Another grey day in the valley that we could, perhaps, escape, if we headed for the coast. Our chosen target this time was Jávea/Xàbia which, I think, is another Brit stronghold a little further north up the Mediterranean coast. Before we get there, though a little linguistic digression/question.

The accent mark over some Spanish vowels doesn’t change the sound, as such, but is a stress mark. Now, I couldn’t help but notice that in Jávea, the regular Spanish (i.e. Castillian), it’s an “acute” accent mark, whereas in Xàbia (i.e. Valenciana), it’s a “grave” accent mark. I then wondered if this was a language difference, Castillian versus Valenciana. that falls down, though, when I look at Jalón (Castillian) and Xaló (Valenciana). Now I’m really confused. If anyone finds out, do please let me know. Anyway …

Jávea/Xàbia did not disappoint – the sun was shining. There was a moderate breeze blowing the usually calm Mediterranean up into cresting waves crashing onto the stoney beach. The foam from the top of the waves fizzed almost inaudibly as the bubbles burst. There followed a delightful trickling noise as the water percolated back over the small, round pebbles into the sea, ready for the process to start all over again. I could have just sat, closed my eyes and listened all afternoon.

I didn’t just sit and listen, though, and it was just as well. We wandered along to the harbour area where we stumbled across a gaggle of people, banners and hubbub. We could hear what sounded like an auction emanating from the fish market building. The banner announced “Xàbia al Plat Mariner”, a sort of a seafood fest. We went in to find several stalls handing out food though folks appeared to handing over tickets rather than money for the tasty morcels. A little further study revealed that we were to buy tickets outside, €2 per tapa, €1.50 for a glass of vino, and exchange them inside for our chosen delicacies. We opted for 4 tapas and a glass of vino each.

Our first irresistible item was a “mini hamburguesa de sepia con pan de tinta” which, I believe, translates as “small cuttlefish hamburger with bread coloured with its ink”. It was utterly delicious. Given that this Parador de Jávea seemed so skilled, we couldn’t resist trying their other offering, “pastel de gallineta con gambas y salsa de cítricos”  which was, I think a “mousse of guinea-fowl with prawns with a citrus fruit sauce”; again, delicious.

It certainly didn’t go downhill from there but those two offerings were so good that all others were going to be struggling a little, I thought. This pulpo a la plancha [grilled octopus] was very good, though. 😀

We wandered back listening once again to the hypnotic crash of waves and trickle of water on the beach. A swift visit into the uniquely designed church – it resembles a ship’s bow – swapped the sound of water for the sound of classical music as a rehearsal for an upcoming Mozart concert was in progress. Returning again to the promenade, a coffee delayed our departure a little longer.

Our valley was mostly grey and rather uninspiring again today. We’d spent our best spell of sunshine waiting in various queues inside Dénia hospital. Once again, however, the skies looked as though they might be brighter towards the coast so, having used Calpe as an escape route already, today we elected to try our luck at Moraira. A large patch of blue sky grew larger in our windscreen as we approached along the twisting Spanish local roads, which seem to be a collection of hairpin bends strung together by, well, less severe bends.

Sure enough, Moraira was bathed in sunshine and basking in a temperature close to 20°C. I think it’s a bit of a Brit stronghold. We sat outside a bar with a cup of coffee and another pair of Brits at the table next to ours were enjoying a bottle of rosado between them. Soon, they were enjoying a second bottle of rosado. 😉

Moraira has a very different feel to Calpe. Off season, Moraira is very quiet. I’d characterize it as a typical seaside town, typical for this part of the world, that is, busy in summer but quiet at other times. Many of the shops and other trading establishments are closed and shuttered, presumably because there isn’t enough trade to give them all a viable business at this time of year. Calpe, on the other hand, seems more like a town that happens to be on the coast, if you see my distinction. Yes, a lot of Calpe’s business may be in the form of summer sun-worshippers toasting on its beaches but there is a also a reasonably vibrant community living and shopping there off season. that’s just my impression, for what it’s worth.

