Saturday, August 2nd: We are leaving after the Ultraligera gig. The kids are already sleeping in the car, there was nothing to pack, we can start right now. I only regret that I didn’t have the chance to give them the bottle of whisky we brought. I will think about a way when we are at home.
I am freezing. Probably from the cold evening in the desert, maybe from the exhaustion of the travelling those past two weeks, and surely from the emotional hangover that kicked in with the last chord. But the kids have all pillows, blankets and stuff and I don’t have the energy to look for something else. I wrap my cardigan around me and fall asleep. My husband decides to take the toll roads now we avoided on the trip to Spain because it would save us some time. I have dreams about rollercoasters, I sometimes think we are crashing into the guardrails. But it’s only the streets over the mountains, everything is fine. I wake up at about five, we are near the border to France. As if that little Spanish part of my soul wanted to say goodbye properly. I can’t hold back the tears as we cross the sign. Adiós, beloved España, thank you so much for two of the best weeks of my life. I promise I’ll be back soon!
Some time later I realise that I was holding the drum stick while sleeping, like a plushy. We give it the name „emotional support drum stick“ because it really is.
At Burdeos we make a short stop and I take over the wheel. But I’m not really awake and so I forget at one of the toll stations that we already have a ticket I should put into the machine and only pay what it is asking me. Serious question: Can anyone tell me what happens if you forget this? We really struggle with the toll roads. At another one we take the wrong lane and an employee has to come to the rescue (self-checkout not good, remember?!), a third one reads Grrrmaneta as a truck and the ticket comes out of the slot over the roof. La puta Francia. I want to beam us home.
About noon we are sure we won’t make it any further. We are near Orléans and I am looking for a place to sleep. We find a nice apartment 30 km away. 30 kilometres in Spain and you see five different types of land and three climatical zones. 30 kilometres in France and you see 30 kilometres of the same boring show. I am sorry, I won’t become a France enthusiast in the near future.
We find the place, but the room is not ready. We have to wait for two hours, but we can stay in the garden. So it is again an old orchard with geese, pigs, goats, sheep and a pony. The kids are happy, they can use the swing and the trampoline while we wait.
The place is fine. A bit funny, like lights for the bathroom in the kitchen, miles away from the room, or a bedroom without windows. But there is a kitchen and a TV, we make dinner and fall asleep.
Friday, August 1st: After a very, very short night we wake up and pack up the Grrrmaneta for the last time in Santander. Everything is a mess, there is no system anymore, and I don’t want to work on it. I feel the emotional hangover creeping up on me, but I refuse to let it begin. I have another concert tonight to enjoy.
On the parking lot I put an Ardebogofans sticker on Grrrmanetas back door. We check out and leave Santander. Next stop Alpaka Fest.
Spain is a fascinating country. You start at the coast under the clouds, in the rain and like an hour later you crossed some mountains and are driving through a desert. „South of Burgos the weather gets better“, did the guy with the dog in Hondarribia say. I see it now. With the sun, the mood also brightens. I am looking forward to Ultraligera tonight and put the emotions about the Arde concert somewhere deep inside the mess in our car.
In Salas de los Infantes we stop at a supermarket. The navigational system then says we should turn left and sends us down a dusty road right through the fields. On the way suddenly a huge black cat appears on the way (seriously, what kind of animal was that? Any ideas, anyone?) and kind of leads the way. This cat thing is not healthy, but I swear the hardest drug I’m doing now and then is an over-the-counter medicine against migraine.
We arrive on the top of Hacinas and after a nice little drive through the town we discover not only the comfortable street that would have led us here if we had turned RIGHT at the supermarket, but also the sign that says „only residents“. First impressions, German style. How embarrassing. We find a camping spot and there are already other cars parking. Speaking of migraine, I get knocked out by one the moment the motor goes off. I somehow manage to take the medicine and fall asleep for an hour right where I am sitting.
When I wake up, the camping area is kind of crowded already. We wonder if we can leave at night at all and decide to take Grrrmaneta to the regular parking lot.
