No problem!

#5 - Bellcaire D'Emporda

The reviews online for our campsite were not exaggerated: not too big, everything neat, showers, disposal - and electricity. We ended the evening with a little stroll through the village, read a lot, and rested. The heater blew as if it wanted to make up for its blunder from the previous evening. It was cozy and warm. Suddenly, the lights went out. A look out the window, everything was dark. Power outage! The clock showed 11:30 PM. Half an hour later - our heater was only wheezing softly - the campsite manager came. "No hay problema," Ignatius said when his flashlight found my pleading eyes. There's no problem. And indeed: the power was back in half an hour. Our heater was blowing as if it just came out of a lung treatment spa for the sickly. About an hour later, it suffered a severe relapse. No electricity. With its last breath, we climbed out of our beds again. Ignatius was already there. He shook his head and muttered something quietly in Spanish that sounded like he had just discovered that his pitch was forgotten in the latest Spanish camping guide. I refrained from asking "Hay un problema?" - the only question I am capable of in the local language. Although: everything related to problems, even remotely, is now flowing from my lips in Spanish fluently. Maybe that's also because Ignatius and I would meet again, say almost regularly, in the next few hours. Not that we became friends, but I would say we know each other. By sight. And I'm afraid both of us prefer not to see each other. Just before 4 o'clock it was time. My Spanish acquaintance - the only one to this day! - found the mistake. I knew because he got into his van with a determined "OK" and drove off. This OK was a real OK, one that sweeps away any doubt and leaves only certainty. OK. The heater is still running. We haven't turned it off all day. Blowing through like this can't do any harm to a heater, we thought.

While the power was on and our heater was blowing, we set off on our first visit to the sea in the afternoon. We rode across the country, through Torroella del Montgri, to the small L'Estartit with its lovely little harbor. After a short walk through the rows of boats, we settled in a small bistro, La Cerveseria. Coffee, cake, and the obligatory fries for me, tea and a tuna sandwich for my sweetheart. The sun was shining, the sea lapped gently against the quay walls, everything was wonderful. Until I saw the sign: Bier Floats - Beer + Ice Cream. Beer and ice cream? I had already experienced many misdeeds in connection with our barley juice, but this was the cherry on top. I asked the server if anyone actually drinks that. She laughed and said they had many Dutch guests here. All clear.