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Last year I made a leisurely, meandering, counterclockwise loop through Spain and Portugal, interrupted in Algeciras as I ferried to Morocco for 5 weeks. On returning to Spain, my plans were changed by my daughter’s announcement that she and family would be flying to son Eric’s house for a vacation. So we could all be together, I had to drive more directly across southeast Spain, back to Girona.
I’m going to fix this now by looping through the southeast, per last year’s plan. An easy 4-hour drive gets me to the small city of Castellón along the Mediterranean coast. Although I’ve left Catalonia and entered the Valencia region, the local language and culture are still Catalan. In always fractious Spain, the Valencianos don’t appear to crave independence the way their cousins do.
Ricard, a retired hospital worker, has graciously agreed to host me at the very last minute, so I head for his home, arriving late afternoon. It takes about 30 minutes to snag a curbside parking spot, after which I go up to his 8th (European)/10th (American) floor apartment. After settling in, we head downstairs to one of Spain’s innumerable bars. Unlike American bars, alcohol consumption is only part of their function. Many customers pass the time drinking coffee and eating snacks. Ricard speaks a little English and German so I have to work hard to understand his Spanish, especially when there’s any ambient noise. Through the stay, I catch about 2/3 of what he’s saying in his Catalan accent. I’m satisfied.
Ricard is definitely more to the political right than I am, but that doesn’t damage our ability to build rapport. One thing he mentions is his concern about the effect of Muslim immigration on European culture. It’s true, many Muslim immigrants don’t assimilate quickly, but I don’t see that as a long term problem. I may be wrong. Many Europeans worry about the dramatic difference in birth rate between Asian immigrants and the traditional population, their version of the American “Great Replacement Theory” white nationalists. After an hour or so in the bar, we go up to the apartment. While he makes a simple vegetable dinner, we continue some hours of talk, Much later, I get a good night’s sleep, ready for tomorrow.
Saturday morning, we’re going on an excursion up into the nearby mountains, but first it’s a walk to a bakery for pastries and coffee. We drive up the coast a little and then inland up a winding mountain road that takes us to the Mirador de Sant Josep, a panorama of the mountains with an ancient convent in the foreground and the Mediterranean Sea in the far distance. Coastal mountain ranges are always appealing to my sense of landscape appreciation.
Back down the winding road we go to the beach town of Benicássim to a favorite restaurant of Ricard’s. At 2:30, the large dining hall is full but they manage to find us a table. We both get paella but Ricard says it is below their usual fare. My understanding of paella has always been a ridiculously expensive dish of rice chock full of many varieties of seafood and sausage. When I’ve made it, I could easily add $40 worth of ingredients into one pot.
So perhaps my preconceptions were false. What we get is a big plate of seasoned rice with 3 or 4 bite sized pieces of chicken and beef ribs. What is unarguable is that the rice is substantially over salted, but the sangria served as a beverage is excellent. Hey, not every restaurant meal lives up to expectations. That’s one reason I try to avoid eating out — I generally like my food better [brag, brag].
After lunch, Ricard takes me to his nearby beach apartment, where we both sack out for a nice siesta, with the sea breezes blowing though open windows. He splits his time between the two apartments — not a bad life for a retiree. Later in the afternoon, we drive to the Mare del Déu del Lledó, a nice, well kept piece of ecclesiastical architecture but the signal attraction is a pervasive flower aroma. I first identify it as lilac, but Ricard points out we’re surrounded by acres of orange trees, all in fragrant bloom — a unique treat for a New Yorker.
Sunday, we’re off on another excursion, this time to Vilafamés, an ancient town perched on the steep sides of a ravine, topped by a fortified church. Apparently, the Catholics have always felt under siege, centuries before widespread allegations of sexual misconduct became publicized. We park near the bottom of the village and ascend steadily on foot via streets, alleys, and stairways until we reach the defense tower at the apex of the hill.
Vilafamés is a popular destination, with many families and couples wending their way up and down. A local landmark is “The Large Rock”, a 5 million pound boulder perched precariously on a steep slope. Succumbing to custom, I have my photo taken with it.
Back at the plaza where we’re parked are a variety of cafes and bars and a six-piece musical group is setting up for a performance. One of the bars (sorry, no photo) displays, “Cerveza tan fría como el culo de un pingüino!” (beer as cold as a penguin’s asshole), which on a scorching day would be an alluring enticement. We settle for cool horchatas, about which I will have more to say in another installment. As we’re drinking, the jazz band starts up, and they’re very entertaining. Unlike in the US, they are apparently being paid and not busking the audience for donations.
Thirst quenched, we get back in the car and head back to Ricard’s city apartment. I have planned to move on today, since Ricard’s adult daughter is due tomorrow and I’m occupying her room. I mention that I’m going to check into a dorm hostel in Benicássim and Ricard insists that I use his beach apartment instead. This sounds good to me so he hands me the keys and I’m off for the 20 minute drive.
Just about as I arrive, I start feeling a little under the weather. Rather than explore the beach area, I decide to just ensconce myself on the porch sofa under a blanket. This turns out to be a good idea as I now realize I’m getting respiratory symptoms. I’ve had a very intermittent cough for a few days, perhaps once every 30 minutes, but it’s now progressing into minor coughing jags and as the evening advances I get chills and perhaps some fever. I’m hungry, but since it’s Sunday, it’s easier to make do with the meager snacks I have on hand than muster the energy to drive around with all the grocery stores closed.
So, I hunker down overnight and feel slightly better Monday morning. I make a brief run to Aldi to get some sustenance and then right back to the couch. It’s a very pleasant environment for recuperation. I sleep and read away the day and on Tuesday morning I seem to be mostly symptom free and more energetic. By mid-afternoon, I get my belongings back in the car, and make the short drive to Castellón to return the apartment keys to Ricard. As usual, we meet at a bar to talk and have coffee, keeping a watchful eye on my illegally parked car. Finally, we say our goodbyes and good wishes and I head south about an hour to the next coastal city, Valencia.
Next post: https://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2025/04/24/road-trip-europe-iii-25-04-15-25-04-19-valencia-spain/