The festival is incredible, you can feel and see that this is a team effort of the whole town. The decorations are lovely and the view is stunning. We get our bracelets and walk around a bit. We see the last song of Collado Project and the Skaifas gig which is really cool. The kids having very hot spiced fries for dinner and they love it. Fast food at ten in the evening, I think they are also already Spanish converts. We meet the Ultragamberras and some of the lovely people we met yesterday.
Nacho Pistacho seem to be a big crowd pleaser, the audience is quite on fire when they finish. At midnight it’s time for Ultraligera. I somehow manage to join the folks in the first row. A woman next to me is plucking the flag I’m holding. It’s not the one with the Niedersachsenross, it’s a plain Germany flag which I decorated with the UL logo, the words „Ultraligera fans Germany“ plus logo and date of the Alpaka Fest. The woman is asking what kind of flag it is and then she stares at me in disbelief: „You came here all the way from Germany to see a concert???“ Yeah, not quite. I tell her the story and she as well as her two friends start cheering: „Oh, we like Arde Bogotá as well! We will see them live next week!“ Her male friend is a bit confused: „But those are Spanish bands. You know they sing in Spanish, right?!“ Imagine a Loriot-esque, „Ach.“ If I had a Euro for every time I heard this those past days.
Several songs later the nice woman is smiling at me, grabbing the flag and makes sure the band sees it. We call it „Völkerverständigung“ and I think it’s beautiful.
The gig is as spectacular as I thought it would be, though it’s a completely different world than what we experienced yesterday. It’s a lot of show, but nevertheless it’s great. We were joking when we arrived if we should maybe park Grrrmaneta on the festival grounds to provide some climbing options, but obviously straw bales are working just fine. When the concert is coming to an end, one of the Ultragamberras throws my flag on the stage. Before they leave, she is giving Gisme signs that it is for him and pointing to me. He picks it up, smiles at me with his grown-up rascal’s grin and takes the flag with him. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back – I can’t hold back the tears, the emotional hangover is kicking in with more power I had ever expected.
All the time I expected to experience this breakdown on Thursday, during Exoplaneta or La Salvación or the Ooooo of Virtud y Castigo, like I was crying like a baby during Entre dos Tierras last year because it completely throw me off the track – but there were only some tears of happiness and being overwhelmed. And now I am standing in front of the stage of a festival in the middle of the most beautiful nowhere, hugging a woman I have met only hours ago for the first time in person and crying that I don’t want to leave Spain. I expect Hollywood to call any minute asking me to tune it down a bit.
Instead, Wonderland things happen and I go home with a setlist and a guitar pick. I’ve met the most amazing people here. I will miss you all and I hope we will soon meet again.
Still Thursday, July 31st: Soon after I woke up from the most beautiful dream, we get to line up at the doors. There’s a lot of discussion, we don’t get anything, but try to stay somewhere near the English speaking Bogofans. Finally the doors open. And what time it takes to discuss the stupid parents‘ paper … We are right there, two adults, two kids, they are small, we will take care. K1 is in tears, all the good spots will be gone now. I tell her to run and look for one of the Bogofans on the left side. We somehow make it and they give her the front spot at the rail. My husband is getting drinks and pizza and everyone is settling for the start of the concert. I don’t dare to look at the crowd. I really don’t like crowds and I don’t know how this works well with me liking concerts. But I mostly stand somewhere in the front, so I realise a few days after that there were 30.000 people behind me when I see the pictures.
K2 decides to also see the concert from the front row, so my husband has to stand there as well. I need to go to the toilet, it’s a long way through an already pretty big crowd. When I come back, Hoonine is playing. She looks like a nice person and seems to be excited to be here, but I can’t really tell if I like her music or not. It’s much better than a lot of things I’ve heard, but it’s not really my taste. I feel bad again.
At just like that it’s nearly 22:00. Equipment is getting unwrapped, camera people are taking their positions, team members are checking the instruments.
