Written by Lucy's Husband...a man with a skewed sense of humor.  Enjoy!

You thrilled to Tennessee Tornados.  You were amazed by NY skyscrapers.  Actually, you  didn’t care.  But tune in anyway, as Lucy and family now go on their European Vacation!

To Spain: Ole!

First, I call my credit card rep (aka Eddie the Shark) and make sure that we can use our cards in Spain and England; he says no problem.  We then go on a 10 hour flight to London, England on Easter Sunday.  While we pick up up gifts in Heathrow, “Jesus” visits the airport (or more accurately, a long-haired bearded fellow drags a huge 6-foot cross past us) and amazingly, has “Nothing to Declare” as he goes through Customs…

We then ask how to catch the shuttle to Gatwick airport nearby for our connection.  The person outside says to get a ticket from the inside office.  The inside office says to get a ticket from outside.  The real answer is to get a ticket from inside the ticket building that’s outside the airport.  Sure, you betcha.

Our brief conversation with the shuttle driver (oh, you DO speak English in England) assures us that we’ll be dropped off at the right British Airways terminal…and promptly drops us off on the wrong end of the Gatwick airport, forcing us to take a tram to the other side.

From there, we check our bags, then eat at a Faux French place called the Chez Girard, where we pay over $100 for a badly served meal in a heavy smoking restaurant, which causes my daughter to get violently sick.  It doesn’t get any better than that, I tell you.

Chillin’ in Calpe

We fly intoAlicante, a city on the East coast ofSpain.  After a cryptic conversation with the Hertz car rep, we get directed to the wrong end of the car lot.  Fortunately, the kids find the car, and off we go…

We know we are inSpain, because there are 50-foot tall “billboard bulls” placed on the hills, like scarecrows for tourists (“Ooh, look at the bull!  Don’t spook it!”)  It’s important to note thatSpaindoesn’t use street signs.  If you’re lucky, the graffiti on the sides of buildings will give some clue of where you are.  The freeways are labeled, but change regularly to test you.  For example the A7 highway is also the A70, and the AP7.  Somehow, we manage to locateCalpeand the Interhome office where our villa keys are.  The yellow post-it on the door says to open the door with the red bird with your passcode, get your keys and a map.  What it doesn’t say is that the door with the red bird is at sidewalk level, 2 buildings down. 

We get our keys and the same map used in “Indiana Jones and the Lost Villa”.  It has a large highlighted dot on it.  Using a lodestone, we make it to the large dot and look for our villa, and didn’t find it, because the “dot” is a roundabout (“freak’n traffic circle” for US readers). We then see that the small yellow “x” elsewhere on the map IS our villa.  We locate it, the keys work, and we check into…freezing cold.  Fortunately, the villa came with a full set of sheets, and with our beach towels, we made a blanket.  Later, we find two electric heaterettes, which are big enough to heat our toes, and learn that hot water and the stove are run off of propane.  It’s like camping in your house.  When getting blankets, we’re told “Oh yes, it’s unseasonably chilly.”  Really?  Couldn’t tell…

We checked out after two days.  The villa looked beautiful, but was too cold, even with the unheated pool.

Alicante Ala Carte

Yours Truly had the lack of foresight to down a questionable glass of Black Current juice (read as “Hemlock”), which caused me to have downtime for 1.5 days.  Not fun, we were forced to check into the Melia Hotel Alicante for a night while I recovered, to the tune of $300 bucks a night…ouch.  But, we had heat!  And as you can see, a beautiful view.

Because we actually wanted to have money left to do stuff (and the credit card Fraud division put a hold on our cards “We didn’t know you were going to Spain, sir”), we checked out the next day and moved to the Holiday Inn Express, under the name “Senior Sonic” (the result of 10 minutes of trying to pronounce “Slawik”).    Very little room, but the price was good, and the staff tried to help best they can.  After navigating with a poor map and a maze of roads, we visited the Castle Saint Barbara, which was big & windy.  Later that night I order an “All American Hamburger”, and get two breaded beef patties with a ham slice in the middle.  Must be aSouth Americaburger. 

In fact, our search for “Spanish” food resulted in finding dozens of Chinese restaurants.  And “torched to a crisp” pizzerias; every pizza guaranteed to be carbon-14 dated for freshness.

Another thing to note bout Spain: clothing and shoe sizes are smaller.  But the shops are nice, especially down the main walk.  We visited them a few times.  I acted as Interpretor, mistranslating thousands of phrases to the delight of local storeclerks (“Yes, I’d like a dress, but need a special blouse because I’m a big man.  Can I help me?”).  Also inSpain: parking is nonexistent aboveground.  Most parking is 3-4 stories underground (and cramped).  And unlit.  So if you’re several levels down, take a good look around for the exit before you shut off the car, or else you’ll look for it by Braille.

We eventually take a day trip to Benidorm and have a wonderful time visiting “Brickhenge”, definitely a more colorful & fun town.  While there, we go to MundoMar, the only Seaworld that’s based in the mountains, and see the Pizza Delivery Fleet in action.

Tom Runs Face-First Into Siesta

If in theUS, you need aspirin, it’s no problem.  You go to any local store, open until 8-9pm (some are 24 hrs), and buy it.  Not so in Spain.  I go to the “Farmacia” in town, and realize that siesta (from1:30-5:00) is still in effect.  So I go to the “Ingles Cortes” mall in town, and they have a section….but it’s fenced off with bookstands, since it’s siesta.  BUT, I can look at all the DVDs I want in another section.  OK…..guess I wait.  At5PM, I go back to the farmacia (the mall section never opened back up), and find out that just because your hours say you’ll be open, you don’t HAVE to be open.  I finally find the TENTH farmacia to be open, and run in.

No medicines are in the front of the store.  That means you have to ask for them…in Spanish.  No problem, I know Spanish. At least Spanish food.  Like “Spanish rice”.

“Ayuda?”

“Um, Si….Tylenol?”

“No”

“Bayer?”

“No”

“Excedrin?”

“No”

“Aspirin? Acetylmetaphine? Salicylic Acid? A hammer?”

“No, no, no….”

Finally, I grab my head, shake and jump all around (amusing those in the store) and say “Mucho dolor in mi cabeza!”

“Oh, headache, is that all?”  She goes back and brings me…”Ibupropheno”. 

Now why didn’t I think of THAT?! 

Also, its standard dosage is 1200 milligrams every 4 hours, which is equivalent to bathing your nervous system in beer.  Gotta love these folks.

 I should finally mention that the National Anthem in Spain is “If you’re not smoking, get smoking.”  Seriously, whenever we found a “No Fumar” area, people would SEEK us out, sit next to us, and light up.  This would be totally fine, as long as the secondhand smoke would solidify and glom onto the smoker’s clothes like a cheap date…which it never does.  We inevitably would leave and seek an oxygen tent.

Our last night, we finally give in and order KFC, and it actually tasted good.  Even the grease.  Then we flew out.