I have one goal for the rest of this trip – to not set foot in another Carrefour!
I managed to mail a package from the post office in one on Tuesday – a guy had ordered our album and I’d been traveling around with his CD in my bag for over a week. I finally figured out the word for post in Spanish. The thing is, the guy lived in Madrid, and there I was in Madrid. Not a big deal, but the postal agent insisted that I put a return address on there. After much discussion (in French – I’m so used to being slightly moronic in my second language it is always easier to try to get to the Spanish word that way) we decided I could use my hotel address in Madrid. I was so thrilled with completing a transaction, it wasn’t until I walked away that I thought “what is this guy going to think?” Unless he knows that we were playing in his town on the weekend, he’s going to be scratching his head in disbelief, amazed that we actually personally travel to each town where someone has ordered a CD, check into a hotel and then find a post office to mail it – probably to save on postage.
On towards Valencia and on towards another Carrefour – we checked into a humble campground by the sea north of the town for a night in the ambulance. The website said they had a restaurant but it was “closed, today only, the shop too”. A likely story. I was a little freaked out as in the dusk the place looked like a West Virginia trailer park. I saw caravans parked so close together, with all the lights out, and I asked Eric if they were maybe homes for people who picked oranges nearby, who had to go to bed very early in order to get up at dawn? He pointed out that they were just stored there.
With no shop and no restaurant, we asked the reception if there were any cafes nearby. They handed us a map, and circled the Carrefour.
This one was even more annoying than the one to the east of Madrid, which was worse than the one to the north of Madrid. But we got what we needed to have dinner and breakfast in the campground. Which was really charming in the morning light. As we’d traipsed through the dark to find the restrooms I’d whined “I don’t like camping!” but in the end I enjoyed it – there was the sea, showers outdoors in the sunshine and the restaurant was open for lunch and pretty good.
I think I had a harder time sleeping in our luxury hotel last night in Valencia, after a difficult show where the sound was so challenging we never felt like we got things off the ground. And promoters who were so preoccupied they sent us off on our own for dinner after the show, pleading that they were “tired, and have to get up early the next morning to book some more concerts.” I thought Spain was rock and roll party animals and cocaine all night?! It was only eleven PM! Who are the middle-aged ones around here?