Sunday July 25th.
Ola! After practising our French for the past few weeks we are acutely aware that we don’t know any Spanish at all! Armed with this worrying information we pile in the car for the 5 hour journey to Barcelona. There’s so much food in the fridge I pack a cold pack with stuff for the three days. We’re all excited….. Tony and I have been to Majorca ( not together) but never to the Mainland. This should be the most amazing part of our whole trip.
The motorway is fast, and expensive. Although Tony won’t let me drive ( I’m a great driver but I do drive too fast) Tony relinquishes the wheel to Eric and sits in the back with me - where Woodstock helps him out by reading the map ( yep I do have a picture - LOVE the boy in my man!) We stop at Figueres for lunch. The Dali museum looks spectacular and we take photos, but there’s nowhere to park so we don’t go in. Okay….this is sounding familiar! We then have lunch in McDonalds!!! McDonalds in Spain! And it’s AWFUL - but I am the only who isn’t happy and was expecting something more….er…Spanish! Warning Will Robinson!
Tony takes over the driving and manages to navigate, with the help of fussy Felicity, right to the front door of our “Guest House”…which is in fact a shared guest Flat!!!!!!! We wait an hour to be let in and shown around. WTF!???? The flat has a kitchen and five bedrooms! That’s it. And we all ( eight people in total) have to share the two bathrooms. I chuck a massive hissy fit and tell the manager we will stay tonight but leave in the morning, even though he‘s talking about a discount ( I always love a discount). Then I go on line ( at least they have Wi-Fi) and find some fantastic deals in good hotels. Easy peasy! Except no-one else wants to move. They’re quite happy to stay in a shared flat with strangers in the bathroom as if they were in their teens and backpacking!! I am mortified and pissed off. I do NOT want to be in this place but I’m outnumbered 3 to 1 - just like in McDonald’s. It’s true - I’m turning into my mother and sharing a bathroom is not on my list of things to do….neither is camping. I’ve earned my right to creature comforts!
When we go out to eat I am in a foul mood - especially when Tony wants to choose the restaurant! We end up going to the one I originally wanted. And it’s awful!!!!! The Tapas is the pits…. Obviously designed for people who know no better. Where is the chorizo? The Garlic? The red peppers? The octopus? What’s with the potato salad and the Woolworth’s deli crab sticks? I’m stunned. Especially when Beloved drinks a litre of beer to wash down his lousy Paella. No-one else complains - though Anne did think the tapas was awful. I figure there will be churros ( Spanish donuts) on the desert list but Nooooooo! Tirimasu ( what’s with that then???) or even CHEESE CAKE. Even the Sangria is LOUSY….I have my darling Peg’s recipe and it ROCKS! Get me out of here. And to make things worse it’s the most expensive meal we’ve had in Europe. Were my expectations too high? Am I just being a difficult bitch? Tony obviously thinks so. ( And it has been known to be true) He tells me to “adapt”! Not even the night view - under a still full moon- of Gaudi’s Sagrada Famiglia can make me feel better. I don’t sleep….I’m too pissed off at my first taste of Spain.
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