Hotel California (Cartagena - Almería - Málaga)

To pick up from the last blog, it was time for dinner. After weeks of tapas and the occasional pizza, we opted for old school pub food, a burger. Don't despair, dear reader, we returned to La Taranta where I noted burgers on their menu a few days back. It turned out to be an excellent choice. Smoky bacon, wood-charred beef, green tomato (interesting) and the usuals, except beetroot, we're not in Australia, Toto. A lesson for all pubs back in the home country ... the bun stayed together until the last mouthful.

Back at the hotel, we part-packed before retiring for the night. The bars and clubs on the dock were pumping and the Saturday night party people were out in force. Not even our double glazed windows could drown out all the revelry.

In the morning, we needed to find a new breakfast place as our regular haunt was closed. We found one on our second attempt. Kuss offered things way too sweet for my palate. Down a side street, we found another café and headed out the back, away from the smokers to order tostados and double espressos. Suitably charged, we returned to the hotel to finish packing and check out.

I wasn't looking forward to escaping from the maze of columns they call a carpark, but the carlift was successfully negotiated and we were free! Next stop was a service station to refuel the car. Petrol was €1.50/l or about $2.65 AUD.

The drive to Málaga was about 4 hours so we thought we would stop at Almería, another port town with a fortress. It was almost half way between our final destination and Cartagena. Jayne had located a positively reviewd parking area, with coordinates loaded into Apple maps and off we went.

They love a tunnel.

The first interesting event of the day was the toll road. We have encountered many toll plazas on this trip. They all require you pay by card, no Amex, philistines. This one tricked me by offering a ticket. Confusing. I reveresed out and read the sign which simply said, "ticket". Back in again, thankfully there was no traffic, and there was ticket waving in the breeze. Ticket rescued on we went. In small print, we were instructed to keep the ticket to present at the point of exit, otherwise we would be charged for the longest distance possible.

No space wasted.

The scenery was remarkable only in that it was a never ending sea of hot houses. We have no idea what they were growing, but on the flat land they covered the ground as far as you could see. In hilly areas, they were carved into the terraces. The soil, that grey, limestone dirt looks like it wouldn't support anything. Obvioulsy I'm wrong in that assessment.

Greenhouses everywhere.

We peeled off the A7 at Almería and followed the instructions to the carpark. Almost. The entire wharf area is under reconstruction so the road we needed to access the carpark no longer existed. After a couple of mainies, we found where we could park. It required a walk because the construction had closed all pedestrian access except at the either extremity of the wharf area - maybe a km or so apart. Well, it is a transit day. Not everything can go well.

Not what we expected.

It was quite warm as we walked back to the street where we headed up the hill into the old town and to the main square and tourist information centre. The streets were unusually quiet in comparison with Cartagena, the joy of not having thousands of cruise tourists clogging the streets.

No action in the plaza.

Plaza de la Constitución was located at the top of the hill. It was deathly quiet. The information centre had closed at 1:30pm, it was now 2pm. Ah, Sunday in Spain. From the other side of the plaza, we could see the fort on the hilltop above us. It also appeared deserted. Ok, let's try the Cathedral. No dice. God was having a siesta until 3pm. "Do you want to find the butterfly house"? Jayne asked. We turned for the car.

The unmanned fort.

Part of the Cathedral wall.

As an aside, the Cathedral is quite interesting because it is a fortress in itself, complete, back in the day, with cannon placements. Almería was a popular destination for pirates and the good Catholics didn't welcome their arrival. Or of they did it was with cannon fire. So the closest we got to the Cathedral was the extensive wall. As always it was difficult to photograph because of its size.

Cathedral wall.

Back on the road, the remainder of the trip was uneventful. The only thing of note was the Hotel California. No really, it's about 1km away from us. It made today's choice of title rather easy. Hotel California by the Eagles. We found Málaga okay but had a little trouble findng the hotel. Much like the AC Hotel in Cartagena, the Gran Miramar Hotel is alson know as the Gran Málaga Hotel. One name is sufficient, people.

The Hotel California has been found.

The hotel is, well, grand. Like very grand. 

Palace Miramar. Another name.

