All photos related to this blog entry can be found at Grant & Julie

A farewell to Tunisia dinner was had at a very modern cafe whose very modern menu contained very modern tasty delights including that of Pomme Frittes 'McCain'. Pomme Frittes or fried potatoes, to those of us with no French language skills, are a staple on Tunisian menus throughout the country and this establishment was proud to boast their branded potato option. We made our choices; the waiter took our order and promptly returned with a basket of bread and a spicy plate of harissa.Dinner conversation was, naturally, on the subject of how much we enjoyed our time in this small North African country and how all future meals will seem ordinary and dull unless they begin with a starter of harissa, drizzled with olive oil and garnished with a smattering of Tunisian olives. The debate concluded with the reassurance that we will manage to get by, somehow.

The ferry was due to leave the docks around 10 pm, and we encountered some difficulty in procuring the 30 TND Departure Tax Stamps from all the advertised places:

Hotel – ‘No sorry we have run out’ or ‘The cashier has gone home for the evening so we cannot sell you them’;

Tabac – ‘Oh no we don’t sell those here’ and ‘You have to get them from the airport’;

Banks & Post Offices – Closed.

We asked whether the stamp could be purchased at the Ferry Terminal, nobody seemed to know. The massive advertising campaign encouraging tourists to be organised and purchase their stamps prior to departure seemed to be less than a success.

Feeling a little concerned that we could not fulfil the exit requirements and unsure of the consequences we headed out to the terminal early, with fingers crossed, hoping the exit stamps were available there. Good thing we were clear on the directions to the wharf, weren’t we!

Sure, darkness fell and Tunis is not famous for its street lighting or signage, but it was simple, that’s why we chose the hotel we did as the route to the docks was more or less in a straight line and not too may pesky one way streets, besides we had driven it a couple of times in the daylight.

"Which way?" asks Grant, peering into the black empty street, lined with half completed dwellings and building rubble strewn about on the footpaths.

“Well, I know we are heading the right way” says Jules feigning confidence “It just seems we are lost in the suburb ‘Carthage Gardens’. I do know is that we drove past the turn off to here the other day on our way in. We just have to find our way out of this maze and onto the main road again.”

“Which way then?” asks Grant

“I don’t know!” replied the lost, frustrated and confused navigator. She looked up from the iPad to spy some police officers on the next corner. In an episode of déjà vu from the night of our arrival, we were once again helped out by the Tunis Police.

We made it to the docks and began the customs and immigration procedures. Indeed we could buy the Departure Tax Stamps from the bank in the complex.

Our return journey from Tunisia to Europe was to take the following route:

The ten hour overnight ferry from Tunis to Palermo would be followed by a 10 hour delay. This was good. We could get off the boat, go to that lovely bakery, and lunch the cafe across the road from the docks, pick up some groceries for the next leg of the journey.

From Palermo it would be another ten hours overnight to Civitavecchia, where again we could get off the boat, stretch our legs and explore the seaport for Rome.

The final leg was to take us to Spain. Once more, an overnight 20 hour Mediterranean Sea Cruise to Barcelona.

This convoluted and protracted route was our only option to arrive directly in Spain as many ferry services cease over the winter months only operating the most popular routes and we were not sure of riding over the Pyrenees in winter.

Surprisingly the ferry journey was relatively calm for December; however, there were a couple of hiccups. Thinking there would be cash machines or money exchanges on the boat, if not credit card facilities was a sad mistake. Oh well we thought, it does not matter we had stocked up on some snacks, bread and tuna to tide us over until we could get off the boat in Palermo. We slept well on our air mattresses tucked in between the seats in the Pulman Lounge.

Arriving in Palermo we found that we were not changing vessels in this port, but needed to clear immigration and customs on the ship. The Purser assured us that the immigration police would give us shore pass and we could get off the boat after all formalities had been completed. Having our passports checked and stamped as arriving back into Italy, and effectively Europe, we went to see about our shore pass excited that we could now get some cash and go to that little cafe and have a glass of wine and visit that bakery for some lovely fresh bread.

‘I am sorry, the police are not letting anyone who is not disembarking in Palermo off the boat. All shore leave has been relinquished.’ We were dutifully informed. The reason was vague, but had something to do with our port of origin being in North Africa.

We had a few Euros, some not so fresh bread, another tin of tuna and a couple of hard boiled eggs. It was going to have to do until we arrived in Civitavecchia. We made do and had enough money to buy a serve of hot chips and a couple of dinner rolls for a chip-butty dinner.

The following morning, there was relief to finally disembark in Civitavecchia. We found an ATM, then McDonalds’ for coffee and internet before wandering the streets of this quaint garrisoned city and a fish lunch.

It was good to walk and by the time we boarded our new boat for the final leg of our sea journey we were tired and made our camp in a quiet corner of the boat.

This section of sea was the roughest. There were not too many passengers on the boat. A sea sick Jules took tablets, looked for the stillest, calmest part of the ship and slept in the children’s cubby house for most of the day. Fortunately for her there were very few children on the boat and none that wanted the play room.

Disembarking from our sea journey in the port of Barcelona was greatly appreciated. We found our pre-booked hotel, took hot showers and slept in a real bed ready to take on Spain the following day.

We had a house-sitting assignment further south in Spain and slowly made our way down the coast.

We stopped in the small village of Alcanar for a couple of rainy nights. This spot of a village has a very strong history and culture on the sea. From pirates to fishermen and tourism Alcanar is a haven for summer visitors, in winter however, it is sleepy. Any hustle and bustle to be found this time of the year can be found on wharf and at the fish markets. The locals fought to have an independent fishing industry in their village and used their own funds to build the harbour to ensure this autonomy from the larger ports to the north and south.

