Chips and strawberries for breakfast

Neither my wife or I had been on an 'all inclusive' holiday before but since this was the only type of holiday offered at the location we had chosen for this year's vacation we decided to give it a try.

Generally, I have refrained from such packages since each tour operator interprets the term 'all inclusive' differently. Often it would appear you needed a computer to work out what was and what was not included in an offer – 'Alcohol not included', 'Free alcohol only available between 17:00 and 19:00 on alternate days when ordered from the beachbar', 'Main meal deemed to be lunch or evening meal', 'Free drinks only available with meals or restricted to only one drink per person'. Give me a break, I'm on holiday, the most taxing issue I want to have to deal with is which sunbed to lie on.

Thankfully, on this particular deal the term 'All-inclusive' pretty much meant exactly that. All drinks and all meals were included in the price, as were the use of all the amenities, with the exception of motorised boats. Effectively you could eat or drink 24 hours a day without the need to put your hand in your pocket for anything other than tips, which is exactly what several people appeared to be attempting.

Like most large hotel complexes these days the main meals in the restaurants were served buffet style and since the resort in Cuba attracted a wide variety of guests of different nationalities the selection of foods was as diverse as the circumstances would permit. There was always plenty of it and if you fancied chips and strawberries for breakfast then this was Hog's heaven.

Unfortunately, my stomach was in turmoil for most of the holiday so am I probably one of the very few people who has ever been on a fortnight's all-inclusive holiday and returned lighter than they were when they arrived.

The staff were always friendly and helpful and so long as you avoided the peak period at breakfast and early evening you could enjoy your meal without the need to queue.

I have to admit that throughout my life I have never truly mastered the art of breakfast and this holiday merely highlighted my discomfort with what we are told is 'the most important meal of the day'. Over the years I have tried skipping breakfast, full English breakfasts, continental breakfasts, cereals only, yoghurt only, pots of tea or coffee and jugs of fruit juice or smoothies, none of which I have every felt satisfied with. As an experiment I decided to try to mix things up with different selections on each day of the holiday and while I am prepared to accept the premise that breakfast is the most important meal of the day I am no nearer working out why I find it such a disappointment.

My earliest memories of breakfasts was being forced to throw it down my neck at great haste before being kicked off to school. Invariably the family was running late and everything was done in a rush. Usually my father would be the first down to breakfast and follow a set procedure of eating a light breakfast while reading the newspaper. If it was not a school day then my grandfather would emerge an hour later for his breakfast and start moaning about the fact that the newspaper was creased and the pages were in the wrong order. It was not unknown for my mother to be ironing the newspaper when I arrived in the kitchen. In hindsight I can recognise how these events shaped my view on breakfasts in later life.

It has to be said that I am not of the best temperament first thing in the morning and if I am to have any kind of breakfast, which I generally do since I have no idea these days at what time of day I am likely to get a chance to grab a bite to eat, then I am best left to my own devices and enjoy whatever I find to hand in glorious silence.

The way in which I cope with being forced to emerge from a warm and cosy bed each morning is to follow a fairly stable routine. The one thing I know for sure is that failure to adhere to this routine will adversely effect my temperament for the rest of the day.

Having calculated that there are certain things that need to be achieved within a given time frame it is important for me to complete these tasks at my own pace with as few distractions as possible. There is nothing in my schedule that is rocket science – wash, dress, have something to eat and drink, watch or listen to the news, Where am I? What day is it? What will the weather be like? Are there any traffic issues that will impact on my journey to work? It is not asking a lot realistically to get my head straight in the morning but the whole day can be ruined by the boiler failing, the alarm not working or an unwarranted phone call from the office intruding into what I see as 'My' time.

If this gives you the impression that I am not into communal grazing then you would be right and I found it difficult to adjust to the etiquette (or lack of it) of the buffet, pleasant as the restaurant was. The concept of an open air restaurant you think would be refreshing, not having to worry about work, having a leisurely breakfast with the missus while listening to the birdsong but still there were distractions that left me bewildered, which is not a great way to start the day.