There’s a small pond/lake spilling out across the beach into the sea at Moraira. It is a much smaller water body than Las Salinas, the lagoon at Calpe, and, other than birds, I am yet to find any critters of my kind there. I think it’s fresh water, though, so it had to be worth a quick look. We started wandering around the perimeter. About half way around, I spotted movement as something appeared to rise from the top rail of the surrounding fence. Sure enough a dragonfly settled a little further along the rail behind me. As coastal as this location is, if I was expecting to find anything, it would have been a Red-veined Darter (Sympetrum fonscolombii) but this character was quite clearly a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum). As far as I could see, it was all alone, too.

There was one other critter worthy of note. We’ve seen quite a few butterflies since arriving – there are still flowers around for nectar feeders – and I spotted a white butterfly flitting about. Normally, white butterflies cause a bit of a yawn but this character was a bit different, showing an interesting pattern on the underside of its hind-wings. I’d seen something like this before in France and suspected I recognized it as a Bath White (Pontia daplidice). I can’t really confirm that until I get back to by books, though.

When grey, escape to the coast. 🙂

Francine had a disturbing night; she was complaining of lights or streaks in the right periphery of her vision, most noticeable in the dark. The effect was still there this morning.

We were supposed to be going for a walk with neighbours but, with an amazing attack of sense, decided to try to consult a local optician beforehand. After all, at home, we’d be straight onto our friendly optician. There’s a suitable establishment in the village/small town (whatever it  is), so we drove down and sat outside in the car waiting for 10:00 AM, the appointed opening time. That, of course, was 10:00 AM Spanish time. At 10:10 AM there were still no signs of life. At 10:15 AM, we were about to give up when, almost magically, the electrically controlled shutters began to rise. A young lady approached and began unlocking. We gave her a couple more minutes to get organized and then went in.

Fortunately, she had a few words of English. Francine explained her symptoms and asked if anyone could check her out. “Yes, I can”, replied the young lady. She could’ve stared into my eyes anytime she wanted – maybe I could develop some flashing lights. She sat Francine down, looked into her right eye and said, “you must go to hospital”, muttering something about her retina, along with a word which sounded horribly like “down”. There’s a 24-hour medical centre in Benissa just a few miles away but, no, we needed to go to Dénia hospital a few stops up the autopista. She also muttered something about laser. Gulp! “Come back and tell me what they do”, she said.

Off we set. The hospital was easy to find, which is just as well since we had no idea where we were going. At first, it looked much like an English hospital in that there seemed to be completely inadequate parking; cars were littered all over the place on the approach roads, round bends, on grass verges, almost anywhere they could be. Wondering where I’d be able to abandon ship, I dropped Francine off outside the urgencias door and went looking. I found an underground car park and followed another car down. I took a ticket, the barrier raised and I soon found several available parking spots. Maybe the Spanish who’d abandoned their cars all around the roads simply didn’t want to pay the €1.10 hourly charge. I went in search of Francine.

Any similarity with an English hospital started and stopped with the vehicles abandoned everywhere. Here was a shiny, clean, well decorated modern building that looked appropriate to its tasks. It took me about 10 minutes for find urgencias again but, when I did, there sat Francine, in a small waiting room, complete with a somewhat familiar plastic hospital admission band on her wrist. This one bore a QR code, though, which I doubt that ours have. She’d flashed her EHIC card and had been welcomed.  A TV played high up in the corner of the room. The seats were pretty hard, though. We were waiting for triage.

After 15 minutes or so, a lady popped in and called “Francine”. We were shepherded into a room where, after a brief discussion with a lady with a little English and quick “light flicked over the eyes” test, something about opthalmology was mentioned. Back to the waiting room.

After 5 or 10 more minutes, another young lady turned up and led us through more doors on a much longer journey through the maze of bright, well decorated corridors, to another waiting room. This journey was more interesting since we have no Spanish and our escort had no English. We picked up a few sounds like “SIP” (we’d seen signs mentioning SIP – seemed to be a Spanish patient id, or some such) and tarjeta [card]. Francine produced her EHIC card  again which promptly went for a walk, the word “later” trailing in its wake. Someone knew what they were doing, just not us.

