I guess we were well set to defy ours, the German part at least. We got up late, ate some and at some point gave our camp that vagrant look again. Which means we did the washing and then tried to hang it with far too little pegs or clothes’ line (should really have upgraded from the tiny spool we carried on the bike). It looks … very un-German, i.e. untidy. We like it that way 😉

The rest of the morning was filled with looking after Number 3 making new friends. He set out to befriend a Spanish girl from three lots over to varied levels of success. It was sure not for lack of trying by her dad, who tried to pull all the stops while looking after her alone (mom was apparently away on some errand). Sharing the balls did not quite work out, nor the scooter. But sharing a kiddie pool was just bearable for the three year old.

The dad was super kind and welcoming, but for the first time the language barrier struck hard. Not a word of English, so all we had was my barebones Spanish, gestures and Google. It worked out, the kids had fun!

The main event for the day was planned for the afternoon: Going to town (or at least the part with all the Bodegas) and taste some nice Rioja wines! Nina had scouted some of the options for me, out of the 15 in town. We went almost straight for the first one, maybe at 4 pm. Given that they close around 6 pm, we thought we might see two today. Well, before the first glass that was …

We found the tasting room of Bodega C.V.N.E. rather delightful. It turned out to be stocked with equally delightful company to boot. So as we tried our way through a white and two reds (Reserva and Gran Reserva, respectively), we got talking with first a British-American and then an Australian couple at the other tables. Good wine and good company go together nicely and as we nibbled on our snacks and sipped our wine, time flew by. Number 3 got a lot of compliments for his skills and even more so for his charm; social butterfly that he is.

In the end, we never made it out of this first tasting before the sommelier called last rounds. The two reds were from different vineyards but the Vila Real Gran Reserva had impressed both of us the most. Still, 24 € for a bottle of table wine seemed a bit too steep, so we trusted the others and went for the Reserva from the same brand.

Back at the camp, I even managed to master the art of cooking reasonable well for my post-tasting condition. Things really seemed just right – Number 3 went to bed without much fuss. We were just about to hit our bed early when things took a turn south. A veritable invasion of the most stereotypical Frenchmen hit us hard. Out of easily 20 empty emplacements, they chose the two right next to us to set up their … party, I guess? They hit all the marks: Rude, loud and chain-smoking (baby in arm, of course), it took them all of 10 minutes to wake Number 3. Bloody French … (I am of cour zcxse aware that their nationality has little to do with the fact that they annoyed me. It was probably more to be attributed to our socio-economic based cultural differences. Not a thought for 9:30 pm with a crying baby on the arm. Annoy me then and you will be remembered as “those bloody Frenchmen”).

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