B&Bs and Hotels in Leeds

Hostels and Hotels in Leeds

If you have a hotel in one of these areas then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.

Bardsey, Bradford, Bramhope, Bramley, Dewsbury, Ilkley, Leeds, Morley, Otley, Pudsey, Scarcroft, Scholes, Shipley, Swillington, Tadcaster, Thorner, Wakefield, Wetherby

For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.

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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.

Short Extract

Joy, now sporting a just-got-out-of-the-washing-machine look, paid the taxi driver as I heaved all our luggage onto the pavement. Happy holidaymakers wandered across the car park from the adjacent hotel in flowery shorts and shiny new sandals. Were these the same happy souls who would be face to face with us in the next few days, demanding full refunds and a pound of flesh for poisoning their children and ruining their holiday? Some ten feet below where we were standing, through black iron railings, stood a two-storey row of commercial premises. The bottom right property was empty. A British supermarket next to it had furnished much of its own and its neighbour’s terrace with an assortment of inflatable reptiles and other swimming aids. The shop to the left was seemingly mountain treks, dolphin rides and pirate escapades amongst its many excursions. Another office, of unheralded business, stood between the tour office and a double-fronted bar. The entrance was between dark wood panels, topped by two large picture windows. Above these, “Smugglers Tavern” had been painted in gold lettering on a black background that extended across both locales. Several of the letters had faded badly and at first glance it read “Muggers Ta”. Outside, around twenty white plastic tables were occupied. I presumed it was just as busy inside as people scurried in from the mid-afternoon sun. Everybody looked content, a postcard snapshot of happy holiday diners. We’ll soon put a stop to that, I thought. One more unit remained empty in the corner, a stone turret with its patio in permanent shade from a short walkway that provided access to the upper level of commercial units. Here, wafts of paella drifted out from Bar Arancha, a small Spanish tapas bar, wedged between several more empty locales on the top level. The rest of the complex fanned out behind the bars and offices. Our temporary home was a small bungalow facing Las Americas at the southern edge of the complex. Temporary because the owner was selling it and we would need to vacate as soon as it was sold. It had been decided that David and Faith should get the only long-term rental apartment that was available due to their feline impediment – Mal the cat. Our apartment belonged to the president of the community who knew my stepfather from his business dealings here. All the properties were more or less identical apart from the number of bedrooms. Ours had just one – to the left of the front door as you walked in. It was barely big enough to house a double bed and still leave enough room to manoeuvre. A small bathroom faced the front door and down a short hallway to the right was the living area and open kitchen. The walls were a cool white interspersed with shelves and a worktop of honey-toned pine. Beige marble tiles covered the floor, which gave the apartment a beguiling touch of quality. Sliding doors at the far end of the lounge – though I use ‘far’ in the loosest sense of the word as they were only four paces from the kitchen – led onto a small square patio, from which we could gaze across the curving Bahia del Duque (Bay of the Duke) to the vertical excesses of Playa de Las Americas.

Bardsey, Bradford, Bramhope, Bramley, Dewsbury, Ilkley, Leeds, Morley, Otley, Pudsey, Scarcroft, Scholes, Shipley, Swillington, Tadcaster, Thorner, Wakefield, Wetherby

We agreed to try out the act the following week and if it proved successful, we would give the couple a regular once-a-week spot. Wayne was set the task of building an outside stage and a backdrop using four sheets of hardboard, a dozen plastic beer crates, a double bed sheet and a can of black spray paint. The next two afternoons rang with the sounds of a hammer knocking, a stapler thudding and a Wayne cursing. The excessive din drew the attention of some of the older residents in the Altamira. What the hell is all that noise. It’s siesta time, stop that infernal racket.’ Phil was one of our older regulars. An old sea dog from Dorset, he would often come into the bar wearing a nautical themed hat and sit with his long-suffering wife, Yvonne, who would do nothing but wince at his eternal moaning. Unfortunately, amiable though Wayne was, public relations were not his forte: ‘Fuck off, you old git, before us wrap this hammer round your wrinkled face.’ Phil was battle-savvy enough to know when to retreat, and saved his admonishing for a more congenial occasion.

The day before we were due to move we had resigned ourselves to not finding a new home. We had neither the time nor the energy to look round properly and had no option but to rent a holiday studio in the Altamira for the time being. The view from our new home was jaw dropping. Double patio doors framed a tri-band of green lawn, turquoise sea and blue sky. However, the inside was not so agreeable. The small living/dining room doubled as a bedroom. The bed had to be folded away every night to make room to sit down, but the biggest problem was the sun’s rays which loitered on the glass doors for most of the day. Inside, the temperature was stifling. Although air-conditioning units were fitted in the hotel, they were never activated. The community of residents who owned several apartments had decided that the costs of such a luxury would weigh too heavily on their community bills. All units were controlled by the same master control so if one was switched off none of them functioned. It was like being in the Smugglers kitchen. What little available time we had for sleep was spent tossing and turning, trying to find a cool patch of pillow. Joy had taken to lying on the tiled floor in a bid to cool down. Even with the patio doors open, the breeze that circulated was only marginally cooler than the stuffy air we had trapped within, plus it was an open invitation to mosquitoes.