The foyer area is expansive. It is just stunning. After we were whisked from our car, valet parking only, and escorted to the check-in desk, we were provided with glasses of cava. Very good cava. 

The foyer.

There are seven levels, the highest being the roof top bar and chill out space with views over the Mediterranean. There is a very large pool and a reserved beach section for hotel guests. Nice.

The birds returning to roost.

Our room is old world charm. Ornate plaster ceilings, king sized bed, sitting area, marble bathroom with bath, shower, toilet and bidet. So civilised. Once unpacked, we refreshed, changed and strolled down to the sea where jsut across the street was a seafood restaurant. Dinner sorted.

Sunset over Málaga.

We enjoyed dinner as the sun set and then retired to the luxury of our room for a well earned sleep.

Until tomorrow.

Orinoco Flow (Cartagena)

Last night when we went to bed in Cartagena, all was quiet. Not so when we awoke, but that was not discovered for a few hours, dear reader. We had located a breakfast place that was open before 10am, bonus, and it was only 5 minutes from the hotel. It wasn't quite at capacity when we arrived and we secured a table outside in the shade. The lady arrived and we destroyed the Spanish language in placing our order - she was amused and finished every part of the order for us with a laugh.

Breakfast was a double espresso and tomato toast. Not so complex, but there was no menu so necessarily there was bit of guesswork involved. Jayne spent some time watching other orders arrive and decided to be adventurous tomorrow and add queso to our exhaustive list of Spanish words.

A sculpture on the promenade.

The remaining seats filled quickly, mostly with locals heading to work. A place like this is always a great choice. The coffee was good and the tomato toast, a spin on Catalan tomato bread, was too. It was a lightly toasted bread roll,  spread with grated tomato and olive oil.

Post breakfast, we returned to the hotel to grab the camera to find that the arctic doona had been rolled down and replaced by the sheet that Jayne had requested as we left 45 minutes earlier. Nice. Our destination today was based on the daily temperature and amount of sunshine. Tomorrow's top is supposed to 30°, so we are doing the outside touristing today. (It concerns me that the dictionary allows the word touristing).

Now that's street art.

Camera in hand, we walked a huge 2 minutes to the Museo del Teatro Romano, or the Roman Theatre Museum for those who aren't fluent in Spanish. This is probably the major tourist attraction of Cartagena. As we approached the square, we noticed large numbers of people with lanyards milling around and a person with a flag. Bugger. Tour groups. There was an American cruise ship in port. The good news: it was luxury ship with a maximum of 720 passengers.

The face of Emperor Augustus.
His mother loved him.

Being decrepit old people, we scored reduced entry costs to the museum and theatre. If this keeps up, the trip will pay for itself. The early sections are displays of recovered artefacts from the site which is still under exploration. There were the usual exhibits of reliefs, columns, statues, plinths and collars as well as exposed sections of walls. These were all accompanied with explanations.

Juno, Minerva and I can't remember.

We spent some time in the museum and the theatre, dodging the cruise crowd so we could amble at our own pace, undisturbed by the loud prognostications of the group. In this we were only partially successful, as a second group followed minutes behind the first. Jayne declared this was her kind of museum. Why you ask, dear reader? Nothing particularly cultural or interesting; it had escalators to each floor, no stairs.

The remnants of a relief.

It was quite amazing to realise that the theatre site was only rediscovered in 1988. Down through the years a shanty town built up over the site and as Cartagena became run down, the existence of the theatre was lost to memory as the forgotten people claimed the site. When you see the scope of what has been recently uncovered, it makes the story even more fascinating.

Original Roman columns recycled for more recent use.

The Roman Theatre.

Cartagena is taking its history very seriously now and every excavation is being carefully considered with an eye to the past. There are numerous buildings, scattered throughout the city, that are mere shells as their foundations are explored.

From the theatre, we walked down the marble paved main pedestrian thoroughfare to the Plaza de España, a rather underwhelming end to a grand shopping and eating strip. From there, it was on to another archeological site, the Parque Arqueologico Cerro del Molinete. This is one of the many fortified hills of Cartagena, now not quite in pristine condition. It provides a great view of parts of the city and, like much of the rest of the area, has been repurposed depending on who had invaded last. The more obvious remnants belong to the Romans.

