Day 95. Tuesday 11 June.

Well, actually we go back a few hours to the previous day, still in HK. Courtesy of the voucher Cathay had provided we had a very full meal at the Crystal Jade restaurant in the airport. More than we could manage as it turned out.

Through the various gates – immigration, security – then the usual wait. Boarded, to find that we had missed out on our preferred two seats off the aisle, and were instead in two of the middle row seats with another passenger as bookends on each aisle. D had a minor confrontation with his bookend, who seemed concerned that D was claiming his seat (as indeed he was until checking the numbering system, but of course didn’t admit that). Settled in, took off, then the reality struck home: despite the extra leg room and other comforts of Premium Economy, once the lights are off and the seat backs are back, in those middle four seats you’re stuck unless the aisle person gets up. And in getting out you move at a 45 degree angle. Fortunately, T’s aisle person got up reasonably often and we were both able to slide out that side: but aisle person got up only once – at breakfast, about seven hours into the journey! We came away thinking that the extra cost wasn’t worth it in that situation. First World problem?

Into Sydney. First, through passport control. D’s passport not recognized, so directed to the Special Assistance desk. Advised to ‘go bck to the table in the corner and fill out this form, sir, and come straight back here.’ There is no table in the corner; D and T start to fill out the forms on a couple of rubbish bins until told peremptorily to get out of the way as crew were coming through. Forms filled out free hand: good luck in reading them! Then another official gave different advice on next step. OK, whatever.  T swanned through electronic check and got a ticket to prove it – D went through the desk again, and no one was interested in his form and he didn’t get a ticket.

In the biosecurity area the sniffer dog had been having a great game with its handler, fighting over a toy, so perhaps might have missed anything non-kosher passing through (not us, by the way). Not impressed by the presentation of a couple of the officials – not a good look as an entry to Australia. We passed through, handing over our forms unexamined, and were a bit surprised, after the usual wait, that our baggage had arrived.

Contacted Murray’s and arranged an earlier bus. Coffee – where we met up with one of the course members from D’s time at the Defence College, now a Professor at ANU in aeromedicine (she was an RAAF doctor, and of course lots more). Sorry, a bit of name dropping without the name.

Taxi home, a chicken curry dinner (and other things) waiting for us – curry was ‘divine’ said T. Bed at around 2000, sleeping right through, so reasonably functional next day.

Next day, a little surprise to conclude the trip. A letter from Spain, claiming that D had exceeded the speed limit on 15 April, his birthday, and therefore he owed 100 euros. The irony: no one in Spain during our visit kept to the speed limits except D, apart from, apparently, once. D has unsuccessfully tried to pay the fine electronically (including seeking advice from the Spanish Embassy) but the statute of limitations has probably passed, so he will now be pursued by another agency, with a surcharge attached. Watch this space: D now possibly a fugitive from the Spanish justice system. Portugal may also seeking him for a swag of unpaid tolls.

Day 94. Monday 9 June/Tuesday 10 June.

Did we really write easy yesterday? Some sleep overnight, with an alarm, sometimes two, on all four devices. And of course we were awake before the first one went off.

Out of the apartment in good order, and our delightful Pakistani Uber driver Abdul was on time. He, his father and a brother are in Spain; his mother, two sisters, wife (married for two years) and child are in Pakistan. He visits yearly, over December/January. He is a Computer Science graduate and will do a Masters degree once his Spanish is good enough. He said that of the four siblings, two are doctors and two are engineers. One brother has already obtained recognition of his medical qualifications and plans to move to either England or Ireland. He spoke about the very tolerant Spanish society, that accepts you for who you are and are very friendly; in a seeming contradiction later he commented that the Spanish think there are too many foreigners and they should leave – but they are lazy: it is the foreigners who do the hard work and the long hours.

We were at the airport, through check in and immigration and ready to board with plenty of time to spare. A coffee and a muffin each at an airport outlet – the cost after the very reasonable (ie cheap) prices we’d become used to was a shock.

