Nigrán

Odometer: 161007

When we woke up in the morning, the shellfish farmers were already hard at work with their boats and rafts. Sebb initially thought he constantly heard a helicopter, but the sound was actually the boats coming and going between the shellfish farms in quick succession. We were lucky to witness one of the floating farms being harvested during breakfast. Although we didn’t understand how the little boat with the basket on the crane hook got the seafood on board, we could see that the mound of black mussels on deck was growing larger and larger.

Before the harvest was finished, we set off again towards our next spot in Nigrán. We were heading to a private place that was basically just a field. Field, sign, done.

Going uphill, Gary had such a hard time that he even turned on the oil pressure light while we drove up the highway in third gear at 50 km/h, with trucks overtaking us. Something was not right.

Upon our arrival, Sebb called the local car workshop and asked when we last had the fuel filter changed; maybe that was the problem. Perhaps that was why Gary was having such a hard time starting. It turned out that the filter hadn’t been changed in years. The mechanic recommended that we sort the problem out in a local workshop, as the description seemed more fitting for a glow plug issue. Great! We had some work ahead of us.

Then we went to the beach. At the local surf school, we inquired about the rental conditions for equipment. We weren’t sure if we might stay here for a day after all.

The bay was sheltered by an offshore island, perhaps that was why, despite the strong sea wind, the waves arrived relatively flat on the beach. Or maybe we were just spoiled by the beach from two days ago.

Back with Gary, we prepared one of our salads again, this time enriched with burrata.

After that, we played for a while in front of the camper until it began to get chilly. When no one had come to collect payment by 8:00 PM, Sebb went to the Spanish neighbors to ask how it worked here. The couple explained that 'the señora' would come by in the morning to collect, but they didn’t know any more, no names, no phone numbers.

Alright then. It was getting windier and colder, so we retreated to our camper and ended the day with a little aperitif from Marquis de Vauban.