The tower looking across to the next fort.

From the hilltop, you could see the larger fortifications on either side of the harbour. Cartagena is still a significant naval site, and its trading history dates back to the Phoenicians. I actually remember reading about it in history in year 7 (1972 if you are interested).

The covered dig below the park.

Also visible was another major dig that had been covered but we decided to give that one a miss - how many Roman columns can one see in a day? Dominating the near skyline was a massive cupola, clearly for a Cathedral. That would be our next destination. No. Apparently god enjoys a Spanish siesta too and the Cathedral was closed between 1pm and 4pm. Not going back to find out what was inside.

The dome of the Cathedral.

After all that walking around, it was beer time in the Plaza de San Francisco, another underwhelming space that contained a few restaurants and bars. A group of about 30 young men shattered the silence as they arrived en masse and entered one of the restaurants. Glad we weren't eating there.

We then returned to the hotel to blog and pre-plan our next stop between here and Málaga. Soon it was dinner at a nearby restaurant. Paella, not tapas tonight. It was very good but I don't understand the Spanish fixation with langoustine. They are a lot of hard work for very little return. Give me prawns or bugs or lobster any day.

The altar of a random church. Needs more gold.

It was party night as we retired and the revellers kept us awake at varying points through the night. And that was through double glazed windows.

In the morning, we delayed our breakfast departure to phone Isobel for her 2nd birthday. When we ventured out around 10:30am, there was a flood of humanity streaming from the dock area. This time the American accents were replaced with British. Another cruise ship had docked and judging by the number of people, it was a much larger one than yesterday. It certainly wasn't there as we retired last night because we walked along the promenade.

It was back to the breakfast place we discovered yesterday, to snare the last available table and attempt our pathetic Spanish. The lady serving us laughed with us and admired Jayne's earrings. We did indeed score our coffee with tomato and cheese on our toast.

Breakfast done, we headed to the waterfront and the Museo Nacional de Arqueología Subacuática, the underwater archeological museum; an indoor venue to avoid the sunshine and heat of the day. Before we reached the promenade, we were able to see the P&O cruise liner that was docked. It would have overshadowed yesterday's ship. Now I know some people like ocean cruising, but I'm not one of them; they are a necessary evil to get to some places - from my perspective. Like our trip last year to see the Northern Lights. 

Despite what your mother may have told you, size does matter. This floating behemoth carries 5,200 passengers with a passenger to crew ratio nearing 3:1. The streets of Cartagena were swamped with sunburnt Brits. In an era where tourism is being constantly criticised, I feel the blame should be laid squarely at the feet of cruise companies building ever larger ships (this one has a rum distillery and a high ropes course FFS). Nothing exceeds like excess. Tourism itself is not the issue, its 'big' tourism that creates the problems. I tender Venice and Dubrovnik as evidence. We swam against the tide as we walked to the museum.

How to stow cargo and stay a float.

The museum is quite interesting as it provides an overview of what constitutes underwater archeology these days. Particularly in the light of UNESCO guidelines. The preference today is to find the wrecks before treasure hunters and often to secure the site to be sealed after investigation. It was a perspective I'd not considered because most of what is seen in the media, focuses on recovery and restoration of artefacts, not protection in situ.

A restored cannon.

Following the tour of the museum, we headed back to the hotel for mid afternoon beer. There is a very large family group staying at the hotel for a wedding. They happened to be enjoying lunch and occupying all three serving staff. A couple of beers appeared to be too much for the bar staff. Literally standing across the bar from them, I wasn't able to get eye contact to even acknowledge my presence.

Recovered ivory.

After five minutes of waiting patiently and a few more impatiently, we left for Bar Columbus where we'd enjoyed dinner last night. It was all of two minutes walk and we secured a table in the shade. This morning we were caught in the incoming tide of Brits from the cruise ship. This afternoon we sat and watched as the flotsam of sunburn, tattoos and cigarettes was washed back out. Happy days. The ship was in port for less than 12 hours.