And then it begins. The intro we have seen so many times on videos from other people in other places – we can now hear it with our own ears and see it with our own eyes. And feel it. And everything. Suddenly they are all there and I have to blink several times – if it was true and I had met them just hours ago, they were so different. A bit shy, very polite, like every mother’s and mother-in-law’s secret dream. And on this stage there are these incredible powerful beasts, made of pure adrenaline and Rock’n’Roll, of fire, lights and coloured glass, which every mother and mother-in-law would comment with a raised eyebrow and a „you really sure, kid?“ But all people here look like they have never been so sure of anything. It’s an incredible evening.
Amazing. I have no words. It’s all like we had dreamed it, but much better. They are so much fun on the stage, and it’s even more fun to watch. And the fans are as amazing as I thought they would be. At some point we even waved the flag together, our little Niedersachsenross, we danced together during Torre Picasso and so many more pictures and videos were taken. I can’t wait to experience this again some day!
And the band! I love when artists make eye-contact during the show so everyone feels seen when they go home, but this was another level. There were things like „I’ll stay like this to make sure you get your picture“ or „the kids in the front still doing fine?“ and as we had seen it at another concert, in Santander someone also signalled they needed help – the band completely stops, informs the security and waits calmly until the thumb goes up that everything is fine again. And how I love that the fans respect that. No pictures, no screaming, they are waiting patiently. It could be you or your friend needing help. Oh, I hope they can keep this spirit alive for a very long time.
I also remember at the end of the show that Antonio was looking at us and smiling like he was saying: „You guys are absolutely crazy for driving this far just for a concert.“ Well, you’re not wrong, I have to admit. This is probably the craziest thing I have done, but also one of the best and the most rewarding. It was a pleasure meeting you all.
But the night did not end before an even more amazing thing did happen in the end – I got another souvenir from Wonderland! The guys were throwing guitar picks and drum sticks into the audience and I guess the people around me just stepped aside – next thing I know is a drum stick is hitting me in the face and falls right into my arms. Thank you! WOW! I need more shelf space with all these precious things I’m bringing home.
On the way out, another fan hands me a bottle of water because I feel like I have dried out. On the way to the parking lot is a drinking fountain where I refill the bottle twice and drink it both times in one go. A man is asking K2 if he was at the concert and if he enjoyed it. I tell him he doesn’t speak Spanish, so he continues in English. I tell him that we are from Germany. He stares at me: „But they sing in Spanish! How do you know them? Do they play them on your radio stations?“ Oh lord, I wish they did.
Thursday, July 31st: Today it is! A sense of excitement seems to have covered the town. Everyone is buzzing in the morning, at our place, even the neighbors. And of course the group. Someone is posting an article about the problems at the London airports and several others. Only minutes after I finished reading, my phone is ringing – with a +44 number. UK. We’re joking, it’s either spam or Jota needs the Grrrmaneta to pick him up. I’m not answering because I am pretty sure it’s the first option, but I would for sure have sent the Grrrmaneta to pick him up.
Time is flying. We prepare for leaving, but I am so nervous, I can’t think straight and keep forgetting everything. We decide to take the car, even if we have to park outside the camping lot after midnight. It’s easier and we still have a giant basket to move.
I still have no idea how to get them the basket. There might be a small chance after the show, I was told, but I don’t see myself heading back to the car and back there in the middle of the night. I’m still in pain from the infamous Madrid beds. And I have a sunburn from hell from our beach day, my shoulder and my feet look like freshly cooked lobster. My husband completely looks like Larry today. We apply a lot of aftersun lotion and a nice layer of new sunscreen and gather our stuff. I’m too nervous to drive, I’m literally shaking. My husband is driving – and misses the correct exit. So another round through Santander. „Simone, where are you“, people are texting. I don’t know. I answer in English, since I can’t even use the translator, I forgot how to copy and paste. Finally, we are here. We find a nice spot on the beach parking lot where we parked at our first outing here. We get out of the car. Tickets, sun hat, sunscreen, some food and drinks? We leave the basket and bring only the flag. My husband’s idea. A German flag with the Lower Saxony coat of arms, a rearing horse. I am not someone waving flags except the ones of my favorite football club at their games, but this is just perfect. And we might find ourselves on the pictures with this. K1 is restless – what if we don’t get a spot in the first row? She is even more obsessed with this than I am, but she is also half a meter shorter so I get the anxiety.