The plane had started to taxi to queue for take off when the Captain announced that because of an issue in the cabin we would have to move out of the queue to a safe spot until it was resolved. No other information, but the passengers were calm, as indeed they were throughout the two hour delay – well, except for one who was offloaded along with her baggage – seems she was the issue or part thereof. She did have a few agitated words with cabin and ground staff before marching down the aisle to get her belongings.

One other passenger was not happy, although not about that situation. The man sitting behind D had tried to go forward to use the Business Class toilets and had been turned back (as had T been). He vented, fairly calmly but forcefully with pointed fingers and terse tones, at one of the female cabin staff on two occasions, who handled it very soothingly. Poor boy, as T would say.

We were therefore two hours late departing – and two hours was the gap between our connecting flights. Instead of heading on to Sydney we now had a longer layover in Hong Kong, leaving hopefully at 2135, for an 0840 arrival. The main difference is that we’ll spend the day in the Royal Airport Hotel, where we stayed for a couple of days on the outward journey, at Cathay’s expense. This more or less balances the cost of the hotel in Sydney that we won’t use and may not get a refund for (can probably claim on insurance), but still get back to Canberra pretty much as planned. T has had a terrific massage in the hotel – a new body and then a few hours sleep.

Day 93. Sunday 8 June.

Pre-flight preparation. A walk along the seafront to the marina and then along one of the breakwaters. Information board gave us the story of the town: feudal settlement, then 16th century(?) breakaway, town growth and growth…around fishing and then much later, manufacturing. Today, it’s fishing, manufacturing/ textiles and tourism. And a strong immigrant presence. A cooler day, so fewer folk on the beach (on the other side of the harbour) but there was the hint of a wave.

Looked for a suitable spot for coffee and ended up at Cafe L’Arenal, on our own back door. The waitress couldn’t really tell us what last night was about, but came back with a booklet that described the 2025 Festival de Sant Pere, which actually starts next weekend. We aren’t really much clearer what it was all about.

Wandered back onto the Rambla de la Plau, and sat listening to a pianist and singer entertaining diners at a small restaurant. We could be the audience without dining. Highlight for us was our special song, Moon River. We thought it would be the perfect spot to return for a dinner. Observing the African hawker working her patch was a reminder of the quiet dignity of others.

The afternoon was spent in quiet pursuits. D did mind games and T had needle and thread. We had decided to finish our Spanish adventure with an early dinner, focusing on the little restaurant that had featured the live music earlier. Closed. Proceeded up the Rambla – options were pizza, tapas, bocadillo or some sort of a combination of all or some of them. Up near the church a 100th birthday was being celebrated: we spoke to the family members surrounding the special lady lady and offered congratulations. The family members explained their status but we didn’t understand. No problem, smiles all round. Ventured back down to the seafront: same story. All of the main restaurants were closed. A Cran signature plan was unfolding: failure to achieve objective. Lunch is the main meal, and no restaurant wants to deal with customers on a Sunday evening! Fortunately, on La Rambla there was one offering a dinner (rather than tapas menu) and we eventually settled on that.

Deciding our menu choices was the next hurdle: we had lost the ability to choose from a wide selection, and we’re picky, wanting something different from T’s ‘one-pot’ offerings. T ended up with chargrilled octopus (on a potato mash…D has finally corrupted her) followed by beef carpaccio. D chose steamed mussels and slow cooked lamb – with rosemary potatoes. All with a nice Rose. The choices were fabulous.

T’s choices:

And D’s:

An early night, early start tomorrow and Uber to the airport. We’ve checked in – just need to drop bags and go through the hoops. 15 hours to Hong Kong, two hours on the ground, seven hours to Sydney. Easy!

Day 92. Saturday 7 June continued.

Finished dinner, about to clear up around 2130 – T said she could hear bagpipes. Yes, so could D now. We hadn’t had that much wine, so something was happening, and now we could also hear drums.

