This holiday post is from way, back in April. It took ages to sort out the photos and I swore I would write stuff down as soon as I got back but before I knew it months had gone by, and now I’ve forgotten stuff. I should keep a regular diary but I’d never get anything else done. Part 1 of Holiday in Seville, back here.
The ex and I rented a car. (Well, the ex rented the car. I can’t drive.) We had to meet the car dude at a train station in Seville.
I was blamed for making us late.
I was blamed for dilly-dallying over breakfast. (Hey, the most important meal of the day!)
Then I was blamed for missing the bus in the Plaza De Ponce. (Couldn’t be helped. Ponce. Heh heh.)
Even so, we weren’t really late. (sightly late)
We stood there outside the station waiting for this car chap for nearly an hour.
By now the ex was a state of terrible annoyance.
2 double international phone calls later (Spain, back to England, back to Spain)
Turns out the car dude wasn’t going to meet us at the station; We were supposed to find his car depo, except that no one seemed to know where the hell it was even though on the map it was right there by the station, in plain sight. (Not my fault!)
So off we drove to the next stop on our Spain trip. The small town of Vejer De La Fronterra.
The ex is a good if somewhat volatile driver. I found the drive out of the city was particularly nerve racking.
In fits of rage the ex would hurl all the maps and sheets of papers at my head. (Look, I’m not familiar with road signage and also I can’t see very well and so how can I warn in advance where to turn? That’s what the GPS is for. My amazing contribution was to program the GPS – which, by the by, I excel at.)
I morosely complain that if I was a friend the ex would never hurl things at my head. No friend would let anyone get away with such behavior.
The ex informs me that in fact many friends have received such treatment and if I wasn’t so useless I wouldn’t get shouted at. (This might be true, but doesn’t console me much.)
Once we were out of the city, and were on clear roads, the free and easy, the ex and I were much less stressed and we had a very merry drive. There was one terrifying moment where I wasn’t sure if we had taken the right road, but all was well (whew! The ex would have sulked all holiday). My GPS programming is jolly good.
The hotel I picked in Vejer de la Fronterra turned out trumps. (See! I’m not totally useless! )
We were asked them if had a room free near the pool so they bumped up to a suite for the first night, and then booted back down to the standard we originally booked for the next. The ex was upset when we had to down-grade after living the high-life for 24 hours.
I had insisted we visit Vejer (on a whim. It looked cute. All white and shit.) against much opposition, and that was a fucking excellent decision too.
It’s a tiny, white walled, medieval fortress town on a small mountain range, with winding streets decorated with ceramics and lined with plants (plus the occasional friendly cat). It had the most amazing views out over the plains. The ex and I spent ages trying to take panoramas with both our inadequate camera phones.
The best thing was the lack of people. It was really quiet. No August summer tourists, hardly anyone really.
We did a lot of pottering about, wandering about the old town and shopping. Very pleasant. We heard it was mostly a place where artists lived and practiced. Pottery and painting.
Our hotel had a pool, which we desperately tried swimming in. (the pool only got the sun from morning until mid afternoon), I imagine it would have been entertaining had anyone else been watching our cowardly attempts to get into this chilly pool. (Dip toe, squeal, run away, dip toe again. Repeat squeal.)
We had to really goad each other into taking the first, drastic plunge. (I would have felt the holiday was incomplete had we been provided with a pool and not used it even once). We lasted about 30 secs before we came up shivering, more than ready to lie around in the sun.
The town was also not more than 30/40 minutes away from various beaches. We jaunted off to one of them on the second day, and it took us 2 or 3 turns around some roundabout before we got onto the right road.
What is with Europe and roundabouts? When I went with my folks from Luxembourg to Trier, we drove around the Autobahn in a circle 3 times, for 4 hours. (There was no signage and no exit. It was an amazing feat of Germanic organization)
Considering how cold the pool was, I don’t know why I was so optimistic that the sea would be any warmer. I rather hopefully had a bathing suit under my clothes, but the water was too icy. I didn’t even attempt the plunge. We just sat on the sand and I read a sandy themed Barbara Cartland.
Anyway, I highly recommend a visit here.
Now, loads of photos. God they took an age to sort out.