Once it was safe to cross the street, we went back to the hotel foyer and blogged and researched Málaga and Alhambra. It would appear the latter, in Granada, is something we should have booked two months ago. After numerous attempts to find tickets, we decided to leave it until we could speak with hotel staff in Málaga tomorrow.

It is an early finish to this post, pre-dinner and all. As we sit and write and read, the space next to us has just been invaded by the wedding party. I guess it's better than Brits from the cruise ship.

And finally to the today's title, dear reader. A little obscure perhaps, until you listen to the lyrics. Orinoco Flow is by Enya with the timely lyric, sail away, sail away, sail away. The song was released the same year the Roman Theatre was rediscovered. Synchronicity.

Until next time which will probably include a transit day. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Pressure (Valencia - Alicante - Cartagena)

And so, dear reader, we have arrived at another transit day. In an attempt to break up the drive from one destination to the next, we are intending to explore places along the way. It will also help justify having the car and not travelling by train. The scheduled stop today was Alicante with its Castillo de Santa Barbara.

Using Apple Maps proved to be a better option than Waze, up to a point, but we are not at that point yet, dear reader. The map guided us on and off particular roads, dropped us onto a toll road where we had the joy of two tolls within 10km of each other on a fairly average road. It is what it is when you don't know what to expect or where to go.

We had a few interesting moments in and around Alicante where we were directed from the main road to rejoin it within a couple of kilometres and we did successfully arrive in Alicante. I may mentioned previously that signposting is not a strong point of the Spanish and so it was proven again today.

Driving blind, so to speak, and following instructions never fills me with confidence, but we were turned onto the beachside drive through very touristy Alicante, with the words "your destination is in 1.8km". At no point did the words "you have arrived at your destination" reach my ears. The next instruction, "complete a U-turn," filled me with dread. How? Where? The traffic on the other side of the road was bumper-to-bumper, even though we are definitely into shoulder season now.

U-turn successfully completed, we headed back the way we had come. Again, no comforting message to say we had arrived. At some point I was able to pull over. The Castillo was towering above us but we had seen not one sign denoting its entrance or the recommended free parking area we had put into maps as our initial destination.

The Alicante waterfront.

Finally Jayne resorted to putting the map coordinates into one App and was able to discern where the car park was. Off we went, confidence flagging with the rising heat. One more wrong turn and a correction and we were in car park B. Read vacant land being utilised by locals to park their cars. Whatever. Car parked and locked, we set off in search of the lift that provides access to the castillo, perched above the town.

It wasn't quite The Man from Ironbark stuff, but we wandered here and wandered there, following Google Maps this time. We had risen above sea level and eventually had to get back down to the main road where we espied people milling around. Jackpot! We had found the lift entrance and were only about half an hour behind schedule.

Apparently you can walk up to the castle on the other side, but beachside access requires the use of the lift at the end of a very long tunnel, dug into the hill underneath the castillo. We joined the relatively short queue and the guy in front of us asked if I was over 65. Yes I replied. No need to queue, entrance is free, head straight in, he said, lamenting the fact that he is only 61. Cool. We checked with the attendant as we reached the front of the line. Yes free entry - no proof, except our aged visages, required. Excitement. We saved €5,40.

Looking back toward the lift.

We walked to the end of the longish tunnel to abruptly come to a halt outside a lift door which suddenly opened and an operator invited us to go up inside the castillo. We found ourselves expelled into a complex of stone halls decorated with family crests of those who had occupied the castle from its earliest iteration in the 16th century. From there, we stepped out into brilliant sunlight in the castle compound with its turrets, open areas, seating and of course, the ubiquitous gift shop.  

Weathered limestone in the wall.

Again, the place was not overly crowded so we wandered around to take in the 360° views of Alicante and the seafront with its sandy beaches which make this place a huge drawcard in summer. The castillo was constructed in three eras and the architecture reflected this. It did not take long to traverse the grounds so it was then time to depart, not via the lift but through the gift shop and down the pedestrian path that leads into the top of the old town. 

Looking down on the city.

The view from the top.

