Grief in Tenerife

“If you think you’ve reached enlightenment, go spend a week with your family.” Ram Dass.

February 2018, my Mum, sisters and I were in Tenerife to celebrate my mother’s 80^th birthday.

We arrived late Friday night and discovered on waking the next morning that our ground floor apartment faced north and therefore no sun.  That suited me fine since three of us had skin cancer and baking my body in the sun was not a priority.  

The four of us stood on the patio with coffee in hand when Mum gestured to the left, “There’s a terrace over there overlooking the sea and it’s available to all tenants.” 

We headed over for a look.  There were four sunbeds already lined up with blue pool towels on them. ‘How convenient,’ I thought as we took one each.    

Two minutes later, an Irish lady appeared behind us, “These are our sunbeds, so you’re going to have to move.”  She said it so nicely and looked so pleasant, I readied myself to leave.  But then my sister spoke, “There is a sign saying, ‘Sunbeds cannot be reserved’”. 

“Yeah, well,” said the lady, “those are the rules, but nobody pays attention to them.”

“Well, we won’t be paying attention either, we’re not moving.”

I sat rigid with surprise.  I had no idea my youngest sister, the baby of the family, could be so assertive.

The lady left.  Minutes later, reinforcements arrived. Five adults including an elderly couple. 

I sat facing the sea.  As long as I didn’t look at them, I couldn’t know what they looked like and so if we ran into them later in the week, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. 

One of the men said to my sister, the assertive one, “No glasses allowed on the terrace.”

Immediately, my sister sprang to her feet, “Thank you, I’ll remove it immediately,” and picking up the glass she headed back to the apartment. 

Then the elderly lady with a walking stick shouted at my mother, “You’re lying on my property.”

Mum jumped up like she had been shot and sure enough as she did, her movement disturbed the towel and poking out from underneath was a multi coloured mattress.  “Take it,” she shrieked and ran. 

Ms Assertive returned. 

The elderly man shouted, “How rude are you that you take other people’s property.” Then shaking with rage, he continued, “We own our apartment here, who are you?”

'Since when did the Irish get so snotty about ownership?' I wondered quietly to myself.

We didn’t answer.

He shouted again, “I’m going to report you to management.”

“Well, while you’re there, maybe you should read the rules about sunbeds,” said Ms Assertive.

I slid further down into the sunbed:  I feared the walking stick might come crashing down on my scalp.    

The terrace, the seaview and the sunbed lost its allure and besides my coffee had gone cold. “I’ve had enough,” I whispered, “I’m going back.”

“Stay where you are,” came the order.

I stayed.

Twenty seconds later, I wondered aloud to my sisters, “Is Mum back from the pharmacy do you think?  I’ll go check.” Keeping my eyes averted from the row of five angry adults parked in a row mere inches behind us, I ran.

Back at the apartment Mum was a nervous wreck.  The first day of our holiday and we were traumatised.  A few minutes later, the two sisters return. Ms Assertive was triumphant. 

Since returning home again, everyone says that my sister was right.  They also said that since everyone ignores the hogging of sunbeds rule, it’s ok to do it.      

Still, I’d have moved. I’ve done confrontation countless times and learnt the hard way even when you ‘win’ you still feel a fool.     And, we're on holiday, fighting over a sunbed; it's not worth the aggravation. And, not every battle has to be fought.  As my father used to say, ‘There is no point being right and dead in the morgue.’