Loret De Mar, Spain

Whilst pregnant with Finn, we decided to have an impromptu break away with Josh on the cheap. Beard was in the process of changing jobs and we had just finished renovating our first home so money was tight.
Searching online, the best value for money was coming up as Spain – the good old fail-safe Brits abroad destination, Loret de Mar in Costa Brava (BUT THIS IS NOT THE REAL COSTA BRAVA!!!) being among the cheapest of the bunch. On the website it was sold to us as “a natural paradise brimming over with life, unspoilt nature between heaven and earth.”

WHO IN THE BLOODY HELL WRITES THIS SHIT!

Loret de Mar, “a natural crap hole brimming over with death, spoilt landfill between hell and the abyss”! Now, we aren’t snobs, far from it. We are more than happy with a budget holiday, in a budget apartment, on a budget complex, but our home for the next week or so was diabolical. On arrival, we were greeted by a reception with a receptionist who was a dead cockroach, and just a note asking us to call a number. On calling said number, a rather aggressive man answered and said he would be with us in half an hour… an hour and a half later a sweaty man who was either a murderer or a butcher, rocked up with blood smothered across his apron to throw us our keys, wave his arm to the left and say “your room that way” before stomping off again.

 

The complex, in principle, looked ok but when looking closer, there was litter amongst the gardens and a lovely puddle of vomit next to what looked like a derelict bar area.
Our room was even worse. The balcony door didn’t close, and the barrier between falling to certain death had a gap so large that Josh could potentially fall through. Of course, any parent can imagine the prospect of this was terrifying, so we had to push the sideboard across whenever we were in the room to stop him from wandering out there. The cot provided looked like it was previously a cat little tray. The bathroom was no better with mould all over the tiles, the shower was more of a drip and the scum in the tray meant you had to wear flip flops through fear of getting some disease where your feet would fall off.
Sadly, we were stuck as we didn’t even have enough money to go somewhere else, so we soldiered on and vowed to have an enjoyable holiday despite the accommodation.

That evening we decided to get an early night after travelling but the person next to us thought it might be a good idea to either have sex with the wall all night, shout down the phone at full volume or sing off the balcony to the drunk people outside throwing bottles. Even Josh noticed the noise and permanently had cotton wool shoved in his ears to drown out the sound.

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The first morning Beard woke up to make himself a cup of tea from the facilities provided – the kettle lead had wires poking out from the plug, the mug had red lipstick on and the biscuits were already open, so he skipped that.

We ventured on and got ready for a day at the beach, although that was more of a cigarette and bottle top graveyard than a beach. Paddling wasn’t much better, I think the dirty nappy lapping at the shore was the part that put me off. Or was it the turd next to the sandcastle that did it?

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Loret de Mar could be a lovely place. It’s got little coves and inlets with picturesque rocky terrain and historic landmarks with beautiful gardens that could make for a charming holiday. However, instead, it’s a real-life shithole showcasing what British people can do to a place.

When we returned home, my parents said what a fabulous holiday they had in Loret de Mar was when i was a little girl. Apparently, it was stunning.

Now, it’s a very different story. The streets are littered with rubbish, the quaint square is nothing but lager louts and “women” shouting obscenities at other groups of women before catfighting like the scraggly little vermin that they are. The streets that could be meandered through are now neon signs of SEX SEX SEX and people trying to lure you in with free shots of piss.

Despite this, we are the type of family that always see the positive in everything, and the one good thing going for this place is here.

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The Orient Express restaurant was our saviour. We had breakfast, lunch and dinner in here every day for a week! The staff were pleasant, the food was divine, the cocktails (so Beard told me) were fab and above all, it was a family-friendly and cosy place where we felt safe and a world away from what was going on outside. At the time we didn’t know Josh was Autistic, we called it quirky, but the staff dealt with his crazy ways with such ease it gave us a break to just enjoy some home-cooked good food.

Sadly Loret de Mar isn’t for us. I’m not sure it’s for you either, unless you like to pee in other peoples mouths, vomit on tables of other people dining, poo in a bin as you pass by, chuck rubbish into ponds, shatter glass bottles in the road, throw road signs at cars, spit on people from your hotel balcony for a laugh or only have one tooth in your mouth and a single braincell.

FYI, we witnessed all of the above and will therefore not be returning