Our short sojourn in Geneva completed, Henning drives us to the airport at characteristically breakneck speed along a maze of country roads and roundabouts to challenge even our highly developed navigational acumen. We reach the airport, exchange farewells, and are left to go through the usual round of security theatre. This time we must check a bag - Valkyrie finally received a package sent to CERN on her behalf which her ex-coworkers had been holding for her in anticipation of this visit, and which contained (among sundry other items of dire importance) a jar of peanut butter, a substance recently deemed by the airport authorities to be a liquid and therefore subject to the lilliputian restrictions on liquids...
...and the flight leaves 20 minutes late; and we must wait for our bag at the luggage carousels; and we must wait for the metro to Lliria, which leaves only once every half-hour; and all these delays conspire in combination to push our arrival in Lliria back from the expected 1800 to 1930, so that Cathy and Bill have long since left. We peruse the parking lot to no effect, grab some peaches, and decide to grab a taxi to the granja; the taxi leaves just before the ominous-looking clouds break into rain, heading along the backroads - the driver somewhat confused, asking occasionally just what the hell is out in the direction that we're leading him along, perhaps suspecting some sort of ruse or impending violence...but he takes us there, charges us dearly for his efforts, and drives off, leaving us to walk up to the place in the drizzling rain.
As is usual for these travel-packed days, little of consequence occurs. We eat, read for a bit, set the tent up, talk with the family a bit, then head off to sleep up on the tiled terrace; whereas the first night spent up here reminded us of the less-than-comfortable nature of hard ground, our second night proves that the body is adaptable indeed...