No blog yesterday because I was poorly, taken all strange, dizzy, nauseous and feverish so I had to come home and put myself to bed. Yuk, just what you don’t need on hollybags and just what you don’t need to read about so I shall pass swiftly on.
This morning we had a slow, steady start because I still felt grotty, but eventually I thought that I might survive so we set off on a jaunt on the understanding that if I started to feel dire again I would turn around and come back. This is one of the many down sides to being the only driver.
For some unfathomable reason I decided to drive to a town that we had seen the signposts for but never visited, Pedreguer. Garrath chose the route there and it was a visual delight, lovely winding roads through spectacular mountains, picturesque and interesting to drive, it took us through lovely villages but was always wide enough to drive comfortably.
A short circular detour enabled me to take pictures of a wonderful ruin that I have passed before but never stopped to photograph – another one off my ‘Must Capture’ list, and then we were off again.
When we got to Pedreguer we found a parking space easily then walked into the town centre where we found the remnants of some kind of celebratory parade (today is a National Fiesta.) Everybody was dressed up to the nines and to my delight The Guardia Civil were in dress uniform and that included those gorgeous, distinctive, patent leather hats with a folded up kepi at the back. Needless to say they were the focus of my photographic attention.
We had a cuppa and water at Centro La Musical, a lovely very Spanish cafe that boasts lots of photos of their bands from donkeys years back to the present day. The clientele were affable and noisy and the staff had a delightful manner that English serving staff would do well to emulate.
After that we moved to a restaurant recommended by Trip Advisor only to find that every table was reserved, not surprising because the food being served looked magical. Thwarted in our epicurean ambitions we went back to the car and drove to La Brisa in Teulada where we were welcomed and recognised, so much so that they brought me toasted gluten free bread to enjoy with the appetisers. Lunch was excellent and after it I felt a lot better.
Back to Calpe via a new-to me road, also bendy but wide enough to enjoy. I am now familiar enough with the car to fling it around bends, Spanish style, though not at the breakneck speed that they do it.
We called at the supermarket that only closes on Christmas day then called at the local watering hole for – well water actually. Whatever bug has got me requires me to rehydrate furiously, probably because I am pumping it out of my pores at a rate of knots. That done we headed home to prepare for the guests that we were expecting for the evening.
I have a very long history with Ula and Jurgen, our guests for the evening. When my parents moved here in 1973 they befriended Ula’s father, Karl Hoffstadt, who was their next door neighbour. Later I befriended Ula’s brother Hans and his wife Elvira. Ula has since inherited Karl’s house and we have befriended her and her husband Jurgen, a delightful, gentle man, a former university teacher whose skills are still so valued that he continues to be a guest lecturer all over the place.
We had a lovely evening of easy conversation that affirmed the bonds that already existed, bonds made even firmer by the fact that Jurgen is also a cancer survivor. It seems that there are lots of Swords of Damocles that people live under. We learned that they too have the ‘No Pockets In Shrouds’ philosophy firmly embedded in their lifestyle policy.
All in all a lovely day in spite of the fact that this blasted bug is still bugging me, though not so alarmingly as it was yesterday.
C’est la Guerre!