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| Bilbao to Oviedo (and) Gijon, Spain - |
I pumped a tank of diesel, bought some sliced chorizo and listened to Madonna's greatest hits blare through the old speaker mounted over the petrol pumps. I never thought I would be pumping fuel into the UK registered motorcar that I own in remote rural Spain with "Vogue" crackling through speakers that would be as old as the song. As I jiggled the nozzle into the Benz and fed it, I considered how farcical the banking system in the United Kingdom is.
Oddly I was not able to open a bank account in the UK until I converted my tourist visa to one that allowed me to legally work early last year. It was only then that I could "make an appointment" with Lloyds Bank on Oxford Street and be afforded the pleasure of opening a basic account which didn't even come with a debit card that had the contactless feature. Those who read this blog and know me would understand how inconvenient it is to push my card into the EFT machine and input my PIN everytime I buy a round at the pub. I had to suffer in silence with that basic account for a year until the bank upgraded it and sent me a debit card that had the contactless feature. It was literally the best day of the year and I celebrated by tapping it all night at a string of pubs and boozers in Soho.
As my pay for doing an honest day or two of work gets direct deposited into my Lloyds account, I applied for a credit card. It could not be pre-approved online because my credit file couldn't be found. This was no surprise since I didn't have any credit cards or at the time, even a post-paid mobile phone plan. The bank gradually increased my overdraft over a period of a few months and after trying to be preapproved for a credit card the third time around and being advised that the system can't find a credit file, I got frustrated and made an appointment to speak with someone at the local bank branch personally.
Whilst I waited for the banker, I was offered coffee and given a form to fill out which was essentially a pre-qualification for a mortgage. I promptly returned it to the bloke and chuckled. It didn't register to him that I was in the bank to get a credit card, which is difficult enough, why would they give me a home loan? The banker was cheerful when she reviewed my account. She asked if I liked living in England. If I didn't like living in London, would I be there? Eventually, the Australian weather was brought up and after explaining that in Melbourne you get four seasons in one day, she was left with a blank look on her face and she got back to business. After agreeing to upgrade my savings account to a measly 3% interest bearing one, we finally got around to applying for the credit card again. What a surprise. The system couldn't find my credit file. She ushered in her manager who spoke to me about applying for a mortgage in the future when I am a permanent resident and that I should come back in six months and talk to him about a credit card and he would see what he can do for me then.
I walked home thinking I just wasted an hour of my time. After logging on to internet banking and seeing my new savings account, I clicked on advertisement which was spruiking a Lloyds personal loan. For a laugh, I applied for it, put in an arbitrary amount, moved the repayment slider from 60 months to 23, clicked apply and on the next screen the AI asked me to type in my name and internet banking password. After complying, the system told me I was approved and the money is now in my current account. I literally stood up and gasped. The bloody bank will not give me a credit card (I only wanted one with a £500 limit) but would give me a five-figure sum of unsecured cash after spending two minutes completing an online application. It makes no sense! Anyway, a few days later I bought the Mercedes that I am currently driving around Europe in. I had planned to give money to Europcar for the pleasure like I did last year, but sadly they missed out on a wad of sweaty money from me. In a round-about way, that is the story of how I ended up pumping diesel into a car that I own in rural Spain. We live in a material world, as Madonna would say.
We rolled into Oviedo with the rain pouring down. I found the underground parking for the Ibis and ditched the Benz after being informed that parking is a mere 6€/night. It wasn't long until we were in the hotel bar. I caught up on some work and did some preparation for the next day whilst the twink did his online Google Android course. That is how he occupies himself whilst I am working. He learns to code apps. Five hours later, the bar staff lost count of the number of 2€ bottles of San Miguel that we drank. This only meant that I woke up hating life again and was dehydrated as hell as I rang into the first-morning checkpoint. Someone asked why I haven't been streaming my video the last few days. I didn't dare say because I am sitting around in my boxer briefs and scratching my testicle.
A morning of meetings and multitasking by effectively bossing around some of my colleagues who are also all based in exotic locations made me confident that we could drive to Gijon and enjoy a relaxing lunch. Gijon is thirty minutes away from Oviedo on the Spanish coast. After ditching the car in the underground parking near the slips, I emerged into the sunlight and was immediately targeted by a pigeon. Poop splattered on my shoulder and my back somehow, which put me in a foul mood. The twink suggested that I return to the car to get a wet wipe, or even change my black shirt as I have a second bag of clothes in the boot that I haven't bothered wearing yet. "Why should I care?" I queried and charged down the promenade with Restaurant Auga in my sights.
My grand entrance into this one-star Michelin restaurant was thwarted by the service manager quickly who promptly informed us that they were fully booked as he inspected the bird shit on my shirt. We retreated across the laneway to a less formal restaurant and took a seat outside. "Maybe you want to go into the bathroom and wash the shit off?" Again, flustered I commented that I don't care and nobody else should. One of the servers left a damp rag not far from me and feeling defeated I grabbed it, passed it to the twink and kindly asked him to clean me up.
A fair amount of food was delivered to our table. White asparagus, chorizo, octopus, croquettes and some other meat, breaded whole fish and some sort of sausage meat with a bleu cheese sauce. I wasn't very impressed but the twink loved it raved about the octopus and croquettes. I suggested everything tasted frozen and it was all a bit disappointing as I thought of what we could have been eating in Restaurant Auga, if I had perhaps changed my shirt earlier in the parking structure.
Nobody from work bothered me all afternoon. A few glasses of house wine were consumed before driving back to Oviedo and retiring to the hotel bar again. This time we spent a good eight hours drinking the bar dry and at times became rowdy. The hot topic was a heated discussion about lunch and how I failed in my planning by not making a booking. I promptly retrieved this device from the room along with the Michelin guide and started making reservations in Portugal and even Barcelona out of spite, even though I don't have a hotel booked in the latter. According to Monzo, I paid the bar bill right before 1:00 AM and it included twenty-five bottles of San Miguel and a pizza. It came as no surprise to find the twink in a sorry state in the morning and my pile of dirty clothes in the hotel room saturated. Sometime in the night he must have woke up confused and pissed on the floor, right where my dirty clothes were accumulating. I recall trying to steal somebody's French bulldog, but I don't recall actually going to bed. Funny what a fair amount of cheap beer will do to you.
The amusing part of this segment of our trip which consisted of two nights at the Ibis Oviedo, that we never technically explored the town of Oviedo. I drove past a hypermart and many vehicle repair shops, but nothing looked really tempting to see and get rained upon. Gijon is a pretty city and I regret not staying there instead of Oviedo, however, the hotel was cheap and should contribute to my average daily spend decreasing somewhat in the short-term.
Next stop: A Coruna, Galacia Spain.