We know where to find the Bogofans and I don’t care what people think who are not going to the concert, but when I see the first of them, I start waving that flag. What a welcome! It’s like we have known them forever and maybe we have. We get our numbers for the queue, 32, 33, 34 and 35, take some pictures of what we can see from the stage, my husband and the kids leave for the playground. I stay and chat with people. And work on not fainting because I am completely overwhelmed. Already. We checked – we drove nearly 3500 kilometres to be here.
The family is back. We are having a snack. K2, who was not even sure if he wanted to come, is suddenly pointing to the stage: „Look, there’s Dani!“ God almighty, he’s right! The soundcheck is about to begin.
It’s already magical. To finally hear and see them, even from far away and just the soundcheck, I am very emotional. Again. We peek a bit through the fence and take some pictures and I tell the others about the present.
„Why don’t you try after the soundcheck? We’ll ask the security at the gate. They can’t say more than no.“ I like that idea. My husband is going back to the car, getting the basket. I’m eternally grateful for not having to move.
We’re going to the gate behind the stage. The two Bogofans are asking the security guy something, I don’t get a word as usual. Only something like „I’ll ask, can’t promise, wait here.“ And on the other side „But we don’t want to bother anyone.“ I can live with that. My husband kind of apparates with two cold beers next to me. I open one, joking on how yesterday I was probably standing pantless on a deserted cantabrian beach when I saw their boat and that it would fit perfectly if now someone shows up, seeing me drinking beer in broad daylight. Hahaha. Entrance Alberto. Wtf did I just say? Holy cow. „Honey, hold my beer, please!“
I try to give Alberto the basket, telling him that we brought it 3500 km and just want the guys to have it. But somehow this doesn’t work as planned. He looks at it and smiles and then something like „I’ll go back and ask them. Wait here, five minutes tops!“ happens. Wait. What? Yes, okay, we can give them the gift on their way out, they’ll probably pass by here with the car any minute now. Mentally preparing to throw a gift basket through an open window of a moving vehicle, I get nervous. What if I don’t aim good enough? What if I hurt one of them?
Alberto appears again. We should somehow follow him. Follow what? I am not able to think straight. Follow you to see them? I can’t feel my legs. Or my tongue. I can’t feel anything to be honest besides a tornado of thoughts flashing before my eyes. I think my soul left my body for a moment. But didn’t we learn to function over the past decades? So we follow. K1 by my side, husband is convincing K2 to come as well. Alberto is talking to me in perfect German which puts my brain in complete overload. It clearly has reached its capacity. I remember we talked about Bremen, but I think I’m only babbling. Though not in what language. Maybe I’m only thinking aloud. Dear Alberto, if you happen to read this at some point – your German is perfect. My brain however, was not at that moment.
Somewhere in the backstage area we are told to wait. A man tells us to stand in the shadow. I’ve seen his face somewhere with the Bogofans and with the band, he belongs to the team, but I can’t remember his name or function. So we move up some steps. And there they are. It’s surreal. I can see the seashore and the panorama of Santander and Pepe just meters away from us. „I can see Pepe“, I am squeaking under my breath and giggling. Team Pepepower would have been so proud.
I think there are more people taking pictures with them, and suddenly someone is asking my name and ask us to step forward. This is the moment my soul left my body. It’s clear. I have died and standing at the heaven’s gate. And apparently the five Gods standing before it have to decide if they grant me entry.
Funny thing is, I seem to have thought aloud again. At least the part with the gates of heaven. Because Jota asks me if it’s not a bit warm for heaven. Okay. I have either died or I’m dreaming. Better not open my eyes. But I can hear them and see they glow through my eyelids, so it’s worth a try. One eye. Still there. Two eyes. Also still there. Breathing works. Okay, why was I here? Ah, yes, the big basket with food and things I am so desperately clutching. And giving it to the nice men in front of me. It’s all about functioning at the right moments, let me tell you!