The aim was to follow a suggested walking route that took us to various points of interest, all the while working our way down the sloping old town site to the beach level. On the way, we saw the church, a square complete with fountain and old fig trees and a street that has been rejuvenated by the installation of large statues of mushrooms that sport faces (think Alice in Wonderland), with various insects sitting atop them. Unsurprisingly it is now called Mushroom Street.

Mushrooms. Magic.

Leaving the old town precinct, we headed back along the foreshore towards our car, via the Avenue de Espana. This is another well-known Alicante point of interest, not because of its fountain or palm trees, but because of the path itself which is a wide promenade, tiled to create the optical illusion that the surface itself is undulating. Rather off-putting to walk on something that looks like it is curving to find it is flat as a tack.

Tricky. Watch your step.

Anyway, once this was negotiated, we located the car that was happily still where we had parked it. It was now time to resume the drive to our next destination, Cartagena; specifically our hotel, the Puerto Cartagena. What should have been a relatively easy exercise to put the name into Maps, turned into a 15 minute guessing game as the app would not recognise any variation of the hotel name. 

We started to doubt if the hotel existed, but eventually we put the side street address in to Maps to at least bring us into proximity of where we thought we should be and drove out of Alicante in a far less frantic manner than how we had arrived.

Again the suggested route seemed to avoid petrol stations. This will be a problem on the next leg of our journey. The roads continued to be good with light traffic and we were soon driving down the waterfront of the port of Cartagena to an unknown destination. The map deposited us outside the AC Hotel, not a name we were familiar with.

Given I was in a no parking area, Jayne ventured into the hotel to see if this was where we were staying. She returned minutes later. Yes this was our hotel, apparently known by many names. Momentary relief. And I mean momentary. You need to go inside, the receptionist needs to know how big the car is ... parking is via a lift. WTAF! Seriously? Oh, yes, dear reader. As if trusting your life to automated mapping systems and driving on the wrong side of the road (in a manual car) wasn't enough, I now had to negotiate a car lift.

Someone else driving into the lift.

Inside I went, produced the passports  and informed her that the car was considered a 'compact' one by the car hire company. Okay, she said, level -2 when parking. Park anywhere. As the keys were with Jayne because we had parked in a 'forbidden area', I returned to the car while the lift door was opened.

Hmmm. Define tight fit, dear reader. Middle-aged men in skinny jeans? A pair of leather pants a size too small? Anyone in Speedos? Not pretty pictures and neither was the one I had in front of me.

The sides of the lift were marked by the misjudgements of previous guests. I have no room for error, it's a hire car with an horrendous no claim bonus. In we guide the car, pull the side mirrors in manually, and continue in a cold sweat. The lift begins to move and after a minute or so shudders to a stop. The doors open and the first thing to greet us is a sign, "the swinging of cats is not allowed". Clearly, I thought, there is not enough room. I edge the car forward, still sweating and survey the available car spaces in the garage. It may have well been designed by Gaudi. Straight lines were scarce, car spaces were at strange angles and there were pillars supporting the building above just about everywhere I looked.

We selected a spot that was vaguely angled toward the lift we had just exited and performed a complex, but graceful 27 point reverse to park the car. No pressure. Thanks to Billy Joel for today's title, Pressure  from 1982. High on adrenaline and paranoia, I re-parked the car move the nose in about 2cms. "Pretty sure we'll be exploring Cartagena on foot," Jayne quipped as we searched to locate elevator to reception.

Check-in completed, we went to unpack to discover our west facing room had the curtains open and no air conditioning on. I dialled the air con down to 19° and the fan to maximum and closed the curtains.  Unfortunately the bed, although comfortable was covered in a doona/duvet that would not look out of place in a Norwegian winter. This is not the first time we have encountered this issue. What a day! We headed down to the bar for a nerve calming beer. 

Cartagena is surrounded by fortification.

There was little left to do but explore a little of Cartagena before dinner. We walked along the waterfront and discovered a burger competition sponsored by Uber Eats. It was a little early for any self-respecting Spanish person to be out dining but there were a few tourists checking it out. We didn't buy anything but it smelt really good. Back near the town hall, a protest on behalf of Palestine was gathering with a series of speakers; it was a peaceful protest with a minimal police presence.

Arteries harden while reading the menu.

