After a wonderful day exploring the Alpujarras, we decided to give the kids a break from mountan driving since we were headed back through the mountains the next day to see Granada. Angie had eaten something disagreable (likely morcilla which is pigs blood sausage) and was down for the day so the rest of us went into nearby Salobrena. I dropped Tracy and Sarah to explore sans kids and the rest of us went to the beach. After two hours of frolicking at the beach (during which I plunged into the Meditteranean for all of 30 seconds), we went back to the house for lunch. Around 4pm I left to go back to meet Tracy and Sarah at the castle...
I jumped into our beautiful new car on this most glorious of days and found a great Spanish song (great in that I understood every third word). I sped into Salobrena determined to drive as quickly as possible to the top of the hill, where the castle is perched. The narrow stone roads wind through the Albacin (Moorish quarter) and the white houses are adorned with several varieties of flowers. Twice I found dead ends and had to back track but I was unphased. The music was still pushing me to navigate the narrow 12th century roads and visions of James Bond racing through the mountains of Sardinia in "The Spy who Loved Me"or motorcycling through the web of passageways of (drawing a blank) in "Never Say Never Again" gave me inspiration. Sure, James Bond has thicker hair, a better accent and a car the has more torque and less gerth but I saw parrallels beyond these discrepancies.
About two thirds up to the castle I encountered a street that had not been properly sized for the Volvo XC 90. I pulled in the side mirrows and made it through with easily a centimeter to spare on each side. I was exhilirated but a little concerned that the next street might only be three donkeys wide. I consulted two elderly Sapnish woman who clearly thought me a buffoon and suggested that perhaps I might be able to go to the right and escape unscathed. They would have been right had someone not parked in a place that made going to the right potentially unpassable. Being the unpatient sole I am I refused to wait until the owner of the parked car returned to remove it from its most inconvenient location. After going forward and backwards three inches each way fifty times, I was in a point of no return. I crossed my fingers and.......
Yes - those are scratches on our new car. I spent the rest of the day and night thinking of ways to pay for the required paint work: cheaper red wine, less Manchego per day, less golf upon my return to the states, vocational school for Vasco.....My agony subsided after a great dinner in Almunecar served by an amiable Frenchman. It subsided further when I discovered a body shop right at the bottom of the hill (from our rental). The owner of the shop gave me a reasonable price for the work and all is well.
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