It is here where we found our first Menu del Dia ‘Spanish Style’. As it was a blustery wintery wet day that we trundled cold and hungry into a quaint seafood restaurant overlooking the water. Most restaurants had advertised their Menu for around 8 to 12 Euros (AUD$12 – $18). The number of courses and types of dishes varied from establishment to establishment but not surprisingly were all fish or seafood based. For a treat we chose EURO8.50 with two courses and wine. Having recently experienced Menu in Italy where the servings were very small we decided on one menu each. BIG mistake.

Wine was a bottle, not a glass each!

Primera was for Grant a mountain of mussels cooked in garlic, fresh herbs and butter served with crusty bread and for Jules a salad of vegetable garden proportions with the vague notion that some white bait would be served shortly to accompany it. A heaped mound of freshly fried crispy delicious white bait arrived to be devoured.

Segundo, thank goodness, was just grilled fish we thought only to be surprised by three whole fish each.

Unhurriedly we picked the white flesh from the bones and practiced our awakening Spanish with the staff and a local fisherman. The waitress was a lovely Chilean girl and we shared our travel stories with her. The fisherman was keen to know all about Australia and how we had arrived in Alcanar. He explained the history of the village and the politics of Catalonia, told us how the weather was unusually cold and the fish were not running.

Stuffed to our eyeballs out came coffee, flan for Jules and ice-cream for Grant... as if we really needed any more to eat. Looking out the window, the wind had picked up but the rain had eased and liqueurs were pored and gifts of oranges were presented.

Lunch is often a very drawn out affair in Spain and with the generous servings and expectation that you eat it all you are grateful for its leisurely pace.

It was now after four, we had sat down at one o’clock. We bid our hosts a fond farewell. Well and truly sated we trundled back to our tent, both agreeing dinner this night was not required.

We stayed at Cortijo La Haza for seven weeks. Patrieck and Bernadette have done a marvellous job of improving and running the six roomed bed and breakfast for the eight years since moving from London to Southern Spain.

The B&B is nestled amongst olive groves set in gorgeous Andalusia hill and village scenery, we were most fortunate to have been invited to look after their property and three children, ermm um cats.

They have our greatest respect for being such high achievers and with our brief time with them were wonderful hosts. Patrieck is a terrific cook, connoisseur of good wine and Bernadette’s friendly outgoing persona completes the team. The cats Popsie, Jin-Ji and Lexi were great fun to look after and we will miss them.

A stone’s throw from the B&B live Carmen, Miguel and their son Miguel a Spanish family with big hearts whose company we enjoyed greatly and whose patience with our not so good Spanish was appreciated on numerous visits and dinner outings.

After the chaos of Italy (which we loved) and the cultural divides of Tunisia, (which we loved), Spain seemed to be a little sterile on first impressions. It was not, of course, but it was as far removed from the Spanish speaking countries we were used to travelling in Latin America. The food is delightful, as are the people.

Our three charges had very individual and strikingly different personalities.

Jin-Ji, he is the big boy of the group and at 6kgs won the affectionate nickname of Fat-Boy Slim. He loves a cuddle on his terms, enjoys finding the highest spot in the room to survey the goings on and wanders about the property as lord and master.

Popsie almost immediately fell in love with Grant. Her day was not complete without cuddling up to him somehow. She would often jump up on his lap and look over at Jules with a look that would say “See me, he’s mine now!” would turn her head towards Grant and stare deeply into his eyes before falling asleep.

Lexi is a rescue kitten; found tiny and starving with a broken tail. He has earned the reputation of the three as the naughty one, the ratfink, the nuisance, the monster. You get the picture. With his wide curious eyes and mischievous expression it is hard to be angry at him for long.... after all he is just a kitten.

Within two days of Bernadette and Patrieck taking their long deserved break, Jin-Ji requires an emergency trip to the vet. He had been in a fight in the weeks prior to our arrival and received a bite to his leg that had infected. A week of antibiotics, anti-inflammation medicine, a collar and no time outside was prescribed. For the whole seven days he was the epitome of misery.

In the meantime Lexi discovered that if he jumped from the stair landing across the patio to our bedroom window and land on the very narrow window sill he could squeeze through the widow bars into our room. This, from the kitten who could not jump off the low roof onto the terrace because it was too high.

The cats are strictly forbidden to go into the guest bedrooms of the B and B. Every night there was a fight for us to get into our room without three visitors. They had the whole apartment downstairs too themselves, but wanted company and warm bodies in a bed to sleep with.

We met lots of lovely expats living in this part of Spain, and we enjoyed their company greatly. Over drinks and tapas we loved to hear about their lives in their adopted homeland and the ups and downs of being the extranjeros (foreigners). Thank you to Andy and Elaine for taking us under their wings, for the company of Paul and Jo and Trisha and James too.

Christmas and New Year flew by and we were blessed with the weather; it was cold but we had sunshine which made all the difference. We took long rides around the hills and through villages. We visited Cordoba, Antequera and Malaga, enjoyed the luxury of a wood fire and heated bedroom, ate good food and drank excellent wine. We found a statue of Pope Francis made out of 390kgs of white chocolate. It was also an excellent time for us to catch up on odd jobs and receive some mail from the wonderful and amazing Rebecca Haugen (Julie’s sister who takes care of all our administrative business and organises the odd request we have from time to time).

As the calendar month turned to February, Patriek and Bernadette returned home to make ready for the tourist season and we headed off further into Spain to explore a little more.