We were in the consultas externas area, which sounds awfully like outpatients. A longer wait this time. We amused ourselves watching the electronic video screen which appeared to be summoning waiting patients, signified by “AAnnnn” numbers – maybe these were the SIPs – into various consultation rooms numbered 33-42. 38-42 were beside a sign saying oftalmologia.

Eventually Francine was called again, this time to have some dilating eye drops administered. Magically, her EHIC card had reappeared in the pocket of the eye drop lady and it was now accompanied by a proper Spanish patient number scribbled on a piece of paper. Her note also said she would be heading for room 40.

Room 40 was running late; we had watched as its occupant had been called in order to assist a more complex case elsewhere, or that’s what we thought. We waited about 45 minutes while room 40 stood empty with its door wide open.  Finally, room 40 swung back into action as the electronic board began summoning AAnnnn patients into it. A backlog had naturally built up but each patient was taking only 5 minutes or so. Francine’s AAnnnn appeared on the electronic board. We went in whereupon the doctor, sharp as a scalpel, swiftly realized Spanish wasn’t going to cut it. He switched to English to give both Francine’s eyes a minute examination, after which we were relieved to hear that, “your retina is OK now”. Read into that phrase what you will; we had to. Francine was “prescribed” some “vitamins to strengthen her eye”. I say prescribed but the prescription consisted of a note scribbled on a piece of A4 paper with a hospital stamp to make it look official. Excellent! Who needs more? Any pharmacist, we were told, would supply the pills. Vitamins for two months – far preferable to any laser treatment that might have been necessary. We didn’t care how much the pills would cost given the alternatives we had been fearing.

Other than to worry about Francine’s condition, three hours in a Spanish hospital had been a very favourable experience and, frankly, had put our hospital experiences at home to shame. Don’t get me wrong, the care at home is good, when you eventually get it, but the environment and establishments themselves suck, in general. Just try a trip to A&E and see how you get on , what it looks and feels like, and how long it takes.

I didn’t feel too bright myself in the late afternoon/evening. I think, with the distraction of being busy now removed, nerves had finally kicked in and were making themselves known. An early night was in order.

Oh, the pills were about €35.

After a lazy Sunday recovering from our day travelling to get here – lazy apart from an early morning run back to Alicante airport to drop our hosts off for their flight back to Blighty, that is –  our valley wasn’t looking too cheery this morning. The valley was dry but grey, so, after a gentle start designed to wake us up and warm the day up somewhat, we made for Calpe to investigate Las Salinas. Calpe is coastal, so it often has brighter weather and, being lower, i.e. at sea level instead of 300m up, it is usually warmer, too.

We’ve seen dragonflies, Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii), around Las Salinas, a coastal lagoon, before, out of what we would regard as season, so I was interested to see if we could find any more. We parked and began wandering but it was a little breezy and nothing was in evidence. There were Flamingos out in the middle of the lagoon. There are usually Black Stilts around, too, but I couldn’t see any sign of those. A cormorant was drying its wings.

We made our way towards a board walk with overlooks the landward side of the lagoon. There were butterflies flitting about, most of which were Painted Ladies, though there were a few bright Clouded yellows, too. There are several different species of Clouded Yellow but I’ve never seen any closely enough to begin trying to spot the differences. Irritatingly, they always sit with their wings closed.

All looked quiet at the end of the boardwalk until Francine finally spotted a movement. At some distance, I could just make out a female Red-veined Darter, perched on a grass stem in a hollow and sheltering from the wind. Surely where there was one, there should be more. We drew a blank, though, she seemed to be it. We turned back, satisfied that we’d found one but not exactly thrilled. Still, it was getting towards the end of November.

As we made our way back along the boardwalk, hawk-eyed Francine again spotted something on  pine cone, flapping in the breeze. It looked like a Shieldbug of some kind but not one that we were familiar with. Despite flacking in the breeze, I managed a half-way decent shot for later (hopeful) identification. As it turned out, the twin light patches on its elytra (the wing covers are called elytra on beetles so I’m hoping that’s what they’re called on Shieldbugs, too?) made it quite easy, once found. This distinctive character rejoices in the name of Solenosthedium bilunatum, the light patches being the bilunata. Excellent, a brand new Shieldbug for the collection, and with an impressive name, too. 😀 Much more satisfied.

