Refueling - an art in itself

18.01.23 La Jonquera - Peniscola: I will no longer be a fan of refueling in Spain. Like every day, we all refueled before our departure today. The gas station that Ricci had chosen the night before was closed - on Wednesday morning shortly after 9 o'clock. The next gas station was too expensive, so we took the one after that. It was busy. I lined up behind a truck that was already at the pump. Volker stood behind me. That was a mistake ...

I waited. Ricci was already done. Irmi came by and explained the procedure: "Go to the cash register before refueling, tell them the pump number, and hand over the credit card. After refueling, go back to the cashier and pay." I see. We hadn't done that yet. But oh well. I got out and checked which number my pump had. There was a 13 in blue above the nozzle. That blue again - that fit perfectly. I checked the diesel meter on the truck in front of me - it was turning in slow motion. No sign of the driver anywhere.

I stood in line at the cashier and waited. When it was my turn, I smiled at the blonde Spaniard, who was so small that she could hardly see over the counter. I said a friendly "Thirteen." In English. I didn't know 13 in Spanish. Then a barrage of Spanish words came at me, which made me take two or three steps back. What was going on? Maybe it was the credit card? I showed her my bank card. The torrent of words didn't stop, now the small woman turned bright red and waved her hands through the air. Slowly I realized that she had had enough of me. The cashier decisively turned to the next customer in the endless line.

A young Spanish truck driver who had been behind me in line came to my aid. "There are only nine pumps," he said in broken English. He went with me to my car. The truck was still there. Now I was almost glad about that. He counted the rows. I waited for number 8. I told him that there was a 13 there. We went to the pump with the blue 13, which I proudly pointed to. He smiled and said only: "AdBlue."

How embarrassing! I got back in line, apologizing to the Spanish cashier as I walked by, showing her an eight with my fingers and then covering my eyes with my hand. She smiled understandingly. I'm afraid I sometimes look older than I am ...

That's when I noticed my truck driver at the cash register. Finally! He was talking to the cashier and unbelievably, she scolded him just as much as she did me! That's right, I thought. But the reason was different: the man had forgotten his PIN! He had to go back to the truck and look for it ...

After an hour, I was done. With my nerves too. Our crew stood in line with a gap between the second and third vehicles. I expected angry comments, but everyone laughed or made a joke - that felt really good.

We covered almost 400 kilometers today and now we are in Pensicola, almost right by the sea. Since we have been in Spain, the sun has been shining. I take the opportunity for a first walk on the beach. While doing so, I call home via FaceTime to send some rays of sunshine. But I'm afraid they still lacked the power to bring a little light and warmth to rainy Germany.