We went to Girona as a French family in the hotel told us it was a must. (Yes, that's the word in French.) First we got lost, then we found the Old Town, but there was no parking closer than marathon distance, so we gave it up and left.
The weather got crappier and crappier as we headed south, but we're listening to a good book on CD, the name of which I no longer remember. But it's good.
At last we thought we were in with a chance. The sun started peeking through as we neared Benidorm. We exited the autoroute and climbed the hill to Finestrat, pulled up as near as we could to the house (it's a no parking zone), emptied half the car and opened the mailbox with a coin to retrieve the key. No key.
We made acquaintance with all the neighbours who were assuring themselves that we were really amigos de Roberto and even new phone friends -- the husband of and the woman who now owns Sheila's mobile. "Did you try calling them?" she asked. "Yes, I did, but I got you." I had to explain this several times before she caught on. She was nice, tried the apartment where Bob & Sheila currently reside (no answer; I knew that) and gave us Sheila's new number. The mobile is turned off.
We know they are supposed to be back tonight, so we keep calling. As of now, we are having coffee and wifi at McDo. Well, I am. Nick is in the car park feeding the dogs.
If necessary, we will park in front of the apartment and sleep in our rather comfortable van. I don't mind looking for a hotel, but I do mind looking for a hotel at 10 o'clock at night with two not-small dogs.
I guess we'll go for the swordfish. We have a long night ahead of us.