I tell them that we still believe to be the first fans from northern Germany to see them live and that we brought some specialties as a gift for them. A round of applause. 3500 kilometres. Stunned faces. Jota takes the basket and they all try to figure out what’s inside. Someone then says something about photos and we line up for a picture. Antonio nearly kills my husband, I hope it’s unintended. He gives him a nice powerful pat on the shoulder, unaware of our Larry the Lobster lookalike contest today. We smile into several cameras and then we say goodbye. A polite handshake with all of them, except Jota, who is giving me a hug and telling me that we needed a good place to see the show. That there were sides and one has to choose wisely. Dear Sir, I might be new to this fangirling business, but that question „whose side do you chose at the concert“ is like part of the initiation rites. Remember, don’t fight with the neighbours.
I can’t believe what just happened. I was standing in line for the concert, died, went to heaven and woke up back in the queue. But I don’t clutch the basket anymore and people are giving me thumbs up and are smiling, maybe it did in fact happen?
Tuesday, July 29th: Two days to go. We try to go to the Altamira caves again, but it is packed with people, we don’t even get a parking spot and people are in a queue outside the building. We decide to skip it then. Another idea was Bilbao, but we are not really in the mood for another long car ride. So we look around in the area again. My husband finds La Fuentona de Ruente which looks nice and sounds nice, and it is. When we get out of the car, first thing we see is a black cat, so we must be in the right place. We take a walk around a little park and see the cave from where the water goes into the river. If I understand correctly, there is a fairy living in that cave. It looks pretty enchanted, so I better not question it.
The little village next to it looks like a place from a fairy tale or at least from times long ago. I see a man in traditional wooden shoes and a woman in a house grown over from plants, but I don’t dare to take pictures. It’s very peaceful here.
Only the restaurant across the street shows that this is, indeed, a tourist hot spot. It’s full with tourists already and the waitress is not really friendly. She tells us something like we would have to wait a long time for our food if there was any left. Okay then, no business here as well. We are getting used to it.
Next stop is Comillas, very beautiful with a beautiful beach. We take a little walk and then try to find a little snack in the city.
What a stunning view!
In the town centre we witness someone blocking a street and causing a traffic jam. Purpose, stubbornness, stupidity? Who knows. Suddenly, a man gets out of one of the waiting cars and giving the driver a piece of his mind. Not in any way violent, but with veeeery strong language that even we did clearly understand. He smiles at the driver when he goes back to his own car and the jam dissolves. I’ll keep that strategy in mind. Might be coming in handy in France on the way home. Or in Wolfsburg at rush hour. To our surprise (or maybe not), we don’t find any place to eat in the city. So we go back to Santander and plan on buying something to cook in a supermarket. We also need soap bubbles for the concert and some snacks for the time we will wait. There’s a big mall on the way where we should be able to buy everything we need. What we didn’t know is that there are also limitations on parking grounds. So the mall is not accessible for us because Grrrmaneta is too high again. We find another supermarket near the mall and get everything we need there. Except for the bubbles, but like with the posters, the lovely Bogofans will help us with this.
When we get back to the camp ground, we are shocked: The French guests from one of the other houses took Grrrmaneta’s parking spot. Her fanclub is outraged when I tell them. So are we. The phrase „La puta Francia“ is now part of everyone’s vocabulary in the family. We work on plans how to get that spot back. Meanwhile we are listening to some good music on the porch of our little house after the kids found their small Bluetooth speaker in their bag. The kids also have a new game to play: It’s called „Ultraligera live“. K2 climbs on the porch rail and jumps down while K1 is filming this weird spectacle and cheering him on. I can’t deny they’re mine with crazy ideas on their minds like this.
After all this excitement my husband is cooking paella again. Served with some of the putas estrellas and I don’t feel like a German tourist any longer.