Outside to investigate. On the Rambla de la Pau leading from the church to the marina came a procession of huge animal/ dragon/ devils supported by small teams, all in costumes and bands  of drummers and pipers of all ages.

And the fireworks!!! with seemingly no regard for public safety: T copped an ember on her skirt and D one on his head.

We had no idea what it was – and still don’t know the significance of the date, assuming it was either to farewell us, or perhaps to celebrate the birthday. Google suggests it was the ‘popular Catalan bestiary…. the name given to the set of figures that represent real or fantastic animals that are exhibited in the local celebrations of Catalonia processions, parades, dances, etc. They have their origin in medieval drama of the procession of Corpus Christi, in evolving and acquiring its own dances and parades of devils, among others.’

And on they came….

And came….

It went on and on. More and more fire spinning. Kids and adults captivated, accompanying dogs were not fussed (maybe had a communication line to the mythical creatures??) Such a primeval sense of wonder! And we had seen this little tike in yellow earlier in the evening in the playground beneath our apartment.

And the high point (for D at least):

And then …..roast pork (click on image below):

https://randomramblingsblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/img_6582.mov

We ended with a cooling/ calming ice cream at around 2300. The parade had finished but we could hear fireworks continuing down towards the marina till well after midnight. Kids were back in the playground…there’d be no sleeping for them. New Year’s Eve fireworks in Canberra? Ain’t nothing alongside this!

Day 92. Saturday 7 June.

A special day in the calendar, acknowledged with a video call first thing (well, early for us). Just lovely to catch up with the birthday girl and little sister.

D did a recon to the railway station ahead of our departure on Monday, trying to get a handle on the sections of our walk-train-train-walk journey to Terminal T2 at El Prat de Llobregat Aeroport, which will take the best part of two hours. Just hoping the train system doesn’t crash like Friday!

After coffee, a stroll through the old town, walking past old men and women and boys and girls on the avenue and through several plazas, where folk were beginning to gather for eating, drinking, and just socializing. The old part of town is rather lovely with curved streets of colourful apartments and small shops. There was a sense of family and community, and the ‘vibe’ was one of peaceful mixing. We did come across our final cathedral for this trip, Parroquia de Sant Antoni Abat, but didn’t enter. And D spotted a car with more scratches than poor Josie.

A quiet afternoon: D on a device, T on a vice.

And a decision: don’t chance the long and semi-complex train ride – Uber is booked.

A late afternoon swim – with a couple of thousand others. This is nothing like Congo, or South Durras, or Bawley Point, or Mt. Eliza Beach….. not even Noosa – perhaps Bondi? As we walked over the boardwalk, D took a couple of generalized, surreptitious photos: didn’t want to seem too obvious even then, and as we discovered later on the beach, photography would have been deemed inappropriate.

We were surprised that so many girls/women were comfortable to display a lot of body (g-strings, topless, little bikinis) while all boys and men wore boardies (no speedos). There was thumping music playing from bars just back from the sand. You could rent a group platform, a cabana, a sun lounge and umbrella; and as we stepped onto the beach there were sellers of beach towels, baseball caps, sunglasses, handbags – all laid out on the ground. The sellers (we guessed of African origin) sat or lay beside the products on a hot afternoon, with no obvious custom. The water was benign: shallow, no waves, flat with bits of plastic occasionally floating by. Groups of teenage boys played with a ball, dunked each other and shrieked, a couple practised their dance moves (until their little kids told them to stop), young girls did uninhibited handstands and cartwheels, many folk were sunbaking under a hot burning sun, there was a flotilla of littlies with armband floaties and presumably the lifeguard in the watchtower was awake.

An evening on our deck, listening to the village below. A bit noisier than usual due to the presence of a small group of early teenage boys. Noisy, but not offensive. Haven’t they got devices to look at?

Dinner. Tuna and pasta salad, with lots of other stuff from the depleting pantry.

Day 91. Friday 6 June.

