were a slight oval shape, and pretty smooth on the outside. Also, they were fucking gorgeous. Cow knackers are, like Frosties, GRRRRRREAT!
Things improved slightly outside of the hotel. Some positively baby-faced 40 year olds walked the streets. It was like the film Cocoon, but on rewind. This being an up-and-coming resort, lots of signs had suffered during the translation. Take, for example, the Optimum Supperclub, where you would seemingly go to the bar for cocoa and crumpets. Or, further afield, the Diagonal Mar in Barcelona itself, apparently a mecca for 'shooping'.
May 1st was a holiday in Spain. Everywhere was shut, meaning we had to buy water from the ludicrously expensive ice cream shop. To make matters worse it pissed down. All day long. It was mind numbing, but the old people didn't notice, apart from a slight creaking of their bunions.
It was OK though. It wasn't like Benidorm or Tenerife, where everytime you go in a pub it's quite likely that you'll end up stood on the bar with your boxer shorts on your head. It was really chilled, partly because of the clientele, and partly because of the out-of-season nature of our holiday.
The real highlight was the swimming nun though. Well, not swimming, but paddling - habit and all.
After the above photo was taken I came out of the shower to find my bass and beats from my MP3 player replaced with soothing chanting. The nuns had sorted out a choir practice, under our balcony! Possibly the most surreal thing I've ever seen. Cracking.