Sunday, July 27th, evening: We arrive in Santander at the campingsite we are planning to stay at for the rest of the week anyhow. They have another place for this night available, it’s pretty quiet here. Some people from the Netherlands, Belgium, a youth camp from France and a motorhome from Italy. Some Germans arrive at the same time we do, but we didn’t come here to make friends. At least not with German tourists with white socks in sandals.
Next to the campsite there’s a lighthouse. We take a little walk and are in love with the view. Not only can you see the whole bay and the town, you can also see the place why we are here. Only four days. It feels surreal, I started the countdown at 256.
Sunday, July 27th, morning: I wake up without back pain. The night was horrible, the couch was very run down already, but at least it has put back whatever was off in my spine or wherever. We gather our things, put them into the Grrrmaneta and leave. We make another stop at a supermarket and get some breakfast, snacks and water. I choose the self-checkout because I don’t feel fit to talk in any language today, but of course, the system hates me. (I told you to remind me!!!!) We need assistance from two employees of the place and talk more as if we had paid at the normal checkout. Please, remind me next time.
We choose to try finding a spot in Santander, we already have a house booked on the campingsite, maybe they have a space for us for another night. So off to the north. The landscape is changing again, we see everything again in just a few hours. Big cities, smaller cities, deserts, mountains, forests, tunnels and a lot of bridges.
I am happy we’re leaving, but at the same time I feel bad for not liking Madrid as much as I maybe should have.
People are sharing more material from the concert the evening before and it is beautiful. I can’t wait to see them live. I am joking about how I didn’t like Madrid and how much the driving there has pissed me off, and I end up promising to come back but take a flight when the guys sell out the Bernabéu. People soon correct me that the idea is fine, but it has to be the Metropolitano! Okay, fine by me. I have absolutely no preferences in Spanish football because no matter which Spanish team kicks our sorry little a*s, it always hurts. But if you tell me to come to the Metropolitano to see a concert, then I’ll be there.
Saturday, July 26th: Madrid was on our list because of Torre Picasso and because of the zoo. We wanted to see the Pandas. We didn’t plan to go there on the hottest day of our trip, but the tickets are already paid for, so here we go. Because of the great parking spot and the non-existing desire to drive through Madrid, we go to the near train station. But we can’t get a ticket. It’s either only available with an existing card or everything is so poorly translated (if at all) that we can’t make any sense of it. Neither in Spanish nor in English. So no train then.
We take Grrrmaneta on a tour of Madrid since we don’t get to the zoo otherwise. The parking spots are good, people are taking care that no one parks on three spots with a small car. At the entrance we are stopped to take a photo we could buy later on. The zoo is very nice, the Pandas are awake and we are happy.
Lots of other animals seem to struggle with the heat today, so are we. I have trouble breathing because the comfortable looking bed was the complete opposite. It somehow threw my back out and I can barely walk.
We see Penguins next and they must be Bogopenguins because it’s the day of a concert and they are already lining up at the door.
We make a stop to re-apply sunscreen and people are looking pitifully at us. (Well, if you knew what I probably did in a former life, you would say I totally deserve it.)
We are seeing Bears and Koalas next. After a trip to the zoo in Leipzig last week we are now counting sleeping Koala number 3 and 4.
Next stop aquarium. It’s quite cold here compared to the outside, very nice. But incredibly loud. My husband is asking if Spanish people in large groups are always that noisy, but I have only experienced them at concerts, so I’d say yes.
We see sharks, a Picasso fish and seahorses. It’s like a game of Bingo.
Heat and pain are unbearable. We decide to cut the trip short after seeing all animals we planned on seeing. We also decide to leave Madrid early in the morning.
On the way back we drive parallel to the A-3 leading to Valencia and dream about being finally at the concert next week. We pass a bus from a company called „Bogasbus“. This city is a bingo card.
The apartment is like the ice hotel, the airconditioning did work a miracle. We make dinner and decide to mess up the Youtube search history a bit by looking Arde videos. We kind of did something similar in Zaragoza when we went to a store and put an Arde Bogotá vinyl in the front spot of the display. It was very fun and didn’t hurt anybody.