This was the day that had caused all the fuss (months ago) about travel insurance/credit card status: exceeding 90 travel days. It was also the ‘hand back the car day’ and there was only one more drive to do. Needless to say, D had allowed more than adequate leeway in his timings to make sure we weren’t late for the 1300 handover.

He chose a ‘non toll road’ for the 40 mins trip; T thought that may have been to spare her the autovia seat- clutching, but it turned out to be a cliff-top C road clutching (think Cinqueterra)! And there were cyclists as well as continuous oncoming traffic to detract from relishing the sea views.

Despite this we arrived 40 minutes early and the gates were closed (lunch). No worry – a phone call, the gate opened, a quick check was done, a few papers signed, the last pics taken and then we were dropped at the airport railway station. No fuss: no issue with scratches, and no mention of half full petrol tank (just as well on the latter, as we were handed the car 80 plus days ago with just a 135km range!) The car will be sold in France, secondhand, minus scratches.

Since we needed a train into Barcelona (Sants) in order to get the train to Vilanova, it made sense to use the opportunity to revisit the Sagrada and the train trip was a chance to recon for Monday – in reverse. 

Quite simple: one return ticket from the airport to Vilanova, changing at Sants. This also involved getting on the Metro, buying a ticket for that system, with an assurance from the staff that our rail  ticket would still be valid when we came back, which was reassuring.

We’d visited the Sagrada in 2006 when there was still serious construction happening; we thought that it was now completed, but no surprise, there was still fencing all around, some scaffolding nets and a crane ( maybe aim for 2026 finish). Queues were very long and when T checked with staff, we learnt bookings could only be made online, and that it was probably booked out for today and possibly till 21 June!

So decided to do the Spanish thing and have lunch, chose a spot under trees and umbrella and ordered a Margarita pizza and a couple of glasses of wine. The wine arrived soon enough – the pizza took forever(as in they forgot). We chatted about future travel plans and soaked up a ‘freedom’, not having to drive again in the next few days. Checked on Sagrada website and sure enough it was booked up: until Monday. The pizza still hadn’t arrived, but our drinks had evaporated, so we ordered two more. When they arrived, the waiter whispered ‘they are free’. The couples on either side of us also waited, and waited, with the Brit couple eventually telling the waiter abruptly to cancel their drinks order and bring the bill: ‘this too slow!’ The other couple were still waiting on their fish and chicken dishes, as we joked that they were probably catching the fish and slaughtering the chicken. Their meals came eventually: fish was good, chicken over cooked. We chatted about travel and home bases: they work in aged care/nursing jobs in Reading (the woman was a nurse from Romania and the guy from Guyana).

Back to the Sagrada for some photos and to marvel. It really is the most outrageous construction.

We also had an ice cream to relax, and to just watch the passers by and tourists. We joked with a tour leader bearing the usual flag on a stick as he tried to herd his charges: ‘5 mins for ice cream’…good luck with that! T wondered if he had a whistle: yes, he did and blew it, but rather softly, because that was a Polizia job, did the head count again, ‘I’m missing someones’…there was another toilet stop, more head-counting and eventually the group moved on. But we did notice, perhaps it was the ‘someones’ who were dragging the chain.

Metro back to Sants was fine, but when we tried to use our rail tickets to get onto the concourse they were rejected: wrong advice earlier today apparently. A quick explanation to the staff and we were waved through, to join the restless crowds waiting for delayed trains. In our case, the 1715 train to Vilanova did not come at all; other destinations were delayed and the next one for us was due in 30 minutes.

A slight moment of consternation: the platform had been changed, and although it had probably been announced, our Spanish wasn’t adequate. Fortunately D was occasionally glancing anxiously at the Departures board and noticed. D remarked that this recon was a lesson for planning Monday’s trip.

But made it, after stops and starts: the 40 minute trip took 75 minutes. Home, carless, enjoying a beer and champagne to celebrate/mourn the moving on of ‘Josie’ and the end that stage of our trip. After our lunch, just some tapas for ‘dinner’.

