Settling in sin food

We spent the whole 16-hour journey from Fes to Malaga salivating over what we would eat when we got back to Spain. We adored the tagine and cous cous - never have I tasted cous cous so light and fluffy - but since we had to eat it for every meal because people had scared us so much about bugs and only eating cooked food, we were looking forward to some salad. There was that time we slipped up and ordered a tomato salad. And our 16-course banquet in Fes also included many salads as well as the tagine and cous cous, so I don't know why we were so eargerly anticipating a salad. We were also seriously craving some vino and a cerveza and these cravings seemed to be affecting all the other cravings.

It was a beautiful day in Malaga. We had lunch (Russian salad) and a couple of cervezas. In the evening we got some vino tinto, queso and chorizo and had a little supper on the balcony overlooking a concert in the plaza. In the night time I vomitted everything I had eaten in the past week back up in the unisex communal toilets. Who knows what it was, but it wasn't good. (I suspect it was the out-of-date icecream we had in some dodgy caravan park bus stop but I can't seem to get any corroboration on this.)

Thankfully, we had chosen the pension we were staying at by the Lonely Planet's advice that it was "immaculately clean". We needed something clean after the mildew-infested Fes euphemism. There, I thought I was going to vomit because of the smell. It's hard to weigh up whether you brush your teeth and risk throwing up in the sink as you do so, thereby defeating the purpose of brushing your teeth, or just go without. In the evening I went without, but in the morning I just couldn't go any longer. Have you ever tried to brush your teeth without breathing? It's not an easy endeavour.

Anyway, back to Malaga: I used my very little Spanish to book us a room with a bathroom. The owner/receptionist/laundry person (I saw her ironing the sheets!) doesn't know one word of English. I know the numbers in Spanish and about three others: habitacion, por favor, bano. It got us a room with two beds, a shower and a basin. But no toilet. For once, praise be to God, the Lonely Planet was spot on. As I spent the night hugging that porcelain in the unisex communal toilets all I could think of was: "Thank you Lonely Planet. I forgive you for not printing the number of the Brigade Touristique. Thank you kind lady for keeping your place immaculately clean. I am sorry I am messing it all up."

It went all night long but stopped just in time for us to leave for the airport at 6am, which is about when it started for Bindi. We got to Barcelona and slept all day. Poor Meri. We'd been looking so forward to seeing each other. Whatever we had it didn't want to go away and so we spent our first week in Barcelona being quite sick, eating bland food and feeling pretty sorry for ourselves.

On Thursday, we finally felt well enough to go out for a menu del dia. We found a lovely little place on the beach with no English menu and took a punt on what we were ordering. It was fab. We enjoyed every mouthful. I was savouring the last taste of my main course, soaking it up in the fresh bread when an overly keen waiter came and efficiently swiped away my plate.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've enjoyed a meal?" I would have shouted if I wasn't so stunned! Then, Barcelona isn't known for its friendly service, is it? Welcome to Spain.