Back from Afrika, I could not stop myself to go to my car and turn the key. It started! Now what to do? Digital key recognition failure had now been "repaired" 4 times by 4 garages, two in Holland, one in Porto and one in Sevilla. All had changed something different. After every "repair" it had worked for a while. Being a Uganda - not Netherlands -  resident it is prohibited to this Dutchman to buy a new car in The Netherlands. I had some time before leaving to Spain again, and drove round in Holland without a hitch.

Then I decided to trust my favourite Sevillan mechanic, knowing he would be my man again once in Spain. To boost my car's confidence I totally cleared, cleaned and improved on the interior.

... to boost my car's confidence I totally cleared, cleaned and improved on the interior ...

... ready for Spain on February 24 ...

... Bert and Inge in Rojales (Alicante) ...

On arrival visiting friends I noticed a slight slow-down of my brain, the serious version of which, causing heavy depression as well, I know from the times before I started using medicine for it some 15 years ago. This had happened (apart from a test to stop the drug) twice before, 10 and 5 years ago, and got solved by a dose increase. But Bert's and Inge's hospitality made me take little notice of it.

It got even less noticeable when I left for Sevilla and ... the engine failed to start. After some attempts, however it worked. Having enough fuel for the 500 km to reach my hero Sevilla mechanic, I shut all doors and went off. 

<
... the planned Sierra Nevada detour had to be replaced with a distant shot with running engine, due to key recognition problems ...

... arrival at the Sevilla garage, of course Friday just after weekend closure, and in a general strike of refuse collectors ...

No neuron in my slow mind blinked at the idea of using the car in the weekend. Neither did I like to leave the car since uncollected garbage attracted the kind of scavengers that I would not like to inspect my car in my absence. I would be a tourist in this South West area of Sevilla one district of which is ominously called Rochelambert.

... I knew Spain's golden age was half a century before Holland's, but to my surprise Spain's Amsterdam was Sevilla (not Cadiz), even though the sea ships had to sail 90 km up the Guadalquivir ...

Finally on Monday morning, my Renault friend told me within a few minutes that my main key's chip got broken, and I would remain as good as I was until my stressing departure at Rojales if I just used my reserve key. Very embarrassing for me, since at all previous four key recognition repairs I could faithfully report to have tested both keys and that both had refused. Only this last time I had been tired to do the test again and thus unnecessarily  skipped my Sierra Nevada trip. A new key is 200 euros and has to be encoded in Paris (VERY SAFE, you know). I ordered it nevertheless.

Time to start living the rest of my life. To my surprise it had been consistently too cold to swim in Rojales. Sevilla, in its Guadalquivir valley leading up to high central Spain with its semi continental climate, was even worse: I got told that in early morning 5^oC was no exception. By email I tried to contact Esther, an English teacher in Ayamonte who had agreed to find the owners of the riverside plots Roland had told me he liked. But no response. Anyway: back to Ayamonte!

... Andalusian late winter nights cold enough to opt for my Alpine sleeping routine  ...

Esther stayed dead on all channels. Couldn't she just say to quit? Andalusian probably. Her boyfriend is a good golfer, I had looked forward a bit to enjoy their company even not only while doing the real estate business. Shit happens. I went to a German real estate agent in Ayamonte, who was pleased to continue the search for the data of the targeted two riverside-ruin-plots but had some riverside offers himself that Roland could be interested in.

... an English owner had this on offer (with about all the ground on the picture)...

An English owner had the villa above on offer (with about all the ground on the picture). But his price was from years ago. Roland asked me to make a more contemporary offer, which did not bring things to life.
While waiting, high on the Guadiana river east slope, where to the west Portugal's 3G nets are clear, for messages by Roland and the broker, I woke up with a nasty cuff which grew in a few days to a state called creperen in Dutch. There is no straight English translation.  

After a week of decent stubbornness I did a check in at Huelva regional hospital, where I got registered as: hamminga Lambertus, Caravana, Ayamonte. The general practitioner found nothing special but did not feel at ease, referred me to internal medicine, where more testing (after four days of creperen) revealed: no AIDS (do not forget they know I am from Africa), no TBC, no "pneumonia" whatever that may mean because what I did have was a heavy bacterial lung infection, no thing to lie and wait till its over, as I had maintained to myself for a week. I was prescribed a decent bag of sizeable antibiotic balloons.

... Huelva Hospital, for some days the squatting location of "hamminga Lambertus, Caravana, Ayamonte" ...

... For the Dutch creperen make your choice: cash in, check out, conk, cop out, croak, decease, demise, depart, drop, expire, go, kick in, kick off, pass, pass away, pass out, peg out, perish, pip, pop off, snuff (out), succumb, swelt, bite the dust (or ground), breathe one's last, cash in one's checks (or chips), give up the ghost, kick the bucket, kick up one's heels, meet one's end, shuffle off this mortal coil, snuff it, turn up one's toes (to the daisies) ... 

Gradually my lungs started to work a little better again. Of course my brain had been so deep down that my earlier light sense of brain slowness got totally wiped out. I got curious whether I would sense it again while recovering. I did. Periods of staring, no ideas, plans, or activity, light equilibrium problems and sleepiness. On, and, fortunately, off.

... campervan location near Ayamonte, not for me of course: size matters ...

... this was my favourite place inward in a bend of the river ...

Enough! No more work for Roland, cold nights, cold mornings, only sitting outside in the afternoon. What am I doing here? What next? Weather predictions for Northern Europe were bad, with possibly traffic laming snowfall until deep in France. Not for me. The ferry to Morocco leaves at a five hours drive.

... highway up-ramp to the ferry Algeciraz-Morocco: check the black list ...