Day 90. Thursday 5 June.

A slow morning as we’d been offered a late check out and our check in at Vilanova y la Geltrú was not until 1500. Packing (ahead of repacking for return flights), tidying/cleaning, rubbish disposal – mundane tasks.

Our host Isa came over to do the check out, and Google translate worked overtime to help us communicate reasonably successfully. A great spot, good hosts…..just a rooster and church bells to keep us alert. And T learnt that those plastic bag flags in the rice paddies are to keep the flamingos at bay, as they like to grab the rice seeds/young plants! And so delightful that Google translate brought up the word ‘flamenco’ for the bird. 

On the road,  probably the last high speed (120 km/hr) one we’ll tackle (T says hooray!) A few issues with unclear instructions from Doris – and one just plain wrong. First confusion saw us heading 10 km in the wrong direction before we could ‘Do a U turn at the roundabout’. D’s somewhat coarse reaction caused the voice recognition into a conniption! 

But we arrived at the specified location, with a set of instructions on how to access the apartment. D, being the expert manager, had screenshot the instructions sent via Whatsapp (which included several photos), loaded them into ‘pages’ on the Ipad so that if there were no internet coverage (for any reason) we could refer to the pages document! 

We could have been very Spanish, as instructed, and simply pulled up on the footpath with hazard lights on and gone to the location of the key box but no, D found a legitimate on-street parking spot and we walked back to locate the key box (perfect).Then it was find the apartment block and lift, enter the apartment, get the garage remote, return to parked car, get Doris to take us around the block (she had no idea and got on the job just before the end: D knew where he was going), enter the underground garage, look for orange doors….Yes, close ‘Pages’, we’re there. The luggage circus then emptied the little Peugeot. We were in! 

T is delighted that the seat clutching, fearful gasping, groans of horror and gut-wrenching panic of the high speed trips is over. So is D. But there’s one more car trip tomorrow to the Peugeot drop-off.

A balmy afternoon passed, families gathered in the playground plaza beneath and children’s laughter swirled around and up. It is a real ‘village’ environment. A walk to find the train station for our trip on Monday was positive…looks pretty straightforward (VilaNova to airport). We’ll do the test run tomorrow in reverse direction after dropping off the car.

Dinner was sourced from local supermarket and we’re back to hamburger patties on mash with some fresh greens (still some carrots to get through!), preceded by that tapas!

Day 89. Wednesday 4 June.

While T joined a zoom meeting from back home, D took the car to the local car wash and put too much in for the wash, but offered the credit to a very thankful couple: paying it forward, or perhaps just a thanks for help received. As a result, no coins for vacuuming, but a very obliging lady in the next booth was happy to exchange coins for a note. We want to make the drop-off in Barcelona as smooth as possible, and perhaps mitigate some of the scratches.

T had Googled a fabric shop in Deltebre (just in case there was some ‘lemon’)  so that was our first stop today. Doris took us right there, but we had some doubt that it was the right place. T got out, checked, and reported that it was the place – but closed. Here we go again! But a call from above said the shop was open, the owner opened the door and T entered, to have a nice chat with him. He explained the sign on the front door, directing any customers to ring the bell. 

Indeed the shop did have some ‘lemon’ and some pink and blue…all colours that T was chasing in order to get moving with a quilt piece. The shop owner was very familiar with patchwork but insisted he did not do ‘fabric’. T realised the dilemma…the Spanish word fabrica has a meaning linked to manufacturing/a factory (having seen it all over Spain) and the shop owner was insistent that the shop was not a fabrica. No problem, T started to examine the bolts of patchwork cottons and demonstrated that she stitches with these. All good…he then pointed out a box of pre-cut pieces (similar to fat quarters) and we were in sync. Patchwork used to be popular but over the past 4 years has dropped off…those who used to be clients have passed away or become too old and don’t stitch anymore. He talked about craft groups who used to get together on Sundays and do their handiwork (stitching, crochet and talking…) and the groups joined with same in neighbouring towns …craft communities. But now! The younger ones just go to Amazon and buy ready-made. T empathized/sympathized and selected 6 little packs of cut pieces. It seemed to be a very struggling business. T sensed a nice little stitching moment on the horizon.

