On Saturday we were up bright and early to start our journe. Our neighbour George kindly ran us to Gandia, 7 kms away, to catch a train for the 45 minute journey to Valencia. From there it was only a short taxi ride to the airport and we were able to check-in at the ClickAir desk almost immediately.
We had plenty of time left to grab a sandwich before boarding our flight. Unfortunately, the young man taking the orders produced the wrong sandwich for Karmanie and did not take it kindly when infomed of this. “What am I supposed to do with this one?” he asked, “Eat it myself?” In her usual colourful Spanish, Karmanie informed him that he could insert it in the orifice of his choice (it loses something in translation), but she would still prefer to have the sandwich she had originally requested. Little did we know that this was an omen of things to come.
There are few direct flights from Spain to Greece, so we had chosen to travel via Milan. Our flight arrived and departed on time and we were soon in a taxi on our way to Hotel Da Mariuccia, some 15 km away. Unfortunately, the driver’s GPS was not fully conversant with some recent roadworks and we found ourselves sitting on a bridge that was blocked at the far side. A quick phone call to the hotel resulted in an alternative route and we were soon there.
The hotel and staff were absolutely charming. There were three restaurants to choose from and we selected the one which looked busiest, bustling with noisy Italian families. The selection of pizzas was the largest we had ever encountered, so we ordered a large Bacon and Mascarpone pizza between us, only to discover that in this instance “large” meant about 40 cm across. We managed to struggle valiantly through most of it, aided and abetted by a pitcher of robust local wine. Before turning in for the night we arranged for the hotel minibus to take us back to the airport next morning. (Ted)
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