I had to wake Karen at 9.30am with a cup of tea as she caught up on some much-needed sleep. A brave move, I know. We busied ourselves with breakfast but quickly discovered that, despite a fully equipped kitchen, we could only find one proper mug. Plenty of tiny coffee cups. One proper mug. So, I had to wait my turn for tea — a hardship I bore with quiet dignity.
Outside there was broken sunshine and a slight chill in the air as we turned right for our walk. Karen had a definite spring in her step and a coffee at Dos Mil firmly in her sights — a powerful motivator.
We paused in a couple of “tat” shops in search of an additional mug for the apartment but found nothing that didn’t appear to have been priced by someone overly proud of it.
Dos Mil was very busy, but we managed to secure a table — admittedly not prime real estate, but Karen was simply delighted to be seated with a coffee in hand.
Further along, we spotted a pharmacy selling foldable walking sticks. At 30 euros, Karen baulked — especially given we already own at least two at home. Instead, we switched the search to an umbrella similar to the bright yellow one currently enjoying a holiday on the back seat of our car at Stansted. Karen was convinced that owning one would, by default, prevent rain. Meteorology clearly responds to preparedness.
At Dahlia perfume store, we conducted our annual hunt for Karen’s favourite Spanish perfume. Success. A purchase was duly made. We then moved on to the large Mercadona supermarket, picking up a few essentials that could fit into my rucksack — including a still-warm baguette, which we immediately demolished at the conveniently provided tables inside. Continental living at its finest.
Clouds were gathering ominously as we walked on. At the Ale Hop shop, we struck gold: the perfect umbrella that could double as a walking stick. Ten euros. Bargain. Karen instantly felt more confident, and my back felt immediate relief as she leaned on me less. A sound investment in spinal preservation.
We then brazenly entered the five-star Fariones Hotel and secured a lovely table on the covered patio. We ordered pots of tea and sat happily among guests who had likely paid a small fortune per night to be there.
Then the threatened rain arrived — heavily and decisively — for a good 30 minutes. We sat tight in our comfortable surroundings, feeling quietly victorious. Eventually, the sun reappeared as if nothing had happened.
The walk back included a couple of small pauses, including a cheap mug purchase but we made it without further rain, even if it was cooler again. Back at the apartment, Karen read while we layered up for dinner. Even I resorted to a hoodie — though I stubbornly remained in shorts. Principles matter.
I suggested trying Wayne’s Steakhouse, which had good reviews. However, upon peering inside, neither of us were quite “feeling it”. Karen gently steered us back to Pinocchio’s. Again.
I opted for the rib-eye steak special. It was just fine — which, unfortunately, made me regret not ordering my beloved Tipica pizza. Karen had her favourite sole, followed by another strong Irish coffee that could probably strip varnish.
On the walk back we passed two music bars. One featured an Elvis impersonator clearly in his later “Vegas buffet” era. He was warbling enthusiastically but enunciating absolutely nothing. We took this as a sign to continue home.
Back at the apartment, Karen was keen to start the latest Bridgerton episodes. We watched on the large TV — complete with Spanish subtitles. “Los Bridgerton” somehow makes it sound even more dramatic. The subtitles didn’t distract at all, although I’m now confident, I could survive Regency England in Spanish.
After the BBC News, we retired for the night.
I had a poor night’s sleep, which I blamed entirely on caffeine rather than age or mattress. We aimed to be out by 10am and almost achieved it.
The morning began bright and sunny as we set off to see how far we could get Karen on the walk towards Matagorda. The sunshine immediately prompted our first stop. Despite Karen’s large collection of lotions and potions, she had not packed suncream, reasoning she could buy some if needed. It was needed.
At Spar, she examined every available option with forensic detail until I intervened and selected the smallest, cheapest tube. Applied liberally, we set off again.
Progress was slow but steady. Karen moved well using the umbrella-stick and only occasionally required my arm for additional stability. I jokingly suggested that if we informed the hospital, she was attempting a five-mile round walk, they might question whether she truly needed a hip replacement. She simply mentioned the volume of painkillers consumed and the sheer willpower involved.
About two-thirds of the way, we stopped at a café of Karen’s choosing for a welcome Coke Zero each. For the first time, sheltered from the wind, we actually felt hot — and Karen began to burn slightly. Irony, given the suncream debate.
Eventually, steely determination prevailed. Karen was adamant she would reach O’Shea’s — our traditional brunch destination, and we did. We found a shaded table and ordered a Full Irish for me and scrambled eggs on toast for Karen. Both were excellent.
Sitting there in the sun felt glorious. This was what we had come for. We lingered with additional hot drinks before Karen insisted on walking back aiming to stop at Spar for ice creams.
After about 30 minutes, the clouds darkened once more. Karen’s sixth sense predicted imminent rain. She pressed on regardless.
Then the rain came — heavily. Karen now had one umbrella over her head and another serving as a walking stick. We sheltered behind a wall for a few minutes until it passed, which thankfully it did.
The final stretch was slow but triumphant. Karen was visibly proud as she conquered the last slope. I rewarded her by popping into Spar and purchasing what turned out to be her fourth-choice ice cream. We sat on a bench and ate them in contented silence apart from the usual complaint about me dropping some down me.
Back at the apartment, Karen read while I attempted to fix some broken elements on the blog website.
That evening we had reservations at Trattoria, a restaurant we had walked past repeatedly over the previous two nights, always full and always with a queue. It did not disappoint. The food and service were excellent.
I had an outstanding salmon ravioli made with black pasta and an extraordinary prawn sauce that I am still thinking about.
As we finished, Karen struck up a conversation with the elderly Yorkshire couple at the next table. They had been here for six weeks and seemed delighted to chat. They are soon to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. Despite suffering quite badly with Parkinson’s, he still volunteers regularly at his local primary school. It was one of those unexpectedly lovely travel moments. Karen received a big hug when we left.
By the time we returned, Karen was understandably exhausted after her marathon effort. Another episode of Bridgerton followed, and then, thoroughly tired, we retired for the night.