D meanwhile plugged in the next destination for a swim. Well, he plugged in L’Ampolla, but that was not right – we were going to Riumar! In putting the destination into the mobile, D somehow seemed to have done something that meant the screen couldn’t be seen: just a bit of dark shadow. On, off, on didn’t help, nor did swearing. Not sure what was happening, and wanting to find a solution before heading off tomorrow, as we need the phone for navigation, we set out for home, by instinct rather than any help from Doris. Fortunately we did eventually get to somewhere we recognised: about 400 metres from home.

Plugged the phone into a charger and darkened the screen surrounds as much as possible. D could now dimly see Settings and possibly work out the problem. It seems that D unintentionally and unknowingly somehow turned down the brilliance, to such an extent that nothing could be seen! Good design feature, Apple! All fixed, so back in the car to head to Riumar.

Not the best beach we’ve visited but the water was refreshing – and virtually no one else there. In fact, for what seems to be very much a tourist/holiday spot it was very quiet. And there was a very generous shower.

Back at home for repacking, some simple detailing of the car before hand back on Friday, a quiet read …… and some stitching.

There is definitely a feel that we’re coming to the end of this trip. D was particularly pleased with himself on checking our costs: accommodation, after 95 days, has come in $100.86 under budget, including prepaid for the rest of the trip!

Tapas at 1700.

Dinner. Baked salmon with mash (a bit light on as we were down to the last small potato) and a strange tomato/onion/garlic/artichoke side (but the fridge is cleared) for last move tomorrow. And a ‘stolen’ lemon, pinched from over a fence in the town. Folk have been transported for less.

Day 88. Tuesday 3 June.

Warm day, so we took our swimming gear just in case. Headed back to Riumar to check out boat trips on the L’Ebre. Stopped in at the swish, new Tourist Information office there: closed, with no hours of business or any other advice. So headed for Port de Deltebre, and we’re greeted by a gaggle of souvenir shops, restaurants and cafes and various sized cruise ships/boats. Fronted a ticket seller for Creuers Delta De L’Ebre, hoping for a small craft, but the minimum was five people: sadly, three others who were looking to do the same had given up and bought tickets on the big boat, departing at 1230. We had one minute to make up our minds, so opted to go with it. It was pretty full and the commentary started in Spanish, followed by German, then back to Spanish. We were with a German tour group! Didn’t we write last night it was great to be in a ‘non-tourist’ zone? Karma.

There was the usual rush to get off, and to get to the cafes, souvenirs and restaurants, so we decided to head to L’Ampolla – or so T thought, and was a bit surprised when D took her to Amposta. Bit of a communication mixup there.

Amposta seemed to be a working town, further up the river, with a clear presence of a Muslim population. We parked (after having been honked and abused while waiting in a narrow one way street for an earlier spot to clear), and while examining the parking meter, D was approached by a young lady who advised it was free until 1600. Muchas gracias. D did wonder if he looks like he needs to be helped, but in fact this sort of friendly help for strangers has been quite common. We were the only customers at the cafe in the plaza where the Tuesday street market was being packed up. For someone it seems to have been a devastating morning’s trade.

The waitress was bemused and confused by our order (the usual scenario): we ask for two espressos and a small jug of hot water. Invariably, there is no jug and the water comes in a big glass which is very messy for pouring into the little espresso cups. Fortunately, there’s always a napkin dispenser handy. After coffee there was a short wander through the covered market, also being packed up,  with impressive stained glass windows featuring the local fauna and delta agricultural activity. The tourism office here was closed too but T noticed advertising for upcoming festivities around rice planting. The town also seemed to have some serious music training facilities. And T was relieved that D had chosen a ‘not modern haircut’ yesterday rather than some of the  options available in Amposta.

