You learn through pain.
When we first arrived in Castelldefels there was a brief period of true while the mosquitoes lulled me into a false sense of security, encouraging me to sleep with the windows and doors open to allow the cool fresh breeze to lull me to sleep. Truce over the malignant insects attacked with military precision and without mercy (until they discovered that Toni was meat more tender and delectable.) The unsightly and deliriously itchy welts had to be treated and so I searched for a pharmacy. During my peregrinations I passed a Hotel which looked to have an interesting menu Del dia.
Today I tried the food and the pain of the bites was forgotten (if unforgiven) by the excellence of the very reasonably priced meal. I know I had promised to stop gloating about the cost and the quality of food available in Castelldefels, but I thought that the Hotel Neptuno deserved a mention – and a fish and vegetable tempura is not something you see on the average Catalan menu. Yum!
I have at last made the connection between the number of young men hobbling around on crutches or supporting fractured limbs: the bloody motorcyclists! Considering they are on two wheels and rely on centrifugal force or whatever for their stability (a stability which just a touch by a car can destroy with catastrophic results) they dart about the road with the impunity of Challenger tank drivers. At one point today I seriously thought that one motorcyclist was going to attempt a sort of wall-of-death overtaking manoeuvre on the concrete dividing wall in the central reservation, but he contented himself with a double inside lane overtake with a little jink to avoid certain death by the thundering oncoming traffic. And they only wear shorts and t-shirts so when they have an accident their final appearance when momentum has finally slowed them down must leave them looking like medieval saints who have just been flayed by an opposing sect venting their justified anger on an apostate.
The statistics for injury and death for Spanish cyclists must be horrific – but Spain must also be a Mecca for plastic surgeons who want to practise their skin replacement techniques before setting up in private practice. [Have I got those who words the right way around?]
I continue to be astonished by the inconsiderate driving I encounter every day. Let me put my keys on the table and state I do not enjoy driving and I do not rate my driving skills as being anything other than adequate, but I do recognise that there are other road users in the cars around me.
This seems to be anathema in the Spanish driving theology which places the driver in his car at the centre of the universe, and around him all other drivers revolve. This would, of course, be entirely unobjectionable if it was in any way true, but, as the increasingly strident road safety advertisements on television would seem to indicate. Putting on an indicator does not create an impenetrable barrier around you; glancing at an oncoming car doesn’t stop its progress; blocking a narrow road actually does impede other road users; overtaking on the inside is demonstrably dangerous and ignoring things does not make them go away.
Ceri, Dianne and Gwen have set themselves a punishing schedule for their visit to Barcelona and Catalonia. Gwen is an unrelenting shopper and takes a wholly professional approach to this essential function of humankind. Our local shopping centre came up trumps for her when a jacket seen in the Barcelona Zara but not in the right size was hanging vulnerably on a hanger ripe for plucking in Anec Blau. One up for Castelldefels!
Tomorrow Sitges and shops anew!
When we first arrived in Castelldefels there was a brief period of true while the mosquitoes lulled me into a false sense of security, encouraging me to sleep with the windows and doors open to allow the cool fresh breeze to lull me to sleep. Truce over the malignant insects attacked with military precision and without mercy (until they discovered that Toni was meat more tender and delectable.) The unsightly and deliriously itchy welts had to be treated and so I searched for a pharmacy. During my peregrinations I passed a Hotel which looked to have an interesting menu Del dia.
Today I tried the food and the pain of the bites was forgotten (if unforgiven) by the excellence of the very reasonably priced meal. I know I had promised to stop gloating about the cost and the quality of food available in Castelldefels, but I thought that the Hotel Neptuno deserved a mention – and a fish and vegetable tempura is not something you see on the average Catalan menu. Yum!
I have at last made the connection between the number of young men hobbling around on crutches or supporting fractured limbs: the bloody motorcyclists! Considering they are on two wheels and rely on centrifugal force or whatever for their stability (a stability which just a touch by a car can destroy with catastrophic results) they dart about the road with the impunity of Challenger tank drivers. At one point today I seriously thought that one motorcyclist was going to attempt a sort of wall-of-death overtaking manoeuvre on the concrete dividing wall in the central reservation, but he contented himself with a double inside lane overtake with a little jink to avoid certain death by the thundering oncoming traffic. And they only wear shorts and t-shirts so when they have an accident their final appearance when momentum has finally slowed them down must leave them looking like medieval saints who have just been flayed by an opposing sect venting their justified anger on an apostate.
The statistics for injury and death for Spanish cyclists must be horrific – but Spain must also be a Mecca for plastic surgeons who want to practise their skin replacement techniques before setting up in private practice. [Have I got those who words the right way around?]
I continue to be astonished by the inconsiderate driving I encounter every day. Let me put my keys on the table and state I do not enjoy driving and I do not rate my driving skills as being anything other than adequate, but I do recognise that there are other road users in the cars around me.
This seems to be anathema in the Spanish driving theology which places the driver in his car at the centre of the universe, and around him all other drivers revolve. This would, of course, be entirely unobjectionable if it was in any way true, but, as the increasingly strident road safety advertisements on television would seem to indicate. Putting on an indicator does not create an impenetrable barrier around you; glancing at an oncoming car doesn’t stop its progress; blocking a narrow road actually does impede other road users; overtaking on the inside is demonstrably dangerous and ignoring things does not make them go away.
Ceri, Dianne and Gwen have set themselves a punishing schedule for their visit to Barcelona and Catalonia. Gwen is an unrelenting shopper and takes a wholly professional approach to this essential function of humankind. Our local shopping centre came up trumps for her when a jacket seen in the Barcelona Zara but not in the right size was hanging vulnerably on a hanger ripe for plucking in Anec Blau. One up for Castelldefels!
Tomorrow Sitges and shops anew!
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