A morning out and about

Yesterday we went to get our NIE numbers, this entailed a visit to a police station with a department of foreigners. The nearest one is about 40kms away so it was handy I didn’t have to go to the health centre, as I have to do this late morning and it would have been uncertain if we would get there with enough time to get things sorted.

So we had an ‘early’ start (which is later than it was as I seem to spend a lot of time not being able to find things). I’d like to say this was ankle related – but it’s not. Strangely in the two minutes before shutting the front door my mind goes to jelly – I can’t find shoes, keys, bags…. and find myself assuring Ian that I am ready whilst patently being in a complete state of chaos.

It was a pleasant drive and we headed north through the red soiled fields which alternated olives and grapes. Everything is very golden now – but the soil is a rich red. The grapes were being picked and a couple of times we got stuck behind a tractor with a trailer oozing freshly picked grapes.

Needless to say when we got to the town we got lost, and took a couple of turns around before we found the police station. It was tucked in a small plaza in the shade of trees nestled under the large central church. Ian dropped me off outside and I lurked around waiting for him to park and he went to find where we should be going.

Up a flight of steep marble stairs and no lift!

I ignored Ian’s offer of a firemans lift up the stairs – gave up any thoughts of applying for my card in person – although I could wave if someone cared to stick their head out the window, and I headed over to a bench under the trees outside whilst ian had to run around doing the things we had forgotten – ie copies of passports, pens etc.

Under most trees in the villages towards midday, groups of elderly men will gather to pass the time of day and putting the world to rights – or simply watching the world go by. True to form after a few minutes I had new friends and in between the contented silences, they would exchange the odd word. Eventually they drew me into the conversation and told me that when I was off the crutches I must get a stick like ‘this’ and a rather splendid wooden stick was waved at me. But, I must understand that I will not get one so good as it was handmade by the best stick maker of this town. One by one they wandered off – to another tree or perhaps to a bar and Ian reappeared and we filled in our forms and he disappeared again.

I was looking forward to another few moments contemplation – enjoying the dappled sun in the shade of the imposing church - a rare treat of doing nothing legitimately, however this time I was jolted awake by a lot of arm waving and gesticulation which was getting louder and more passionate. I know through experience that arguments sound a lot worse in another language – and the content of this was probably ‘you forgot to pack the sandwiches…?’ However ‘time to hop on’ I thought and I hopped round the corner to wait for Ian. The whole thing took less than an hour, and if we had with us everything we needed to it would have taken a lot less.

When we got home my foot was aching. Not through any form of activity, but because I think it was feeling the vibrations of the car, also I guess because it was a long time without my foot up?