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.
Monday, July 21st: We wake up in the morning, the tent is a bit wet, but we intend to find another campsite soon, so a few hours in the rooftop box won’t do it any harm. One horrible instant „Type Latte Macchiato“ later we pack up, put the seats back where they belong and leave. We want to go for breakfast in La Rochelle, but take a roundtrip first because I get distracted when thinking about coffee. Of the famous Asiatique to be exact. I have to try it some day.
La Rochelle is pretty, but it’s still France. We wander around the town center, there is a market in front of a food hall. The kids don’t know whether to throw up from the sight of dead fish or dead mammals, I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry that there are people at about 11 in the morning drinking white wine in the sun and eating oysters while I am still craving coffee. We get some pain de chocolate („por favor“ – oh please, not again!) and I finally get to try pastéis de nata which taste heavenly. We see Bogoseñales and decide to take one look at the sea before finally, finally leaving for Spain.
In the evening there are signs that we are near the border. Road signs that say „Espagne“ for example. We wanted to go to Zaragoza, but it’s impossible to do at least three more hours on the road today. We decide to find a spot near the border, but on the Spanish side. There’s a nice looking place in Hondarribia, it’s only a short ride from where we are now and they have a spot available. We’re relieved because we are both dead tired. This trip is exhausting. France is exhausting. But then something magical happens: We’re crossing a bridge and we’re suddenly in Spain! There is no doubt, Exoplaneta is playing and the road signs have turned into a beautiful yet kind of disturbing mixture of consonants, like a complete opposite of Finnish. This must be it, the famous Euskadi – with its proud people and beautiful landscapes. I heard they are sometimes mistaken to be stubborn here and that you can’t understand anything at all when they are talking. Well, that’s what they say about people from northern Germany as well, especially about those from the seashore. I think we’ll get along just fine.
We arrive at the camping site, we get a spot in the front, next to some Belgians, Netherlands and a nice guy from Spain with a cute dog. K1 and I think there might be a galgo somewhere in the ancestry so we automatically like him. The dog also likes us and gets a bit overexcited with the greetings and scares K2 half to death.
We set up the tent, prepare Grrrmaneta for the night and check out the place. And then I see it and start laughing like a crazy woman. Imagine driving 2000 kilometres and then run into people from Hannover. The couple who owns the car looks a bit „pikiert“ at us (I cannot translate this word, it’s like pissed and amused and a hundred other things at once), but cheer up when I can breathe again and thell them why I was laughing. They are travelling along the north, but will be home before the 31st. I get the feeling otherwise they would have tried to get tickets for the concert, they were very interested in what we were telling them.
The restaurant is still open, we order two beers, lemonade for the kids and some fries, croquetas with fish and rabas. The beer arrives quickly, I think wringing out the tent would have been more tasteful, but it’s at least cold. The croquetas are with ham and the fries not done. We try to make the waiter understand that we would keep the croquetas, but cancel the rabas which he apparently forgot to write down, but in the end we have two variations of croquetas, rabas and the cold fries which are not eatible. At least they didn’t charge us for the second plate of croquetas.
