Denia, Valencia, Tarragona & Barcelona

Denia

We negotiated a horrible step up onto the road exiting the car park in Benissa. I actually thought the van might somersault. Driving something this tall, every little bump and hole you drive over is massively exaggerated. 

We were on the way to Denia just up the road.

After arriving at the beach-facing parking area I'd designated as our day and overnight stop, we discovered it had been over-run by morons. To be specific, a complete twonk (specific and technical) had parked in a position completely blocking the route around the area for any vehicle that was bigger than Noddy's. Absolutely unbelievable. We were 2/3's of the way around this car park now, with no chance of reversing out, and this git hadn't left us any room round. I slipped into an angry rant just as a car behind us started shaping to leave. I put my ranting on hold - promising myself I'd return to it later - and got out the van to direct Rach into the soon-to-be-vacant slot.

As soon as I set foot outside the van, I noticed a car of late 20-something girls waiting just before the slot. I just knew they were waiting to go in it. No chance. I walked over into the slot to stop them getting it.

''ALLA ALLACALLACALLA ALLACALIESTO!!!'' 

The over-dressed young lady driving the car was shouting and gesticulating to me from behind the wheel. It was obvious what she was getting at. I calmly but firmly sign-languaged back that it was WE who would, in fact, be taking this space.

Two of the girl's mates, one with red hair (not ginger, not strawberry blonde, RED) and the other with a lovely fashionable hat on got out of the car and strolled over. The red-haired one, who was wearing really cool aviators, walked up too close to me, which I assume she hoped would come across as intimidating, and casually flicked her wrist, as if to say 'move'. A good try. But no.

Look, I understand that after 5 hours of getting ready they must have been impatient to actually get on the beach, but the facts of the matter were that a) we were in front of them and therefore the space was ours, and b) WE WERE FUCKING BLOCKED FROM CARRYING ON ROUND. We had no other option. They could've turned around, or maybe even squeezed through the gap up ahead. Luxuries we didn't have.

They didn't give a monkeys though, despite an English speaking local woman helpfully trying to explain our predicament to them. After much dual-language dueling, which attracted a bit of an audience, the angry stalemate was finally broken when the car next to the new space also left. We backed the van into the new space next to the girls' car, which had by now claimed the first space. The girls hung around as we did this, keeping an eye on their car in between selfies. This gave me ample opportunity to fire off a few sarcastic witticisms - wasted on them of course, but it helped dampen my rage.

Satisfyingly, the guy who had caused all this - the one who parked blocking the path round - arrived back at his car. I went over and had a pop, while the man stood looking at me blankly. Weirdly, an old woman from another car walked over apologising.

Denia was really nice. Sorry, I didn't have the energy to write more. I wasted it all on the 'Spice Girls'.

Valencia

We were back in a campsite for Valencia. It's quickly becoming a luxury we really appreciate.

The receptionist put us in a plot right next to the swimming pool and explained that we could claim a free complimentary sangria and order a home-made (well, campsite-made) paella if we fancied it. She seemed very proud to confirm that paella was NOT a Spanish dish, it was a Valencian dish.

The WiFi password for the site was PaellaSangriaSiesta. I wondered why the receptionist hadn't included some information on siestas in her welcome spiel; it would have matched the WiFi password perfectly then.

We got the train into Valencia. The city - the part we had time to see - almost had an American feel to it - big neon lights, massive roads, quite commercial. Not to say we didn't like it. We had the best meal of the trip so far at a restaurant called Baldo. Prawns in garlic and fried shrimp to start, followed by Paella Valenciana - chicken and rabbit, and a bottle of chilled white wine. So good! Also, the waiter was very attentive and enthusiastic, but not over-the-top. First class all round. Well done, Baldo.

I took us on our now customary million mile after-dinner walk towards the sea front/harbour, but we abandoned this when I took a closer look at Google Maps and realised that it was actually a billion miles away. We stopped at a bar instead. I ordered a screwdriver. The waiter advised that he could only serve me one if it was a drink they did. Erm, okay? Presumably the bar did have vodka and orange because two minutes later he brought me one. Rach had a lovely water to help with her sweating.

