Needless to say, for the second night running, I had no sleep. Rip Van Winkle couldn’t have slept at the camp site. It would be a good place to bring patients out of comas. There is no gap between my tent, the two either side, and the three behind. The row opposite is barely a metre away. When I sneezed a disembodied voice said “Bless you!” Continue reading “Benicassim 3: It’s only Rock ‘n’ Roll But I Like It.”
Down through the rubbish piles I walked to the shower block. Luckily it was almost empty. I couldn’t decide whether this was down to the hour (7.00) or just a suspension of hygiene regimes by my fellow festivaliers. Fear of the shower block itself may also have been a factor. Continue reading “Benicassim 2: I’ve Got Soul But I’m Not A Soldier”
The train from Valencia arrived in Benicassim 40 minutes late. No biggie. Most of the alighting passengers had decided to walk to the festival site so I tagged along. It was a hot slog. No shade and by the side of a road, but we got there. I traded in my first bit of paperwork for a wristband allowing me festival access for the next four days, and made my way to Campfest, the campground attached to the festival grounds. Here I traded in my next paperwork at the Glamping Company portacabin for another wristband, giving admission to that area and my pre-ordered tent. Continue reading “Benicassim 1: Glamping, It’s All About The Bass.”
I was pulled aside at security at LBA. There was a problem with the sandwich in my bag. Security, although friendly, seemed to think it odd that I would bring my own food to the airport. ??? I explained about my food allergy.
‘Gluten?’ I was asked conversationally.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m allergic to poor quality, overpriced food. It causes melancholy and I could break out into a temper.’ Continue reading “Girona 1: The Bridge”
On a bright but cool day we went off to Garachico. Nice place. Quiet and picturesque. A good choice if you wanted solitude to write your novel, or if you were on the lam, hiding from the authorities… or the mob. There’s very little there, a nice hotel, a couple of restaurants, churches of course. And, most bizarrely in this tiny village, a museum. We paid two euros and went in. The building, a fifteenth century convent was more interesting than the eclectic collection of exhibits. Old farm tools, photos and manuscripts. Although they did have a collection of seashells. I have collected seashells myself over the years, I keep my vast collection on beaches all over the world. Perhaps you’ve seen some of them. Continue reading “Tenerife 2: Tiny Castles, Steep Hills and Fiestas.”
After the incident with the dogs in El Acerbo I set off for Ponferrada. It was mainly downhill and the terrain was either scree-like or huge fissured boulders. Tough going. I spotted a woman ahead in the distance. She was moving very slowly, unsure of her footing. I could see that she was struggling from a mile away. Even from that distance I could also see that she could never be described as a small eater, adding to her problems. She had my sympathy, I had been a little overweight myself a few years ago. Mine had been a medical condition though. I suffered from an overactive knife and fork. Continue reading “Camino 10: Downhill Racer”
Carnival in Tenerife is a big deal. It’s a week-long party. All towns have their own versions but the most raucous is in Santa Cruz, Tenerife’s capital. In size it’s second only to Rio de Janeiro. There are different events every night culminating in The Burial of the Sardine on the last official night. As we wanted a bit of winter sunshine we had rented a house in La Orotava, found some cheap flights, got a deal on car hire and went. Because we can. Continue reading “Tenerife 1: Carnival in La Orotava”
As we had arrived fairly late into Santander our first morning was spent getting our bearings. I photographed the hotel as we left, a habit I’ve developed since my futile attempts to pronounce the name of a Delhi hotel to about 70 taxi drivers. So. Why Santander. Well, the Little Nurse and I love Spain but not so much the resorts. We are going to visit all the cities and all the large towns. As soon as we see cheap flights we’re off. STN-SDR was £40 return. Continue reading “Santander 1: Shellfish from Space”
After a night in Malaga we caught the 10.30 train to Seville. It got in an hour late. We had about a half hour walk to the hotel. We swapped wheelie cases because the Little Nurse was struggling with hers. Too heavy she said. In reality one of the wheels was jammed. It might as well have been an anchor. Dragging it for half an hour killed the case completely so a new one would be obtained later. Continue reading “Feria de Abril Seville 1:”
Continuing my slant on the idiosyncracies of Spanish life.
The opposite of Multi Tasking is, naturally enough, Single Tasking and that’s the way they roll in Spain. A Spanish man never does more than one thing at a time. In fact major tasks like buying a stamp or going for a haircut could very well be the only accomplishment in a whole day. A major task, like filling up with petrol, Continue reading “Life in Spain 2: Car Parking, Extreme Single Tasking and Random Windows.”