By the time day three rolled around I was was itching to explore, so I climbed back into the beast a

Discovering Costa Brava, Spain in a rental car | Hole In The Donut Cultural Travel Click here to receive new posts via e-mail About Barbara Weibel After years of working 70 hours a week at jobs I detested, I felt like the proverbial "hole in the donut" - solid on the outside, but empty on the inside. Searching for meaning in my life, I abandoned my successful but unsatisfying career and set out on a six-month solo backpacking trip around the world to pursue amari hotel bangkok my true passions of travel, amari hotel bangkok writing, and photography. My blog features stories about the destinations I visit, people amari hotel bangkok I meet, the crazy things... Read more here.... Eiffel Tower, Paris, France Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia amari hotel bangkok Hill Tribe Chief, Thailand Machu Picchu, Peru Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand Olympic Peninsula, amari hotel bangkok Washington Damnoen Saduak Floating Market, amari hotel bangkok Thailand Maasai Warriors, Ngorongoro, Tanzania Serengeti National Park, Tanzania Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico Wat Xieng Thong, Luang Prabang, Laos Traditional Feast, Central India Pudong Skyline, Shanghai, China Honeymoon Beach, Florida Great Wall, Jinshanling, China Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Canada Lake Temple, Central Bali Galapagos Islands, Ecuador Home About About Barbara Weibel Portfolio Volunteer Passports w/ Purpose Alex s Lemonade Stand Help Exchange Volunteer/NGO s Nepal Travel Tips Travel Safety Tips Packing Tips RTW Travel Best Travel Secrets Travel Insurance iPhone Int l Settings Frequent Flyer Tips Holding USPS Mail Eliminate Junk Mail Auto Driveaway Destinations Africa Botswana South Africa Tanzania Zambia Zanzibar Zimbabwe Asia Cambodia China Hong Kong India Laos Malaysia Myanmar Nepal Singapore Thailand Tibet Vietnam Australia Canada Caribbean amari hotel bangkok Cuba Curacao Jamaica Puerto Rico Central America Costa Rica Honduras Europe Albania England Germany France Italy Portugal Scotland Spain Switzerland Indonesia Bali Mexico New Zealand South America Argentina Ecuador amari hotel bangkok Peru South Pacific United States Alabama Alaska California Florida Georgia Hawaii Illinois amari hotel bangkok Indiana Kansas Kentucky Louisiana Maine Minnesota Montana Nevada New Hampshire New Jersey amari hotel bangkok New York North Carolina Ohio Pennsylvania South Carolina Tennessee Utah Vermont Virginia Washington State Washington DC West Virginia Advertise Advertise Disclosure Links Contact Adventures with a GPS in Costa Brava, Spain Published January 6, 2013 | By Barbara Weibel 81 Flares 81 Flares
Everyone told me I wouldn t need a map. Rental cars these days, they insisted, are equipped with GPS systems that would carry me right to the doorstep of my destination; I just needed to request a car with English language GPS. Argus Rental Car was more than happy to oblige. On the appointed day, I met the Argus representative in his office at the train station in Girona, Spain.
He walked me to to the parking garage and pointed to a brand new, sleek black sedan. It s huge, I thought, then dismissed my concern a split second later as he placed my luggage in the rear seat and began demonstrating how to operate the air conditioning, wipers, blinkers, and various other systems.
Sure. What s your destination? I handed him the address of my hotel in Palau-Saverdera and he scrolled through the settings until he figured out how to add it. You re good to go. All you have to do is hit the start button when you leave the garage, he explained.
The metallic voice of the GPS directed amari hotel bangkok me to turn left out of the lot and continue straight for several kilometers until I came to the entry ramp for the northbound highway. I tooled along the highway for half an hour before receiving my next instruction: In 150 meters, turn left. Huh? My destination was to the northeast and turning left would take me west. Maybe it s a cloverleaf, I thought. I slowed down, looking for the turnoff, but the only possibility was a one-lane dirt road. That can t be right, I mused. I ll just keep going north. The GPS readjusted. Make a U-turn at the next possibility. Round and round I went, unable to find the correct road. Frustrated, I took the exit for Figueres and pulled into a gas station, where the man behind the counter drew me a map on a scrap of paper.
Back in the car, I easily followed the attendant s map but the GPS was not happy. In addition to repeatedly insisting I turn around, it suddenly developed a second voice that spoke half-a-beat later than the original audio. I considered turning it off but didn t know how, so I soldiered on, trying to tune out the unintelligible gibberish. Finally, I found the turn-off for Palau-Saverdera and, a few blocks up the hill on the main street, my hotel. With my luggage unloaded, I parked in a nearby amari hotel bangkok lot and aimed the clicker at the car; never before had the sound of a door lock engendered amari hotel bangkok such satisfaction. I turned and walked away, intending amari hotel bangkok to completely ignore the vehicle for a while.
