...and four go mad in Spain
Ian and Della’s arrival in Monday, October 9, was a boost in lots of ways. It was great to see friends from home, it was great to have an excuse to crack open some beers and bottles of wine; it was also great to have the chance to explore the region in their hire car and, after enjoying ‘our’ beach and having a game of tennis and a lovely meal around the van – all on their first day – that's exactly what we did.
On Tuesday, they picked us up from the camp and we headed north to Llafranc, a fabulous little fishing village about half an hour along the coast. We parked in a shaded spot about 100 yards from the beach, then had a nice walk along the front followed by an even longer hike around the headland to Callela. En route, we paused to take in the breathtaking views back towards Llafranc and ahead of us to Callela. Back in the car, we headed next to the remote beach at Castella, midway between Llafranc and Palamos. We found time for a swim and a nap before a late lunch beckoned and, back in the car, we spotted an unassuming little roadside diner and ventured in. Inside, it seemed as if all the workers from the neighbouring communities had turned up for the €12 menu del dia which, as advertised in the board outside, included a starter, main course, bread, water, wine, dessert and coffee! Incredibly, the waitress saw us as we wandered in and before we could catch our breath she had reorganised some of the single and pairs who were eating and found us a table for four. It may not have been the smartest restaurant in Catalonia but it didn't disappoint in any area – the food was plentiful and tasty, the wine was red, cold and delicious and when the first bottle ran out the waitress delved into the fridge as quick as a flash and uncorked another for us. And when the bill arrived, sure enough it came to €48. On the way back, the Louches were kind enough to stop off at a Lidl for us and we stocked up on provisions for a buffet supper for later that night… not before we had the chance to have a drink on the cliff top terrace back at their hotel, the Silken Park, just a half-mile from our campsite on the road to Platja d’Aro. On their final day in Spain, the four of us had a wander along the front at d’Aro before one last buffet lunch around the van, washed down with a nice bottle of cold rosé and then they were gone. It was two and a half days of fun; we packed a lot in and, we hope, inspired them to catch up with us a little further into the trip this year. Having fallen off the wagon spectacularly, we decided to keep the momentum going on Wednesday and ventured into d’Aro for the start of the town’s annual beer festival. Held in the town square, just behind the main drag, it featured live music and a decent collection of local craft ales, at least four of which we tried, before resettling our stomachs with a delicious and cheap four-cheese pizza. The half-hour walk back to the campsite didn't seem so bad after this delightful little break from sobriety. On Thursday and Friday, we returned to our new clean-living ways but were drawn back to the festival on the Saturday for more live music and more interesting beers, or about as interesting as the Spanish can make it. Back at the site on Sunday, we not only renewed our resolve to stay dry for rest of the month (at least until friends and family arrive to meet us in Tossa on October 26) but we also decided to stay at Camping Internacional until the 25th… there isn't a lot of choice or options between here and Tossa but even if there were we'd probably stick it out in Platja d’Aro. The weather is spectacular, the site is everything we need and the local towns are both walkable, cycleable and very worth the effort. This area, we've come to realise, is just about the best part of Spain we've seen so far. Monday, the 16th, marked two significant dates – it was my 56th birthday but it was also, more importantly, the six-month anniversary of our departure from the UK. It's hard to remember all the places we've visited in this time but, thankfully, we have the blog to remind us… well, me actually. At 56, it's hard sometimes to remember what I had for breakfast let alone where we were last week. Having been here, though, for more than two weeks now, it is at least starting to imprint itself on my consciousness and having the jolt of our friends’ visit last week has helped to cement the foundations a little… “You remember, dear,” Jane will say when she's trying to remind me of some bay or village or meal we experienced, “it was the place we went to with Ian and Della.” At this point the penny will usually drop. It was easy to remember the restaurant at which we celebrated my birthday. It was the only place open in Platja d’Aro a the end of a night in which we must have checked out just about every bar and eatery in the town. We started at the Irish Bar, for no other reason than we were both desperate for the loo, the result of knocking back the best part of a bottle of rosé before we came out. Having used their