Moving on

On Thursday last week, Celia and I did a meandering sort of trip over from Otematata to Cromwell; it’s quite a pleasant ride through the Lindis Pass (which isn’t one of those high up over the mountains kind of Passes) and the time went quickly enough.

Cromwell was very hot the following day, although it was pleasant enough later on to sit outside and type this. A bit of a breeze came up and the sun went down enough to take the edge of it.

Our self-contained unit had two good-sized bedrooms, a reasonable lounge area and a good toilet/bathroom. But the kitchen was ridiculous: pokey and cramped, with only one cupboard - and that was below the sink. There was a kind of bench, but it was very loosely fixed to the wall, and wouldn’t hold any great weight. The sink was all of a piece with two gas hobs that didn’t work, and then there was a plug-in unit with a couple of hot plates. No oven, but there was a fridge and a microwave. The air conditioner didn't appear to work either.

Unfortunately the kitchen rather undercuts the value of the rest of the unit, and appears to have been an add-on to the rest of the place at some point. It's plainly not geared for people who actually want to cook, but for those who might like to heat up some package meals or somesuch.

Celia went for a swim in the afternoon, but I wasn't really fussed about trying to wrap up the catheter and all underneath my swimming togs (!) It might be manageable, but the disadvantages seemed to far outweigh the advantages...

More details about paddling

The apartment we’ve moved into isn’t quite up to the standard of the previous one, even though by all accounts it’s more luxurious. There’s a lack of kitchen utensils, for instance; a lack of dinner plates (Celia reckons they’re back at the other place and the rest of the set is here); and various other small things that add up to it not being quite what we first thought. That’s okay; we were much better off in the other apartment for the week.
We had nothing much in the house for lunch so we walked in Plaza de Reina (Reina meaning Queen) and pretty much took up the first café/bar we found. It was advertising an English breakfast, but once inside we opted for the Paella, even though our last experience of paella, in Barcelona, was most disappointing. It had been very salty and rather burnt underneath.
We also opted to stay inside out of the sun, because by that time the sun had decided to give it a go, and it had become very hot. Opting to stay inside meant we were (a) able to read Lesson 42 in the Spanish/English course that was left on our counter. It was a lot of fun, and obviously was partly done with tongue in cheek. ‘Your cologne smells like gasoline.’ ‘You remind me of Robert Redford. You have made me feel like a real man.’ ‘Why aren’t these accounts up to date? What, you think I’m some kind of magician? You need to be, or else you’ll be looking for another job.’ ‘I read The Economist. It tends to focus on gay marriages and the legalisation of drugs.’ And so on.
(b) We were also in the firing line kitchen-wise. It was rather like being not in the restaurant but in the kitchen itself, and of course, with the staff all being Spaniards, there was a great deal of full on in-your-face discussion. Fun.
The paella was lovely when it came, and just what the doctor ordered.
From there we caught the tram back down to the beach, which was more crowded than the other day: lots of families, and kids, and couples. We watched a father play with his children (aged from about four to fourteen) for ages: he was creating a circle in the sand and they had to get him out of it or get him down. They never did. Even when his wife joined in, he stayed on his feet - she went down with quite a thump at one point. Celia was tempted to join in, but restrained herself.
We also paddled in the Mediterranean. The first wave was cold, but nothing like Dunedin beaches. And after that you didn’t feel chilled, but just comfortable. We walked along the beach quite a way, Celia’s foot apparently enjoying the change.