My back still hurts, but the cold air in the apartment helps to feel a bit better. We have another Spanish beer at dinner which is apparently a bad combination with the excitement before, during and after the concert in the chat group. I’m writing a lot of nonsense, but also come to the conclusion that this is where the phrase „Las putas Estrellas“ must come from. I choose the couch for the night, but am longing for the bed in the Grrrmaneta. I haven’t sleep anywhere as good as in that car for a long time.
I read an article about the Bogofans and wonder if a newspaper at home would pick up an article about four crazy Alemans who drive thousands of kilometres to see a band in Spain? Someone suggests I should blog about my travels. I am thinking about it. My homepage exists, but it’s empty, Maybe a blog would be a good thing to bring it back to live. I will look into this when we’re home.
Thursday, July 24th: We decide to go back downtown and do some more shopping. We pick up some breakfast and coffee and ask about the tourist bus tour I’ve read about. It’s leaving in four minutes, so we also tick off the physical exercise for today. At La Aljaferia we decide to take a longer stop because I hadn’t seen it last year, but was told it was beautiful. Hello, what understatement! It’s amazing! We take the whole tour, I even sit down and learn about flags. At this point I am either confusing people with my interest in this topic or with my tour shirt. A girl is looking at me, looking again and then pinching her mother and then the two of them are looking at me. (If you read this, make sure to say hello next time! ;)) Some time later we learn that we already have 200 followers on our Insta account. Pretty amazing for my little „Schnapsidee“!
Near this beautiful place we find another beautiful place for coffee and snacks. The waitress speaks a little English and understands a bit of German, but she is so nice that I quickly gather the confidence to place our order in Spanish. Apparently she’s so thrilled about me trying that in the end she gives my kids another churro for free and I don’t have proof but she may have given us a huge discount. I love this city and its people.
But of course, my new found self-confidence needs to be hold back and so we walk into another supermarket where I choose the self-checkout. Because it’s quicker? Because you don’t have to embarrass yourself by not getting anything the cashiers say? All valid reasons. When you are not me. Self-checkouts hate me in every country as I have now discovered. It’s not working as planned, one of the employees needs to come to the rescue. And another one. The third one is staying until we’re done and out of the store. Next time remind me about it, please.
We get back onto the bus and take the rest of the tour. At Plaza España we decide to check out the ice cream parlor I had seen on Instagram which my kids demanded to visit because the icecreams there are huge. And covered in chocolate. The bus is the same we need to take back to the hostal, only into the opposite direction. I suddenly decide that we need a rechargeable bus ticket. We wanted to get that earlier, but then the sudden leave of the tour canceled that plan. My husband does not feel so well, so I park him with the kids on a bench and promise to be back soon. Well, I probably would have if I knew where to buy this ticket and when I finally found it, that I was waiting in the wrong queue. But again – the people of Zaragoza, so helpful and cute. And: I met another Arde fan! When I was leaving the counter after I got my ticket, a guy was smiling at me and started singing „Qué vida tan dura“ and I answered him and this was one of the best seconds of my life so far! So, an eternity later I arrive with the ticket and we get on the right bus. My husband is sleeping, not even a strong coffee at the ice cream place can wake him up for long. So we have our delicious chocolate covered icecream (which is working much better in theory than in 32 degree weather when the ice is melting, but the chocolate is too hard to bite) and try to find the bus stop to get home to the hostal. My husband appears to be really sick so we put him into one room and let him rest. Checkout is at noon, that’s sufficient time to recover, get up, put a rooftop box back on and leave.
In the middle of the night, I wake up. There’s noise and people talking loudly and running around. I have the feeling that I did cause it because I suddenly remember hearing music or a noise like an alarm clock. Was it my phone? Did I not turn off an alarm to remind me of something? You know these sounds you hear, but somehow build into your dreams? I check the phone. No, my playlist went off as planned, no alarm set and the music wasn’t too loud. I think I hear someone saying „We need to find the one!“ Okay, if you need to find someone downtown Zaragoza listening to Bunbury to go to sleep, I might be guilty as charged. I open the door hesitantly. Are they waiting for me? Do I have to go to jail now for my taste in music? I hope they let me make a last phone call so I can tell my husband he has to take the kids home. I open my eyes. The hostal floor is empty. I still hear muffled talking, but I foremost do smell something. Apparently someone was smoking and the fire alarm went off. I f*cking slept through a fire alarm.