facilities, we had a pint of Pauleiner each and watched half of the very dull Premier League match between Leicester and West Brom. What's happened to Jamie Vardy? He seems to have gone from pub player to England's great hope to pub player in the course of three seasons. After this, a succession of Italian restaurants, sushi bars and steak joints were visited and rejected so we decided to walk back to the first one we'd spotted, on our way into the town. By the time we got back there, though, it was shut but, happily, the Argentinian pizza parlour a few doors up was open and the selection of South American sausages and pizzas they served up were more than acceptable. The waitress, god bless her, was very accommodating and boxed up the two halves of the two pizzas we couldn't eat, as well as putting the rest of the special salsa sauce (and more) into a jar. That was Tuesday’s lunch sorted. Come Tuesday (and the following eight or nine days) we were back on the wagon and, after a heavy birthday session, we were ready for it. On Wednesday, we took a walk into town and did a big €69 shop at Carrefour. Ouch! And no beer, wine or spirits! On the way back, we took the rocky coastal walk along the front, past the peacock park (see picture), the posh hotels and the million-euro mansions with the to-die-for views. After a game of tennis, we barbecued some tasty local sausages on the Cobb before settling down for the night. As darkness crept up on us, we felt a few spots of rain and saw the flickers of lightning in the distance. It was clear a storm was coming so we winched in the awning, stowed away the outdoor furniture and hunkered down to enjoy the light show. Spectacular sheet lightning over the sea to the east turned night into day while the rain soon turned into a torrent that ran down the drainage channels and the road that links the tiered pitches on this hilly site. By the time we turned in, it had quietened down but we were soon woken from our slumbers by another electric storm… then another. My trusty earplugs – usually deployed against stormy sounds coming from closer to home – proved useful but Jane had a fitful night. In the morning, we could see that one of the torrents of rain had breached one of the channels and come cascading through our little pitch, the little mudslide leaving muck and leaves on our two ground sheets so the morning was spent clearing up the mess. To be fair, after six months on the road, they both needed a proper wash and that's what they got. Thursday was a bit of a washout but on Friday, as the weather picked up, we cycled down the hill to Palamos in search of a fabric shop, so that Jane could by some stuffing for her latest project – an angel doll. With the stuffing on board, we returned to the van via Lidl in order to pick up some provisions, including more alcohol-free lager (oh joy!),some ice creams and other bits and bobs to keep our calorie-count in the red. Out came the bikes again on Saturday when we cycled into Platja for some fruitless retail therapy, enlivened only by a great cake and coffee at a patisserie just on the edge of the town. For tea, I dusted off my chicken stroganoff recipe but the rancid chicken we’d bought from Careefour just a few days earlier put paid to that. We drafted in a marinated joint of pork filet and the result was, though I say so myself, an absolute triumph! Sunday was a slobbing around the van day but we set the alarm for 7am the next day in order to make the early bus from outside the camp to Girona, about an hour and 20 minutes away. Everything went like clockwork on Monday morning and by around 10.15am we were walking out of Girona bus station desperately looking for a TIC. Eventually, we stumbled across one on the edge of the old town and used it to find our way to the impressive cathedral, via the claustrophobic Jewish quarter which, as we later found out, is the location for some of the key scenes from Game of Thrones. Even without this information to pique our interest, Girona would be a very fine city, well preserved in that York way, as opposed to the Mont St Michel, let’s open a thousand plastic sword stores way. I suppose that’s why it has appealed to the GOT people. Looking back at some of Girona scenes on YouTube, it’s clear that the production designers haven’t had to scrape too much of the modern Girona away to recreate Daavos or Kings Landing. For me, the sight of the colourful houses on the banks of the river that separates the old town from the new was the highlight, although our lunch at a funky bike cafe came a close second. After five or six hours in Girona, we’d had about enough and we caught the bus back to Platja, pausing only at McDonald’s on the walk back to the camp to treat ourselves to a McFlurry each. Pictured, from top, Mr and Mrs Wells, and Mr and Mrs Louch at the campsite in Calonge; Llafranc and Calella; the beer festival in Platja d’Aro; views of Girona, including the famous coloured houses on the banks of the River Onyar
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