Some bits of cliffs are being dynamited in order to make space for yet more cliff top properties and it's all just too moneyed for words. We get a bit lost, then a bit found, and wind our way back up and down mountains to S'Arraco and it's time for a bit of a siesta.
I almost fail to wake back up. It's such an immense struggle to open my eyes, let alone keep them open, but it's 7.15pm and we're meant to be at one of the bars in the village. Eventually I make it, and we head down via an ATM which offers us the opportunity to reserve an irrigation turn.
What the ATM fails to do, though, is give me any money. I'm using my Travelex Supercard, a spot-rate card linked to a credit card and which we've already used in ATMs twice since we got off the plane. This ATM says everything in English except the reason it won't hand out cash, so we try another which says my issuer declines it. What? For gods sake. The Supercard app says I'm nowhere near the daily limit so I have no idea what's wrong, but resort to my expensive no-miles-earning debit card. Bah!
Outside Bar Guiem Nou we drink beer and chat with Rich, his parents, and their best friends who are also over for a visit. It's a lovely sociable evening and I manage to engage Rich's dad in talk of train spotting, table tennis and the scourge of franchising in football.
At 9pm Rich, Helen and I have reservations at a restaurant, so at around 9.05pm we say our goodbyes to the others and walk 10 or 12 steps to our table. Beer arrives, food takes a lot longer. The pace of life is somewhat slow here.
Helen at one point uses the word acquiesce and is so proud of herself she wants me to, er, take a photo of her saying it. Eh?
We're still sat outside when the bar closes up and I try to get one of them moody and profound shots for Instagram.
We're told there are 3 bars in the village, but for 3 days of the week only 2 are ever open: one closes on Sunday, one on Monday, and one on Tuesday. So we head up the road to get a beer at the other Sunday bar. The place seems closed but we're assured it's not, and my confidence in this fact grows when we're served beer. Inside there's a very modern fruit machine and I'm tempted to have a go, but manage to resist.
By now it's approaching midnight. Rich has to work in the morning, and we're worried about climbing the steps to our room in our current state. We walk back through the village towards the hotel, and despite the late hour it now seems to be rush hour and we're having to get out of the way of cars. How rude.
My attempt to stop and talk to a cat is derailed and we make it back to Escalatera. From the fridge downstairs we grab some Coke Zero and two cans of lager - rather than any in-room facilities, there's just a couple of fridges filled with supplies and you write down in a dedicated book for your room number what it is you've taken, then settle up when you leave. It's a lovely honour system.
Upstairs, just about, and an attempt is made to listen to the special trial edition of the Archers but, predictably, one of us just falls asleep with the beer half drunk instead. Not me, I hasten to add.