Murcia, A Road Less Travelled.
Part II
Our plan (If you could call it that) was to drive along the Mediterranean coast from the Costa Brava all the way down to the Costa Blanca in search of that perfect place to live. Unfortunately during our travels we found that most of the Mediterranean coast (with a few exceptions of course) was overdeveloped, over crowded in summer and way too quiet in winter (ghost towns). It had been our intention to live somewhere between Barcelona and Valencia and somewhere that wasn’t more than an hour from an airport but as John Lennon wrote “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”.
It just so happened that we were in the small but serenely beautiful fishing village of Calle de Parfrugal to the north of Barcelona at the time of Munster’s European Rugby Cup Final match against Biarritz. Now having watched my beloved Arsenal loose to Barcelona in the European Cup Final (football) the previous week I was desperate to see every Irish mans adopted province Munster capture glory at the third time of asking. Problem was though that this was North Eastern Spain and finding a place showing the match was not going to be easy.
I decided it would be best not to drag my better half around after me, as we were, after all staying in a two-man tent and arguments in this environment are best avoided. So as the glimmering aqua marine ocean lapped gently against the Mediterranean shoreline I left my partner to enjoy her glass of wine and set about looking for the Holy Grail, a bar/hotel/hostel/home or otherwise that might just show the match. What I hadn’t realised was that my six years of attending (I say attending rather than studying) Spanish class in school and the fifteen intervening years in which I hadn’t spoken the language made a mockery of my previous claims to have “enough Spanish” to get by.
For the next two hours I looked at the bewildered looking faces of the Calle de Parfrugal locals as I tried desperately to explain what the ‘deportes” (sport) rugby looked like. Amazingly by gestures and sure will alone I managed to mime the most important aspects of this glorious game by clasping my hands together to indicate a scrum and to compare the ball to an “Huevo” (egg) and was thus sent on numerous jaunts around the small village in search of a satellite TV.
With just minutes remaining to kick off I stopped off at the first hostel that I’d passed and was directed to the hotel directly opposite where I’d left my Partner. To her surprise and mine we were directed to the back of the hotel but told that in all likely hood people were probably watching something else.
You’ve probably experienced the sensation of near blindness as your eyes adjust to leaving strong sunlight and guide you, somewhat awkwardly, into a darkened room. Well as my eyes began to adjust I could see what appeared to be a TV in the corner of this room with what looked like the closed roof of Cardiff Arms Park where the final was taking place.
There before me, looking me straight in the eye was a rather worried looking man around the same age as my Father who appeared to be sitting on something aside from his chair. Beside him sat his equally worried looking wife who looked as if she was expecting the Police to raid the place at any minute. After exchanging a brief “Hola” they gestured for us to join them. “Are you here to watch the match”? He asked. To which I, wild eyed with excitement, replied, “Yes, oh thank God” “Great” says he. “There’s more of us now so it’ll be harder for them to change the channel” Which would have been difficult anyway as my new best friend had taken it upon himself to ensure there would be no channel hopping that afternoon as the TV remote was safely hidden beneath his Limerick bum. Mighty Munster went on to capture European glory for the first time that afternoon thanks in no small part to Munster’s smallest part Peter Stringer and we got to watch every glorious minute of it thanks to our Limerick Friends.
Peter Stringer scores the winning try for Munster as they are crowned Champions of Europe.
Now I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve spent so long telling this story seen as this is supposed to be a blog about Polaris World and about Murcia in general but I wanted to let you know why we risked so much and ended up settling in this beautiful region. You see It was here, in Calle de Parfrugal, right at the very beginning our Spanish adventure that I met a man, who, when I told him of our plans, said to me “By the way, don’t stop until you’ve seen this place that I’ve heard is undiscovered and pretty much untouched” That place was Murcia and I thought of that man last week as Munster claimed their second European Cup in Cardiff against the mighty Toulouse and hoped that this time he’d got to see the match up close and personal. I wondered to if his Family, whom were spread out all over the World at that time were by his side so that his Wife wouldn’t have to exchange frantic texts as she had done two years previous. I imagined him sitting there, smiling to himself, thinking of that time in Calle de Parfrugal when he had sat on a T.V. remote control so that he could watch his rugby while all around him staff searched in vain for the very object hidden beneath his Munster backside.
To be continued…