We wandered around the town to see where things were located and then eventually settled for dinner around 8pm at La Taranta. The waiter spoke a little more English than we speak Spanish but dinner was ordered and it was lovely. The star of the show a local dish of octopus. Highly recommended. We sat outside the restaurant because it was such a lovely night.

There are some beautiful buildings.

The walk home was less than 10 minutes. The room was cooler but still on the hot side. It would be a night of wrestling with the doona, on again, off again.

Why are transit days so routinely difficult?

Until tomorrow.

The Holy Grail (Valencia Old Town)

And Hurricane Gabrielle has left the building, dear reader. The day dawned bright and beautiful with cracking blue skies. The perfect day to visit Old Town of Valencia. We had discussed this previously with the conçierge and he recommended the Metro as the walk could take around 50 minutes. On such a stunning day and still needing to work off the excesses of the Catalonia tour, we opted to walk. After breakfast of course.

The walk to the second gate of the Old Town took a little over 35 minutes but no doubt, more time would be required if we walked to the far end to work our way back home. The gates, like many of the buildings in Old Town, are difficult to frame in a photograph because of their size and the need to shoot long and wide. Clearly that is not always possible and it introduces the problem of too many people in my photos. Still, I did the best I could.

Shell marks are clearly visible.

The gates are all that remains of the old fortification. The city walls have come tumbling down but two of the original gates remain. The other is in better condition. This one bears the scars of warfare.

We went old school and used a paper map to navigate the precinct. First stop was the Silk Exchange. What a grand building to be conducting trade in. The garden was tranquil, well, it would have been if not for the multiple school groups and coach tours. 

The contract room.

The chapel and its stained glass window pale into insignificance next to the contract room. A space with vaulted ceilings and massive columns. Silk was obviously big business. The Consulate of the Sea, whatever that means, was upstairs and had an ornate carved ceiling.

The ceiling in the Consulate of the Sea.

Again, the building was on such a grand scale that it was impossible to capture in one photo.

The Silk Exchange.

From the exchange we explored the Central Mercado or Central Market, another huge building. It is, as the name suggests, a market for fresh produce. There were stalls selling fresh meats, seafood, nuts, sweets, fruit, vegetables, cheese, cured meats, bakery items, gelato, and premade rolls. I'm pretty sure if you can eat it, you will find it here.

The market.

The centre ceiling is a dome, of course, and is magnificent. It was reasonably crowded with tourists although there were plenty of locals shopping for their dinner.

The cupola in the centre of the market.

At this stage, it was necessary to pause momentarily for a lunchtime beer in the shade. As welcome as the sun was, it was getting quite warm. We found a less crowded café not far from the markets and settled in to regather our energy. Happily no one smoked. Unhappily a man arrived with a guitar and shattered the peace by serenading the tables. Rock Around the Clock and Love Me Tender, not quite our demographic. He departed after two songs. I'm not sure how successful he was, I didn't see anyone contribute to his waiting hat.

The Old Town is really quite grand and everywhere you looked was a photo opportunity. Many of the old buildings have been well preserved and are beautifully presented. There are parks and gardens and a rather statuesque Town Hall building, complete with the batman symbol. Not really, but the emblem for Valencia is a bat and it does look like the one used by Commissioner Gordon or on a bottle of Bacardi.

The Town Hall.

Beyond the Town Hall were the former bull fighting ring and Central Station North. They were on the very edge of the Old Town. Traffic, cars and people, had notably increased in this area.

The bullfighting arena.

Turning our backs on bullfighting as the Spanish did in the 1970s, we mapped our course for the Cathedral and came across more spectacular buildings. Mostly they were banks. That figures, plenty of cash to splash.

The Bank of Valencia.

There were a number of churches passed before we made it to the Cathedral. Well, we are in Spain. One, the church of San Juan De la Cruz had the usual domed ceilings, but had around 9 side altars. Five down one side and four on the other; one gave way to become a doorway. The church itself contained numerous ceramic tiles, one of the most important collections in Spain.

Ceramic tiles depicting a story.

We edged ever nearer to the Cathedral past the bell tower of another church. Finally we arrived to discover there was a €10 entry fee. That was general entry, if you wanted a guided tour the price doubled. That's about $36 for both of us to walk around inside a Cathedral. Yeah, nah.