I can understand that some people may wish to take their towels, etc. to the restaurant so that they can go straight to the pool or the beach after they have eaten but where do you draw the line? There was not a great deal of room between the tables and personally I would prefer not to have to climb over buckets, spades and assorted inflatables in order to get to the serving area. One guest would regularly walk in to breakfast carrying his fishing tackle, what was he intending to do, catch his breakfast from one of the ornamental ponds dotted around the restaurant?

Another individual to whom I took an intense dislike was a guy who on several occasions arrived in full lycra gear and helmet. On its own, not a problem, but who on earth allowed him not only to bring his bike into the restaurant but chain it to the wooden bannisters. I don't care, even if you are Bradley Wiggins, there should be no need for you to take your bike into a restaurant. Who does he think is going to steal it? If he is in such a goddam hurry then why didn't he get one of the waitresses to hand him a selection of food as he rode by. It was just as well I was sitting well away from him otherwise I feel sure I would have somehow managed to let his tyres down. If I had opted to hire a car for the day would anyone have objected if I had parked it in front of the omelette counter while I grabbed a quick bite?

Anyone who has endured my company at breakfast will testify to the fact that I struggle to construct a coherent sentence until I am on my second cup of tea, so I am sympathetic to the principle that some people's brains require more attention than others to spark them in to action. Quite what the woman I was queuing behind at the egg counter requires to get her brain cell functioning is beyond me. (It's OK, I'm British, we know what queuing is, it is our national sport). This particular self-service counter offered a limited range of options, namely a selection of tortillas, fried eggs or a choice of scrambled egg or scrambled egg with small cubes of diced ham. If you wished for something more adventurous or just simply enjoyed queuing there was a separate counter where you could watch a chef conjure up an offering of your choice. 

I've never been the greatest fan of eggs since learning that they emerge from a chicken's bottom but on this day I thought I would give the scrambled eggs and ham a try. I was standing behind this woman who had clearly made extensive use of 'all-inclusive' packages over many years. She studied the selection on display for a long time before using the ladle provided to spoon several helpings of the scrambled egg with ham onto her plate. After a further period of deliberation she then used the ladle to start 'weeding out' the pieces of ham and returning them to the hotplate. Once she had finished she returned the ladle to the dish, turned away and marched off to inspect the food on offer at the other counters. In the time it had taken her to remove the ham from her plate several more people had joined the queue behind me. I still don't know why she could not have opted for the basic scrambled egg (without the ham) or have sorted her food once she had returned to her table. All I do know is that the person behind me obviously was thinking along similar lines to myself for we both looked at the dish, looked at each other with bewildered expressions, shook our head and decided to give eggs a miss for that day.

Having now had a few days to evaluate our holiday I realise how bizarre the layout was in the reception area and the restaurants. Either the place was built on a swamp or the architect had an obsession for water. Everywhere you looked there was either a pond with a water feature or an island. Some of the islands were impeccably manicured while others were left untouched – these we referred to as 'the allotments'. I am not well enough acquainted with the Cuban flora and fauna to be in a position to tell whether this was an apt description or not – the fish seemed to like it, or it might be the amount of food that the guests used to throw to them. For some reason these islands were populated by scantily clad, gold painted statues which not only looked out of place but I also found rather disturbing. Had they been bronze or if there had been a touch of verdi gris perhaps I would have felt more comfortable with them. As it was, all I could think of was Shirley Eaton in Goldfinger which inevitably led me to the conclusion that this was the way that the resort dealt with the guests who did not pay their bills.

It has been a tradition within the Shanks family to try and foster good relations with all the places that we visit on our travels and to take a bit of our culture to foreign climes. To this extent we endeavour to leave a gift of a garden gnome in a suitable location. We were very please with our choice on this occasion as he fitted well with the environment. So if you visit the Playa Pesquero resort in Holguin someday and happen to stumble across a cheery looking gnome with a fishing rod sitting in the allotments say hello to Gordon for us.