Algiros

It's our final full day in Spain as we take a coach back to Valencia. The city centre is closed down, not through terrorism or Covid but the annual Mascleta ceremony which culminates on St. Joseph's Day in mid-March. Our hotel overlooks the Plaza Ayuntamiento where the fireworks have just gone off.

The back streets are rich in quirky attractions. In the second picture we see one of the most outrageous baroque buildings in Valencia, now converted into a ceramics gallery. The ice cream and pastry shop shows what we in Britain are missing with our chain-store franchises, even though it might not be good for the waistband.

Probing deeper into the Barrio Carmen, we come across more small-scale delights. It's one of the more bohemian quarters of the city, reminiscent of parts of Havana (or maybe, Havana is reminiscent of Valencia).

All too soon we have to get the flight back to Gatwick. We didn't get to see the Mascleta properly but maybe some other time. With gritted teeth we acknowledge the contributions of everyone: Dave for organising the trip, Russell for his techie skills with the bureaucracy, myself as interpreter and Alan for his uncanny knack of spotting empty seats in bars and homing in on them faster than Usain Bolt. Team work!

The passenger locator forms for re-entering the UK have worked but technology has eluded me at the automatic immigration gate at Gatwick and I have to wait for a human being to check me in. Maybe the recent haircut to match my current appearance with the passport photo was a waste of time!Okumaya devam et