Approaching the car, the day had warmed a little more and we finally scared up a couple of dragonflies, both Red-veined Darters, one male and one female. They weren’t particularly cooperative at first but eventually the male settled somewhere to allow a decent line up. We scared a few more up as we progressed, about six in all, I’d say, though with them moving about so much counting is always a challenge.

It was relatively hard work but worth it in the end.

Once again we’ve been invited out to Jalón, Spain, to look after a house and our favourite little dog. Of course, when it comes to me and dogs, favourite doesn’t mean very much ‘cos I don’t like ‘em. This one, however, despite being a terrier-like beast, the worst of all types of dogs, is really quite cute, occasionally reaching the dizzy heights of endearing. I still think we should’ve resisted messing about with wolves, though.

But I digress. At 5:00 AM today, a taxi turned up to ferry us off to Luton Airport. This trip is odd in a couple of ways. Firstly, our dates coincide with those of our immediate neighbours who are spending the very same two weeks in their little Spanish hacienda. It is they who got us into our house-and-dog-sitting gigs in the first place. So, we shared the taxi.

The second way in which this is odd is that it may prove to be our last house-and-dog-sitting booking. Our friends have their Spanish house on the market, intending to move back to the UK. On a personal note, this is very sad. I also have misgivings because I have witnessed the unbounded joy on Chris’s face when he has returned to Spain from a visit to England. I know the dog will hate it; he doesn’t like the rain in Spain. [Cue: well known phrase.] These thoughts wandered around my head as we headed fro the airport.

There are two fine things about Luton,  one is the M1 motorway and the other is the airport – both get you the hell out of Luton and somewhere else reasonable swiftly. We pitched up at the airport at 5:30 AM in time for the easyJet baggage drop to be open. The baggage drop was very civilized with only three sets of baggage droppers ahead of us. Security was another story – the lines were very long. Still, I suppose you have to do something whilst waiting for boarding time and undressing for the security scanners followed by redressing for the departure “lounge” is as good as anything. Shoes off, belts off, jackets off, computers out of sleeves  – shoes back on, belts back on, jackets back on, computers back in sleeves. What a world. I know it’s necessary.

Our neighbours were already through; with a house full of kit in Spain, they had no baggage to drop. We met them at one of the many coffee bars, all of which were heaving. The misleadingly named “departure lounge – there is no where to lounge., as such – was absolutely heaving, at 6:00 AM. Any traditionally less than comfortable seats were occupied, the coffee lounges were full. Most of the floor space was occupied by family groups waiting. Moving around the lounge was decidedly difficult with groups of individuals standing staring up at the departure boards waiting to see which gate they should hurry off to to board their flight.The bars were full.  Even as a man who loves to imbibe, I can never understand sitting in a bar with a pint of lager at 6:00 AM. I can’t even face food at 6:00 AM. Yikes!

This wasn’t a school holiday and it wasn’t a particularly special weekend but it was a weekend. We don’t normally do this sort of thing at the weekend. We had chosen these dates to coincide with the neighbours but, since they are also retired, I wonder they’d chosen the weekend. I hadn’t even thought about it until now. Curious. IN the space of an hour, there were 10 easyJet flights departing. They all looked as if they’d be full. There were 9 Whizz flights, too. Polish is now the second language in our neck of the woods. We’ve even got a new Polish shop in town. [Note to self: must take a look to see what interesting stuff it might have.] Travel really was a much more enjoyable experience when less folks were doing it. Maybe we need to put prices back up?

We boarded, all seats were full and some carry-on baggage had to be checked into the hold. At least when it’s checked at the gate, you’re sure it gets onto the correct plane. 🙂

We arrived after a crowded but uneventful 2¼–hour flight. The Alicante skies had a high overcast but it was dry and considerably warmer at 18°C. It’s good to be back but I wonder if we’ll get to do it again?