05 November 2011 : Written by A Camping Ninja
It was the long awaited stag weekend for one of my old friends named Johnny. We all gathered together in a minibus packed full of luggage and a surprise airline ticket was placed in each of our hands. Ooh, where would we be going I wondered? Then as if by magic, we were transported from a chilly November morning in the UK, to warmer climes and the hotel mecca and sunny beach resort of Benidorm in Spain.
We past hotel after hotel; weaving through streets laden with high rise buildings; passing endless hotel swimming pools; and traipsed along the long sandy beach. With my pop up tent placed keenly on the back of my ninja knapsack, I was on a mission to find a campsite to pop my tent up at.
We’d been walking around all day, all night even, and I was longing to see one of the brown camping and caravan signs with an arrow pointing in the direction of a quiet and peaceful campsite. Even with my ninja super sight I was finding it hard to see my way through the disco lights. Was hoping to find a campsite no more than a drunken dream I wondered? Perhaps a few too many drinks were causing me to see everything as one big blur, so I figured I’d need some local help to track the campsites down.
So I asked a friendly Spanish lady passing me on the street where I could find the nearest campsite around here, to which she very enthusiastically replied:
‘Viva la fiesta. Viva la noche. Viva los DJs.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! The people here are crazy, I thought to myself. So I called out to my friend Johnny who was walking along the street behind me, and I said to him:
‘Johnny, which way did she say for the campsite?...