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At night I found an open bar and went in for a beer. First thing I spotted when entering was a group of ladies well into their eighties sitting around a table, dressed in funny clothes and playing a game of bridge. That was a very strange sight that I rather had expected in a small English town. I was watching a Spanish cup football match on TV and soon an elderly guy started a talk with me. It was Barca playing against a lower league team from the Basque Country, meaning a team from one region with separatist ambitions playing against on from another region with even bigger separatist ambitions. This made it for the guy difficult to decide which team to support as he was from the Basque Country and had his own separatist history.
The next morning I woke up from the noise of a street cleaning machine and used the opportunity for a visit at the beach. That check got me completely awake and made me a bit hectic. It was exactly like the morning before, no wind, glassy ocean and a good sized set every 15 minutes. I was the only one at the beach and immediately paddled out. I positioned like the morning before, a set came, I took off on the second wave and had a 100 metres wall to carve. The set waves had head high faces and were a bit faster than the day before which meant even more fun. This first wave alone had made my day. I had another one before the first other surfers paddled out. Two hours later the tide got too high and the waves got a tendency to close out. Time for breakfast.
With a refilled stomach I got adventurous and decided to do some exploration in the area. I followed another advice of my friend Timo and drove west to have a look at the garlic beach.
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