A Pakistani cricket-loving, English weather-hating taxi driver took us the extra long way home because he expected us to take over the navigating about halfway through the journey. How novel. I subtly but unambiguously hinted that he stop the meter when it reached his original quote. He obliged but then, as if in spite, informed me that he thought the ruling which awarded England the cricket World Cup was nonsense.

Tarragona

On Day 28 we met up with my mate Tom in Tarragona (Tom in Tarragona will be a track on Buggered the Batteries in Bordeaux). We met him at 'the Balcon' where he was sat on a wall looking out to sea.

It was good to see him. It was also a welcome relief from the bad atmosphere I'd created with Rach on the walk there by moaning about something. She does a superb mocking impression of me moaning. She'll usually do it about an hour or two later, after I've calmed down. It's got to the point now where I sometimes find myself looking forward to the impression while I'm actually delivering the moan. I love it.

Tom showed us round Tarragona. The town got more and more impressive the more of it we saw. Walking round the winding streets of the older sector reminded us of Venice, just without the water. Really pretty, with enticing looking bars and shops round every corner and bits of street art everywhere.

Amazingly, we walked up the steps to the main church just as they were beginning the town's famous climbing ritual/ceremony in front of it. Townsfolk - adults, teenagers and little kids - create these performances where they climb up onto one another to form human towers. They performed 3 or 4 different variations, all of them completely captivating, largely due to the obvious risk involved; the youngest kids would climb all the way to the top, standing on the shoulders of the older generations beneath, who trembled to keep it all intact. Brilliant entertainment, and what a great way to build community bonds and respect between generations. It made me contemplate what we do to achieve these things in the UK. Although all I could think of was, 'we watch Coronation Street'.

While watching the performances, we noticed that the church was unfinished at the top - perhaps the performances were just a bunch of painter/decorators trying to get up there and this wasn't as significant a show as we'd presumed. All of a sudden I felt better about the UK, and our ladders.

Our second day in Tarragona was spent at the beach - the 'magnum opus beach', as Tom described it. The sand was perfection. Lots of nudists around though. Mainly men. One character we nicknamed 'The Ghost' because he just wandered round the same spot for about 6 hours with sun cream slathered all over his back, making him look white. He seemed lost, as if he was looking for someone. He just didn't seem settled. He was certainly unsettling. ''Trapped between this world and the next'', I suggested.

The sea was very lively. There was a red flag for most of the day, which meant no going in above knee-height. We managed to get in a good couple of swims though, one on arrival and one before we left. The waves were very powerful.

It was the first day of the Ashes. Checked the score on my phone. Steve Smith at it again.

Overall a great couple of days. After a few drinks in the main square - at a bar I insisted on going to because of the neon light cactus ornaments they had on the tables - and an ice cream from the 'magnum opus ice cream place', we said goodbye to Tom, who was heading home to Birmingham the next day.

Barcelona

I'm going to cover the two days we spent in Barcelona using bullet points, which seems fitting considering how busy the place is, but it's really just because I've already been going on long enough for one week. So here we go:

• Parked up next to a busy dual-carriageway
• Google Maps is trying to kill us - 2nd time it's directed us to walk down a motorway
• 'Hype man' on the underground with an accordion - playing Justin Bieber
• I refused to take a picture of Rach in front of an 'R' statue
• Gothic Quarter gets two big thumbs up - smaller, more interesting streets, quieter, quirkier, cheaper, better
• Drank white wine at a bar whilst being entertained by a mad local busker - we followed the sound of the same busker when looking for the same bar the following day
• Had a drink in an English bar where we were served by a man who couldn't hide his thick Doncaster accent behind his forced Spanish twang, and which had a wall of clocks showing the time in various different major cities... and Redditch
• Visited Sagrada Familia - wow (especially the old bit)
• Paid 12 euros for two Fantas outside the above - very reasonable
• Free champagne and another paella inside a charming little square
• Visited the Picasso Museum and got to see all of his ''crocodile cat paintings'' (Rach)
• Nabbed some chicken-smelling (?) lavender to put in the van
• Nabbed a bus ride (first the Portuguese toll scandal, now this - ultra criminals!)

Recommended restaurant in Valencia:

Cerveceria Baldo on Carrer de Ribera