Tuesday, July 22nd: After a perfect night of sleep in the car resp. the tent, we wake up with no intentions to drive today. We ask at the reception if we could stay one more day. They are struggling a bit with this request, but the nice lady then gives me a thumbs up: „We will manage. Stay.“ I already love the people here. So we walk into the town. Only metres away from the camping site a guy with a bike asks us to take a picture of him and a road sign. He’s from Belgium and apparently this town is part of a famous bike race in which Belgians are very successful. I don’t know about bike racing, but I recognize a fan face when I see one. He is very pleased to see this place for himself. That’s something I know and totally understand.
On the next corner we are checking the map when a woman approaches us and asking us something we don’t understand. She then gives us directions in clear Spanish, about how that one street is easier to walk than the other if we wanted to see this spot in town. She switches back mid-sentence, but her smile does not need any translation. I feel a bit dumb for not understanding everything, but she sounds nice and smiles supportive and we decide to take her advice.
We arrive at the town center and immediately stop like tourists to take pictures. It’s breathtaking beautiful here!
And the first black cat is crossing my path. Apparently I am Alice, but following black cats to Wonderland instead of white rabbits.
We walk down to the promenade and try to get some coffee or a snack. Drinks are no problem, but when we try to order food, the waitress ignores us. We have the menus and already decided, but that woman does not return to our table. Well then.
Next stop beach. We finally get to dip our toes into the Bay of Biscay, but the kids decide it’s not only the toes. That we don’t have packed things to change is no reason for them to hold back. At least we have sunscreen.
The way back is hard. We find a supermarket and buy something to eat and drink, but we are all exhausted. We can’t find a bus or at least information if any of the busses will go anywhere near the camping site. We try to get a taxi, but it’s not working here as usual. Here, you apparently have to call the cab company. There are two numbers on the table, both are not working. I walk into a bar and ask if they could call a taxi for me, but they won’t. I check the internet and find a third number and call them. „Hello? Do you speak English?“ – „No, thank you!“ Yay, information and opinion in one short sentence, thank you, Sir! But I didn’t deserve my 660 day streak on Duolingo if I wasn’t capable of ordering a taxi. One year ago I already mastered this quest in Zaragoza. Okay then, en Español. It’s working pretty well. Until they ask me where we were waiting. Instead of telling them the name of the bar behind the taxi stand which was one very easy word, I try to pronounce the name of the street. At that moment I guess I broke the heart of all patron saints of the Basque language, but I promise, I am very sorry, I tried, my feet hurt and the kids were soaked through. Awkward silence. The man on the phone says the name again, barely waits for my yes and hangs up.
A taxi pulls up. A man with two kids gets in because they are standing on the other side of the street while I am still waiting for the green light. One of the kids looks sick, so I let them go. But I try to tell the driver that I am the one who called and still hasn’t got the taxi. He’s talking on his radio and gestures something I read as „someone else will come“. A minute later another cab arrives, thank god, the driver knows a bit of English. He’s nice, he helps with the bags and apparently did not witness the unintended destruction of his lovely language. He tells us that in the city kids don’t need a booster seat (I asked for that on the phone – in Spanish and I am still a bit proud about this accomplishment) which I still try to verify because I have never heard of this. On the other hand, it’s not my licence and I won’t have to pay the fee and the kids are big enough already to not have the seatbelt sitting in their faces. It’s just a short ride, they’ll be fine.
Back at the camping site, my husband is making a delicious Paella on the little camping stove and we’re having real Spanish beer. La vida es maravillosa.
We make a plan for the next day: Leave early, because the forecast predicted rain at 9 in the morning and we want to get the tent into the car before it gets wet.