For the next two days I contented amari hotel bangkok myself with walks around the sleepy little amari hotel bangkok town of Palau-Saverdera, which is close enough to the Mediterranean coastline to offer gorgeous views of the hilly countryside leading down to the waterfront town of Roses. When not wandering, I soaked up sun during warmish amari hotel bangkok afternoons on the rooftop of my hotel, where I was treated to gorgeous sunsets and a double rainbow that had me believing in pots of gold.
By the time day three rolled around I was was itching to explore, so I climbed back into the beast and headed for Cadaqués, a coastal town about 40 minutes away, to see the cottage where the painter Salvador Dalí lived . I deftly maneuvered Black Beauty around the serpentine mountain roads, congratulating myself on negotiating the rural traffic amari hotel bangkok circles with ease. I d been informed that police amari hotel bangkok prefer tourists not choke up traffic in Cadaqués, so I pulled into the city parking lot at the top of the hill. Round and round I went, trying to find a spot big enough. Finally, I squeezed into one that barely left enough room to get out of the car. Under darkening skies I headed toward the center of town, struggling to see through eyeglasses misted by a persistent drizzle. Cold, miserable, and unable to find the cottage, I flagged down a local policeman for directions and learned that the Dalí cottage was a couple of miles outside of town in a village named Portlligat.
Back at the lot I paid my parking ticket and climbed into the car. Getting into the space was one thing, but getting out was quite another. The aisle was too narrow to allow my front bumper to clear the car next to me. An exasperating amari hotel bangkok 15 minutes of jockeying later, I was able to squeeze out of the spot and make my way to Portllight. A few hours of exploring Dalí s cottage calmed my frazzled nerves amari hotel bangkok and the return trip to my hotel, thankfully, was uneventful. But as I turned my back on the behemoth, I couldn t shake the gnawing fear in the pit of my belly about the drive back to Girona the next day.
A good night s sleep put things into perspective. Luxuriating in the sunshine that streamed through the window onto my big, soft bed, I yawned and stretched and considered my silly fears. You ve driven amari hotel bangkok all over the U.S. alone. Surely you can handle an hour s ride back to Girona. I carted my luggage down to the lobby and brought the car around to the hotel entrance, but try as I might, I could not figure out how to open the trunk. There was no button on the remote, nor could I find any button inside, and the auto manual was useless as it was in Spanish. No worries, I thought calmly as rain began to fall again. I ll just put it in the back seat. I fiddled with the GPS until I figured out how to disable it and set off, following one-way streets downhill.
Halfway down to the main road, the narrow cobblestone lane I had chosen curved sharply to the right, then doglegged left at a 90 degree angle. I braked to a halt and considered my options. Since I d barely made the curve on the way in, backing up was not an option; I had no choice but to try to go forward. I pulled to the right as far as possible and turned the wheel all the way to the left, inching forward. As I approached the stone wall to my right, the car s alarm system activated: beep, Beep, BeeP, BEEP, BEEP! BEEP!! I cut the wheel and slowly backed up: beep, Beep, BeeP, BEEP, BEEP! BEEP!! For a quarter of an hour I wrangled with the monster until, with cold sweat running down my forehead, I made the turn. God help me, just let me get this thing back to Girona and drop it off.
With no map I again had to rely on directions from strangers. amari hotel bangkok On the highway near Girona I pulled amari hotel bangkok into a gas station to fuel up and begged help from maintenance workers who were happy to draw me another map.
The instructions were perfect but I missed the last turn. A half mile further amari hotel bangkok on I confidently wheeled around a traffic circle to reverse direction, but a stoplight in the middle of the roundabout threw me into confusion. All the other traffic circles I d negotiated had no stoplights. amari hotel bangkok Unsure amari hotel bangkok what to do, I braked to a quick stop, barely avoiding a collision with traffic entering from my right. Rattled, I crossed back under the railroad tracks and found the train station, amari hotel bangkok breathing a huge sigh of relief as I pulled into the garage. I shouldered my heavy backpack and rolled my suitcase through the rain toward the rental office, where I stopped in my tracks. No lights shone through the plate glass walls. I grabbed the door handle and tugged but it was locked tight and a sign on door indicated amari hotel bangkok the office was only open until noon on Saturdays. The heavy glass precluded slipping the keys under the door and there was no dropbox in sight. I walked back to a small office I d seen inside the parking garage but my knocks brought no reply, so I retraced my steps and hunted down a security guard inside the train station.
Rental cars have to be dropped off at the airport on weekends, he explained. With no map and no reliable GPS I had no way to find the airport. And there was absolutely no way I was getting back in that car. At a nearby Internet shop I called the rental company