The Cathedral.

We sat in the shade to reconsider our plans. I wandered away to snap a few more photos while Jayne eavesdropped on the English tour guide, speaking to the couple seated nearby. From memory, everyone is searching for the Holy Grail. Certainly Monty Python were, as was Indiana Jones and I believe Dan Brown in the Da Vinci Code - never read it or saw the movie. I have standards to maintain. Anyway, they should have looked here, it's in the Cathedral, the Holy Grail. Hence today's title by the Hunter's and Collectors.

I know you are sceptical, dear reader, but no, it is true. Google has verified it. And so has the Vatican, allegedly. I struggle with the concept of a golden chalice decorated with pearls in the time of Jesus. I mean, using something like that instead of stone or wood rather flies in the face of everything for which he stood. Just saying.

Roman ruins below?

From the Cathedral precinct we walked towards the other gate in the former wall in order to orient ourselves to find Plaça del Carmen, an area of street art and quaint shops. On the way we passed a viewing platform that was covered in water that protected the site of some Roman ruins. Well, that was the story, we couldn't see through the water so I'm not sure what was underneath.

The gate appeared beside one of the main thoroughfares and as I indicated, it had been restored to its former glory. It was getting late in the afternoon and we had decided not to eat dinner tonight so we went looking for El Tap, a restaurant that had been recommended by friends. It was found, but alas, it was not opening until 8pm, by which time we would be long home.

Gate number 1.

We did discover Plaça del Carmen but the street art? Well, there is a fine line between street art and graffiti. After a while, we did see murals that we would consider street art but the quaint shops eluded us. Either that or they weren't open.

We were now in the university sector and stopped at a Tapas bar for another beer, hydration purposes only, and a couple of plates, before we made the ill considered decision to walk back to the hotel. It was about 3km, but it was quite hot and while the Spanish sun doesn't burn, its heat bites deeply.

Street Art.

Anyway, we survived and recovered in our air conditioned room before venturing up to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset on Valencia and our time here.

Tomorrow is a transit day. Yay. On a positive note, I have rejigged the system in the car so it now speaks English and have synced my phone so we can use Waze for navigation on the big screen. 

Until next time.

 

Cabaret (Valencia)

A life travel lesson, dear reader. Don't hire a car and stay in hotels in the cities. Parking per night in the hotels of Spain starts around €25. That could pay for a lot of taxis, not to mention the reduced stress of being on a train or coach and not having to battle the traffic, driving on the other side of the road. I hired a car this time because I felt we missed getting out to the country in Tuscany when we were in Florence years ago. That said, Hurricane Gabrielle certainly made her presence felt and the train we would have caught from Sitges to Valencia would have certainly been cancelled, if not significantly delayed. Still, my current belief is hire a car when necessary for day trips.

The day dawned with Gabrielle still hanging around. The rain was strong at various stages overnight and there were some major episodes with lightning. We slept late without an alarm for the first time in a week. Bliss. We wandered down to breakfast around 10am to discover The Level has a separate dining area where you can order food beyond the buffet offering. Nice. Jayne opted for an omelette and I had Iberico ham, accompanied with bread and a tomato mix - definitely not Catalan tomato bread as we are no longer in Catalonia. However, once the tomato was spread on the bread, if the light was right and you squinted, it looked like Catalan tomato bread.

Yum.

We also had a double espresso, twice. Morning coffee. Yes. There were also the buffet offerings, fresh fruit, breads, pastries and the like. The staff were lovely and it was a delightful way to commence another rainy day.

Back in our room, we pondered what might be possible while looking out the window at the clouds. Once we had made the decision to venture out, the skies opened up again and kept us firmly indoors. Perhaps the weather was forcing us to do something our bodies required, after six weeks of travelling; rest. Message received. We gave up any attempt to leave the hotel and went downstairs to sit in the massive bustling lobby area for a people watching session.

