At Least I Ended Up Doing the Right Thing In The End

Driving through Spain is 99% easy, and 1% excruciating and terrible.  The 99% easy part is driving between destinations.  The highways are largely empty, the speed limit on main roads is usually 75 mph, and trucks largely stay to the right, which is wonderful.  

Even the winding, mountainous country roads connecting Villalba de la Sierra and Albarracin was essentially empty, even though the fastest speed limit is 55 mph.

The 1% excruciating, etcetera part of the drive is entering these amazing cities, towns, and villages, driving on roads that are incredibly narrow, coming to street GPS says you need to take but signs say you can't go that way, realizing the GPS is tied up in knots and has no idea where to take you, which means I have no idea where to go.  

At that point, I go full Roy Kent, but in a less charming fashion than Brett Goldstein.  Carol doesn't like my non-charming Roy Kent.  Anyhow, to get close to our hotel in Albarracin, I had to drive up a street that had a "authorized vehicles only" sign at the start and a cliff to the left.  Carol pointed the sign out, but I growled that "we are authorized."  I may have added a few words to that short sentence.  Then we turned left and went further up, and into Albarracin's tiny Plaza Mayor.  I parked, as there was no way we could take the former cow path to the hotel.  

Carol and I exchanged more choice words (we're still married despite this scene happened in Avila, (not Salamanca or Astorga), Leon, Segovia, Villalba de la Sierra (only modestly) and now Albarracin.  Nothing tests a relationship 

Anyhow, as I standing in the plaza, looking totally lost, a young mom came up to me and tried to be helpful.  I overreacted (but did curse).  Definitely not my best moment.

Carol went off to find the hotel, and, after stewing in the car, I realized I was a total jerk to the mom, in front of her baby and her husband.  I got out of the car, and apologized profusely.  She was not fazed, saying she understood the stress I was feeling.  I never should have lost my cool with her, as all she was trying to do was be helpful and ensure we didn't get a ticket.  I'm also glad the husband didn't take a swing at me, he instead looked at me in a bemused fashion.

Anyhow, the hotel employee locked up the hotel and walked with Carol back to Plaza Mayor so she could point below to the parking.  She spoke no English, so Carol's solid Spanish did the trick.  First the hotel woman pointed to a dirt lot on the side of a road going up the hill the other way, but it was full.  Then she pointed Carol and I to the backup free parking lot, which was hidden behind a wall of pine trees.  

At least, however, when I passed the first lot, I knew what the back-up plan was, so I didn't have to get uptight yet again.  Meanwhile Carol checked us into the hotel, which was practically on the other end of the city, all of 200 yards away.

The lesson for me -- it's one thing to be a jerk (not proud), but it is good to at least apologize profusely for being a jerk.  I wrote this to let you know not everything on the trip goes perfectly, and also warn that self-driving tours might not be for everyone!