Then headed to L’Ampolla, which turned out to be a decidedly upmarket beach town/city – Noosa comes to mind, although the beaches we saw were very different.

That meant we moved on, more or less towards home, looking for somewhere to have a dip. Roads criss-crossed through rice paddies, giving us up-close views of the equipment, houses and fields in different stages of rice growth. T had seen a serrated-wheel tractor moving through the rice next to our abode earlier today, spreading fertilizer and it is indeed a very serious piece of equipment that surprisingly does not permanently damage the juvenile crop as it moves through, leaving flattened seedlings in its wake.

Homes are little islands within a sea of water and green (and the algae is common). The older style house/shed is box shaped with sloping roof (there must be a reason for this); the newer, more substantial homes are a mix of square and sloping roofs.

We arrived at Restaurante Los Vassos Deltebre, at one end of Platja de la Marquesa, on the Balearic Sea. The water (and beach) were uninviting with dark sand and choppy surf – apart from one hardy couple.

We decided on a walk along it instead, until we looked up to see a threatening sky in the distance and coming our way, with lightning and thunder. 

Back home. A former worker’s house, now Booking.com.

Dinner. Turkey Surprise: with artichokes in creamy coconut rice; the canned artichokes have been the pantry basket for months, so it was time to add them to a rice base (since this is a local staple).

Day 87. Monday 2 June.

There’s something wonderful, marvellous, different about being in a ‘working town’ rather than in a tourist destination. The delta is a fascinating complex of lagoons, canals, cottages and slightly larger ‘island’ homes in the middle of rice paddies (obviously not affected by the surrounding cycles of flooding). We think the cottage we are in was previously a working rice home. Thankfully the warm day was tempered by a strong breeze and we weren’t bothered overnight by mosquitoes.

Into town for Tourist Information and Doris didn’t disappoint: there was nothing that looked anything like an information centre where she took us. 

Found an ‘i’ spot on a paper map, punched that in, and arrived at what turned out to be an Ecomuseu, covering the history of the delta: its geography, including changing structure, development from a duck hunting ground to a rice growing area, the rice growing process, ecological protection, and its population. A simple but very effective display, spread over a large area and several buildings. What a tough life before mechanical processes! T still has some questions to ask. And no mention of the ravages of malaria that must have been a feature in days gone by, although the development was opposed (unsuccessfully, obviously) because of the mosquito risk.

Something of interest for our fisher folk – how would they cope?

Coffee time – not easy to find a venue. Having scoured the streets of Deltebre, we headed more or less accidentally to Riumar, a seaside ‘resort’ town of very modest single-storey villas about 10 kms away on the Mediterranean. No luck there either (although there were several beachfront restaurants offering a lunch menu) so headed for home to make our own, with sweet treats and pastry lunch from Lidl. It has come to that!

In the afternoon, while T stitched, D snuck out to be shorn.

Late afternoon we set off to find the flamingos at Cemitiri de Barques, near Badia del Fangar (Fangar Bay) recommended by our hosts. A bit of a daunting drive along very narrow pathways between canals and rice paddies, but we didn’t encounter oncoming traffic. Got to within 800 metres, at a reasonably spacious fishing wharf area, so decided reverse back a bit and walk the rest rather than take the potholed dirt track.

In the distance we could see some Great Egrets, and as we got closer picked up a flock of Flamingos in the distance with the binos, then spotted four much closer – but not close enough for good photos. We also saw (again) glossy ibis, grey heron, black winged stilt, tern, yellow legged gull, and silver gulls. As we walked we frequently disturbed big carp feeding in the lagoon shallows. The late afternoon colours were fantastic: silver waterways, grey skies, green rice paddies.

Dinner.  After 10pm Turkey curry (time to give that fowl a try)…with brown rice of course (conserving that vitamin B, which scares off the mosquitos and lets the neighbouring rooster have another day/ night of crowing).