When I had just been soaked *again* after having all of my wet clothes washed & dried in Denia (I found myself at the top of a hill when the heavens opened – and the only shelter was a *solitary* tree), then the welcome that awaited me in Javea couldn’t have been warmer.
With the lovely Laurence (French), their adorable little dog Tiki (who *did* like to lick my bare legs, and sniff my kilt), and the ever-chatty Matthew (English) who imports Spanish wine into England (and elsewhere).
And to make Javea even more memorable, the rain had finally stopped.
