Blog 1.20: Days 17 and 18

October 8th and 9th

You know how I said something about hoping for a peaceful night? Nah; didn't happen.

Our Brazilian neighbours had said that there'd been some slightly garrulous people in the play area the night before, and so it repeated itself. Spaniards do tend to the louder side when they get together, socially, and I don't have a problem with this, so the fact that there was much volume not far from us just meant that I read my Grisham until things settled down sometime after midnight. No bother.

What I do object to is when an obviously worse-for-wear couple decide to have a 'domestic' at 4am. That's bleddy annoying. 'He' was relatively civilised, but 'she' was going to make him suffer, and the rest of us were just collateral damage. I've absolutely no idea whatsoever what she was haranguing him about, but it sounded very much like one of those "YOU WERE LOOKING AT HER ALL NIGHT LONG" type of invective-streams to me.

Ah well, about thirty minutes elapsed and she had apparently got her point across and they drifted off to a) annoy someone else, or b) bed. The latter, I hope.

So, it was a late start after catching up with some zeds, and we headed off south and then east towards Dos Aguas, a pretty little mountain town which appeared to have quite a lot going for it. On paper.

The Road to Dos Aguas

The approach was spectacular, with some great (and some squeaky bum) roads, and some terrific scenery.

However, when we eventually descended on the village and made our way toward our desired park-up (as recommended by the sometimes, but not always reliable Park For Night app) we were quickly subsumed by rows of marquees alongside the already quite narrow road, and locals in various states of, er, happiness, wandering around aimlessly, and in chairs encroaching here, there, and everywhere on the remaining bits of road.

We eventually made our way past most of the jollity, with the participants happy to point and wave us through, but with no apparent cognisance of the fact that, if they just moved that chair, or that sandwich board, it would be far easier to get us out of their way so they could resume in peace.

As it turned out, the park-up was down the end of a narrow, twisting descent, next to the public pool which looked like it was last cleaned when Rey Emérito Juan Carlos was a lad, and most of it - the parking area - was covered in heaps of sand.

Hmmm. No way. So it was a case of turning round (my seventeen-point turn capabilities are being honed on an almost daily basis here) and facing the wrath of the revellers up the hill again.

It was OK though. Happy drunks are so much more amenable than the other variety.

That sandwich board was damned well staying put though...

Shame though. It looked like a place where an enjoyable overnight could be undertaken.

Moving on, and we headed south-ish, and seaward-ish, to a small town with an aire that Mandi had found on PfN.

Simat de Valldigna is a very pleasant place in an enviable position, being almost surrounded by mountains.

Simat's Washing Spring

It has a quirky little central square with its washing spring/pool still very visible, but nowadays occupied by small, and rather large, fish, many of which were quite fancy and valuable-looking carp.

The bars around the square were closed but for one, and the place had that sleepy-but-comfortable vibe about it.

Having settled on the town's free Aire, just a couple of minutes walk from the centre, M pointed out some signs she'd spotted on our way in (I was far too busy honing the manouvering skills again).

Bummer. On investigation, and rough translation, it appeared that there was a paelle festival taking place on the next day, Sunday, and the Aire had to be vacated by 7AM...

We do pick 'em.

By that time, and given the general paucity of park-ups in the area, and the fact that I don't much care for driving in the dark these days, we took the decision to set the alarm, get up at six, and move on.

After a wander down to town in the evening, which turned out to be quite the liveliest place you could imagine given the dearth of action earlier, we returned for a relatively early night, hoping for a more peaceful one this time given our early start.

OK, it wasn't the quietest,  with the usual babble from neighbouring residents (and no criticism is meant there. They live there. We just pass through and happily accept their hospitality/water/emptying facilities, while hopefully returning a little of that largesse by purchasing goods, coffees, etc. where possible).

Following a visit by the local Policia to remind us of our vacation commitments, 

by midnight it had settled down somewhat and we both drifted towards nod.

And then... I thought someone had decided to blow up Putin's bridge again. Just where, and how, do people get hold of pyrotechnics that sound like they could raze large buildings - and then detonate them in town, in the early hours?

Fortunately, that was it, and the night was then passed in comfort - until that damned alarm!

By 6.45 we were just battening down the hatches, literally, and plod fetched up again just to remind us, very politely as he did last night, of our obligations.

We set off, then, in darkness (gah, but at least it was going to get lighter as Mr Sun ambled up towards the horizon off our starboard, and rose blearily at around 8AM).

We drove the shortish distance to the edge of Alzira and pulled onto a large patch of rough ground outside what I initially misread, somehow, as being a recycling plant. But no, it turned out to be a fireworks manufacturer! So that's where Vladimir got his supplies.

It was also flanked on two sides by persimmon trees. Don't think I'd ever noticed persimmon trees before.

We washed, dressed (travelling in yesterday's attire isn't that desirable I guess) and breakfasted, and wended our way towards the coastal stretch of L'Albufera. This huge freshwater lake, separated tenuously from the salt by a pretty strip of beaches and forest, is Valencia's 'bread basket', producing vast quantities of rice from the paddies around its perimeter, and is the reason for Valencia's wonderful national dish of paella.

We've stayed here before, in El Saler to be precise, and it was to El Saler we headed again as M had located a beachside park-up which sounded ideal. So it proved.

Sunrise over El Saler

It's a long straggling sandy car park, divided into 'dune' fringed pockets of bays so it really doesn't feel like, for instance, Mablethorpe's large open beach car park, so really nice. There are picnic benches shaded by pergolas, and water, showers, and a path leading just yards to the sandy beach, with views to the north of Valencia's docks, and Javea in the far south.

M&M

Almost perfect. And the weather played ball too, so no complaints here.

And what made the day complete was seeing our friends Josh y Maria, who live in nearby Massanassa. Josh is my 'Best Man' (OK, one of two, Joe Kinsella being the other one) and sadly the last time I saw him was several years ago on the occasion of his father Alan's funeral in Eastbourne.

So it was lovely to spend some time catching up, walking their dogs Tikka and Bobby around the forest tracks, and finishing off with coffees at a beach bar in nearby Pinedo.

Today, we'll meet again, and go to see their two daughters, and spend a relaxing day finishing with a meal in either Massanassa or El Saler. Sounds lovely.

Miles so far: 1550