This weekend we spent in a remote village where the family used to holiday years ago. My hotel room was ever so swanky. Like in our house, this also had a bidet. I wondered if this would be the day I would finally get involved but I spent all my time sleeping and pretending to enjoy people talking loudly in Spanish around me.
We didn't have supper until midnight the first night. And then we went to a children's fancy dress party. If I lived in Spain when I'm older it would be my children dragging me still sleeping in my pajamas from the car, when we arrive somewhere at night. Not the other way round.
The experience was very special and I did enjoy it, but as usual I started to feel really ill between lunch and supper. I was never one of those cool spontaneous people, who can eat, sleep, sit in the sun without a care for their head, whenever. I've started to feel fed up of the hot sting of chorizo hitting the back of my throat each evening when I got sick from not eating. As a result I've been keeping a small pharmacy in my bra (sundresses don't have pockets obvs). I find paracetemol, a rennie, a pro plus, and a travel sickness pill wash down nicely with a timely cereal bar. Sort of like backwards bulimia but conducted just as secretly in the toilet, lest I worry my hosts.
One meal we had sort of on time was a village paella (3 pm lunch). The whole village assembled in the square around these old ladies cooking up a cauldron of it. It looked and tasted amazing. Unlike that slimy stuff at Becky Lucas' 18th birthday party that I threw under the table before dashing to Mosh, this was the real deal. It had full crabs, prawns, unidentifiable meat and there was even a tentacle still moving in my dish...
This paella isn't the actual one. I was worried I looked enough of a tourist for giving in and wearing sunglasses, than to swoop in on the old ladies with a camera phone.
We didn't have supper until midnight the first night. And then we went to a children's fancy dress party. If I lived in Spain when I'm older it would be my children dragging me still sleeping in my pajamas from the car, when we arrive somewhere at night. Not the other way round.
The experience was very special and I did enjoy it, but as usual I started to feel really ill between lunch and supper. I was never one of those cool spontaneous people, who can eat, sleep, sit in the sun without a care for their head, whenever. I've started to feel fed up of the hot sting of chorizo hitting the back of my throat each evening when I got sick from not eating. As a result I've been keeping a small pharmacy in my bra (sundresses don't have pockets obvs). I find paracetemol, a rennie, a pro plus, and a travel sickness pill wash down nicely with a timely cereal bar. Sort of like backwards bulimia but conducted just as secretly in the toilet, lest I worry my hosts.
One meal we had sort of on time was a village paella (3 pm lunch). The whole village assembled in the square around these old ladies cooking up a cauldron of it. It looked and tasted amazing. Unlike that slimy stuff at Becky Lucas' 18th birthday party that I threw under the table before dashing to Mosh, this was the real deal. It had full crabs, prawns, unidentifiable meat and there was even a tentacle still moving in my dish...
This paella isn't the actual one. I was worried I looked enough of a tourist for giving in and wearing sunglasses, than to swoop in on the old ladies with a camera phone.
No comments:
Post a Comment