Our excitement at hiring a car and driving down
Spain’s Mediterranean coast was significantly tempered after the theft of Limmy’s wallet in the train station. After the stress, the frantic searching and the card cancellations (thanks Jackie), we managed to collect ourselves and move on.
Spain’s cheapest hire car is the Smart ForTwo, a fragile little tin box with a semi-manual transmission that is best described as Playstation-esque (in fact that is how the car hire guy described it), and barely enough boot space to fit in the Chinese guy from Ocean’s Eleven, let alone our bags. However, with some acclimatisation to the Spanish roads, we embraced our new-found independence and enjoyed some of Spain’s not-so-well-known areas.
Trying to prevent the car being blown away by a strong wind.
After spending a couple of hours on a lovely deserted (= stone) beach in the town of Altea, we proceeded to our home for the night: a converted farmhouse in La Manchica, a.k.a. middle of nowhere. The B&B was run by a couple of elderly Brits, who as it turned out, had two children named Andrew and Vicky. We were warmly welcomed by our parallel-universe parents, their drunken foul-mouthed compatriot and their curious Spanish groundsman (“You have a very small car.”). Sadly their kindness was not effective against the potent combination of dog smell in our room, and poo smell outside it, and Vicky was forced to construct a makeshift odor neutraliser from an electric fan and several air fresheners. The next morning we met the only other tenant at this establishment, a very creepy Deutschlander who Limmy was a little afraid of.
Altea Beach. Happy now, but yet to lie on the irregular surface.
Not quite cucumbers but probably as effective.
Excitement peaks in La Manchica.
We had hoped to find an ideal Spanish beach, but after driving several hours, the best we could come up with was a windy patch of sand which left Vicky highly stingy, and Limmy (having prematurely entered the water) looking like crumbed chicken wing. Fortunately, the sheer joy of driving the Smart ForTwo, coupled with classic rock “pumping” out of the stereo and the dramatic Andalusian landscape, made up for any disappointment.
To finish off the day we decided to create our own excitement by arriving in Granada without a map, without petrol, and late for the car drop-off time. However, thanks mainly to a friendly motorcyclist who offered to guide us through the maze of one-way streets, we managed to find our hotel and get the car returned with a full tank. Such nice people, the Spanish.
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