There was a young man in soccer kit, sorry, football kit, standing outside the doors of the hotel, waving his flag while being filmed. Eventually he came inside and sat, waiting, patiently, flag draped across his knees. And nothing happened. I Googled the flag and his colours to discover he was a Real Oviedo supporter. The game was scheduled for yesterday but was postponed because of the horrendous weather. The good news is that he may not have been able to see his idols, but they beat Valencia 2-1.

This is near our hotel. I have no idea.

We whiled the day away in our room or on the 26th floor in The Level lounge until it was time for dinner and the rain had ceased. The time was not misspent, dear reader, as we researched places for dinner. Deciding Tapas was not required, we settled on one of the pizza places nearby. While the overwhelming number of reviews were positive, there were many that were negative. almost all of them focussed on service or the attitude of the wait staff. Too interesting not to explore, I booked.

In a fascinating turn of events, we scored dinner and a show, a Cabaret, the clear link to today's title. Also, both ends of the review spectrum were accurate, although I feel the one star people were a little precious. We had a great night.

The restaurant is Il Cortile and they are a chain, sort of. They have a number of locations throughout Valencia and purport to uphold Italian values in the craft. You can decide what that means.

We made a reservation for 7:30pm and arrived at 7:35. The waiter in the green shirt appeared very grumpy. He was busy attending to a table of 6, the only other patrons. Eventually he acknowledged our existence with a head nod. We waited. He came over and I informed him we had a reservation and we were pointed to a table. He returned to the other patrons. Finally he walked past and threw two menus onto the tabletop.

Ten minutes later, he returned, took our order and we requested the wine list which was also thrown onto the table. The wine arrived and we poured a glass and then the floor show began. A table of Americans who had walked in after us decided this was the wrong pizza place and departed. Green shirt man remonstrated with another patron, waiting for take-away and we watched everything happening.

A random flower to break up the text.

Then Jayne noticed some action outside. A parking dispute. Sorry, no pictures. A man, also in a green shirt, (it must make you angry), was gesticulating wildly at the driver of another car who was parked. He got out of his car and went to the window of the parked car, arms flailing like a windmill in a hurricane, presumably expressing his unhappiness with the theft of his car spot. The other car did not give ground. He stormed back to his double-parked car and reversed it so as to block the other from moving and then put on his hazard lights.

The driver of the correctly parked car got out and came inside Il Cortile. Her partner was at the counter waiting to order, but green-shirt waiter was yet to engage with him. He provided solace to his upset wife/girlfriend until the door opened and green-shirt driver stormed in, still with arms waving and the argument recommenced. The couple then placed their order and sat at the side counter with a beer. Green-shirt driver placed his order and stayed at the main counter, also with beer in hand. Stalemate.

Our food arrived and we tucked in keeping a close eye on proceedings. The couple left the restaurant without food and before green-shirt driver who had parked them in. We're not sure where they went. A short time later, he left with his two takeaway pizzas and disappeared into the night.

Lantana grows everywhere. It's a weed at home.

While all this excitement was happening, green-shirt waiter's demeanour had improved when additional staff arrived to share the 'load'. He decided we were OK. We scored a smile and Jayne got a hand on the shoulder. She was then invited over to the bar counter where there was a digital clock, mounted on the wall, showing 10:00 with the word 'gratis' underneath. When we first came in, we had assumed that the 10 referred to a promise that if you had to wait longer than 10 minutes, you would get your takeaway pizza for free. No - there was a red button on the bar top and the waiter indicated to her to push it to start the countdown from 10:00. If she could push the button to stop the clock at 7:00, our dinner would be for free.

After 2 failed attempts, he laughed heartily and patted Jayne on the shoulder once again. Clearly we were now family - no one else had been invited to stop the clock. He was even happier when I paid cash and gave him a small tip. 

Surely he must own the place, otherwise why would any employer keep someone at front of house if they were damaging your reputation. I can understand they would not be keen on tourists and they don't need to be. The area is mostly high-rise residential with restaurants and other commercial premises occupying the ground floor. The take away trade was brisk - the pizzas were excellent and the restaurant itself kept filling till there were very few vacant tables. 

Anyway, after dinner and the show, we walked back to our hotel, happy that the weather forecast promised a return to sunshine so we would finally be able to explore Valencia's old town.

Until tomorrow.