Monday 20th October 2014. Week 174. Spain

    Those wacky Germans

    Okay well an early posting today as we're leaving this morning. The camp site is nice but too full for us. I like it quieter. Comically, ever morning the tannoy strikes up with ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG! First time I heard it I thought the commandant was making his rounds. The announcer then lists the days events. Water aerobics in the swimming pool, bingo in the café and later Adolf Muller and his saxophone in the bar. It feels like I'm in a Carry-on film.

Yesterday a group of about ten Germans gathered on the next pitch to celebrate some ones birthday. I know this because one played Happy Birthday on his harmonica but oddly they didn't sing along.

    We took off shopping. When we returned the party was in full swing. We had lunch and went for a cycle ride to see the Roman towers of which there are several in the area, built as look-outs for the frequent pirate raids here. I went along not so much for the towers, I'm maxed out with Roman history, but because the route took us between tangerine and pomegranate groves. I was hoping for some windfall fruit, no such luck, so it called for some creative scrumping to get my bounty.

    We arrived back late afternoon. The party was getting louder as they were getting drunker. Around five our neighbour, having seen me step out the van, walked over. Well, he didn't so much walk over, as ricochet off various bits of camping equipment.

    “You comen for der schapps ya!, he offered.”.

    Being all Germans, all pissed, and all loud, I really couldn’t see how two sober Britishers were going to slot into the group dynamics, so I said: “Danker, but we are having our dinner”. He shuffled off and returned to his friends. I told Hazel who was about to pour us our evening gin and tonics, we like to sit outside and drink a toast to the setting sun. We now couldn't do that, not after turning down our neignbours drunken offer. He might feel offended. Hazel wanted a cigarette, so she fought her way around, and over, the crap we keep in the cab while parked up and climbed out the drivers door so as not to be seen by Heinz, while I made derisory chicken clucking noises.

    When we retired to bed they were still at it. They'd been drinking for ten hours!

  The campsite recycle bins, all full. This is serious drinking, not for the faint hearted.

  We are heading across country. The next site is out in the sticks in the Castilla la Mancha region. There’s a slim chance it might not have wifi or Internet, so if you don't hear from me in the next couple of days it's not because I've driven off a mountain, although that’s always a possibility. (Well that's not temping fate!. Ed). It's because I can't get a connection.

    Lastly: I don't want to be accused of adding to the wealth of confusion, so let me correct something I said last week. I questioned the wisdom of sitting next to a sneezing Ebola sufferer on a bus. I should point out the consensus of medical opinion is that it is possible to get infected that way, but, according to those that should know, it's also most unlikely. 




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