Using the diagram drawn by the young chap at reception we attempt to find the church. I suppose we should be grateful that he tried to help, but we soon find the diagram is not much help. After leaving the campsite it directs us to turn right and continue for 2km. Since we are pedalling along the shore, with the sea on our right, we would literally be in deep water if we followed that instruction. It is clear the diagram is drawn in mirror image, ie left equals right, and right equals left!
After riding for about 5km, we give up on the instructions and return to Alcossebre to the Tourist Information office. Here we get a street map with the church marked, and a booklet of walks and cycle rides for future use.
Even using the street map, we cannot find the church. We eventually ask a passing Spanish man, who in turn enlists the aid of a passing Spanish woman. From her we get the vital clue to how to find the church "Porta blanca" she tells us, which I interpret as "white door". Now the penny drops, we have ridden past the church at least three times, without recognising it as a church. It is a modern building with a big white surround to the door. So mission accomplished we retire to a beachfront bar.
After lunch we are lazing in the sun (as shown left), reading etc, when the arrival of a caravan towed by a car with Dutch number plates causes much excitement and hugging among our German neighbours.
As best we can understand, the new arrivals are (German?) friends of those around us. The driver of the car we are told is 85 years old, and is called Jacob, his wife, is 89, her name we are not sure of.
Due to an administrative foul up by campsite reception, their pitch has been wrongly booked. They have apparently been coming here to meet up with the rest of then for many years, and always have the pitch where we are parked.
The fact that "their" pitch is occupied (by us) seems to be causing them great concern, even although there is another empty pitch just a few yards along the road.
We offer to move pitch, and allow them to have "their" pitch, since it makes no real difference to us, but clearly means a lot to them. Let us face it, at 85 and 89, and having driven all of the way from Holland or Germany towing a caravan, it does not seem unreasonable to indulge them.
Our German neighbours insist in pitching in and helping move our stuff, and in directing me in manoevering off the existing pitch, and onto the new one. Since this whole operation is executed in a mix of German and English, it goes surprisingly smoothly.
They do seem keen to get rid of us, to next door to a Belgian couple.
Kathleen gets a big hug from Jacob, for allowing them to have "their" pitch.
Afterwards talking about it together, Kathleen and I both mention the fact that Jacob sounds like a distinctly Jewish name. Now I know, like Basil Fawlty, we should not mention the war. But it does seem rather odd don't you think. Perhaps they were on Schindlers List (yes, I know, in bad taste, but I could not resist it).
Having done our bit to foster peace and harmony in Europe, the rest of the afternoon is spent in using Skype to contact those of the children who are contactable.
Sunday, Kathleen is off to church. I find a newsagent selling English Newspapers, and catch up on the General Election saga, very missable. Followed by lunch at a beach side restaurant. I have a seafood starter, pasta, prawns, mussels, squid, and some other sea related things I cannot identify, but very nice, followed by fresh Tuna. Kathleen sticks to very English chicken and chips, followed by the biggest sweet on the menu, plus of course a very nice bottle of Rose wine.
In the afternoon, Kathleen decides to do some washing, and discovers where the washing up sinks are whilst searching for the washing machines.
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