With two weeks away under our belt now, “UK home” seems like another life. Our alter egos left on pause. Placed into frozen animation. Patiently and silently on hold until we re-appear and re-awaken from the dark side of the moon, or in our case the brighter side of the sun.
Leaving Barcelona to its rain was no hardship. It’s good to travel, but it feels even better when it’s wet. You don’t feel like time is wasted. We reach Tamarit Beach Resort, just north of Tarragona, with the afternoon not yet done. Check-in is somewhat OTT. The issue of wrist bands, electronic cards, a rear-view hanger for Beastie and a separate security booth all aim to give the visitor a feeling of safety, but more importantly supposedly deter gatecrashers from using the facilities.
The site has direct access to the beach and the cliff-side coastal path, via an electronically card-controlled gate. We stretch off along the stunning cliff-side walk as an appetiser.
A kind lady holds the gate for us and grants a card-less return access onto site.