Portugal…….well almost…..

We were meant to get there about two weeks ago but the delays in France and then the lure of the sunny Spanish Costas has slowed our progress somewhat. From our current site in the Donana National Park you can almost see the border and, providing we can rouse ourselves sometime soon, our next stop should be on the Algarve – but then again, we’re never brilliant at sticking to plans as regular readers will already know.

Since the last report we’ve hopped down the coast, met good old Bertha, seen the sky ablaze, been blown all over the show, lunched on the beach and dined out on the Rock. There’s been warm sunshine, a few raindrops and most of northern Europe’s retired population on the campsites.

Ametlla de Mar Harbour

Ametlla de Mar on the Costa Dorada, where my last blog left off, was only a 4km stroll from our campsite along the low cliff tops, through pine forests and over white pebble beaches. The town is built around a busy fishing harbour with a maintenance yard. Some quite sizable boats were up on chocks having their bottoms
scraped to get rid of the
barnacles …..sounds painful.......oooooh, Mrs! 

Caught in the act!

It was an excellent campsite with friendly helpful staff and immaculate washrooms etc. Unusually for Spanish campsites the pitches were very generous in size. Strong gusty winds off the mountains rocked the van all the three days we stayed and our washing nearly ended up in next field. I was afraid that if a pair of Jane’s draws landed on another pitch we’d be charged for putting up a tent – a 6 birth! I’m going to be in trouble for that, aren’t I.

Sticking to the N340 and A7 trunk roads rather that the toll motorways we drove south from there, past the huge nature reserve of the Ebro Delta and on into the orange growing regions around Valencia. Although the main picking season is November into December there were still many estates where bright ripe fruit were still on the trees. As we skirted Valencia and headed inland the orange groves were interspersed with lemons, also awaiting being gathered.

Ibi's burning sky

That evening we parked up on an Aires on the outskirts of Ibi which is where we met Bertha, a T- reg Talbot powered motorhome and her owners, Steve and Kiri. Although only having 30k on the clock Bertha’s engine was giving them some problems and regular replenishment of the oil was required. Steve and Kiri were 3 months into a 4 month tour which had already taken in several eastern European countries. We spent a very pleasant evening with them swapping motorhoming yarns. Best wishes to them both as they nurse Bertha back to the UK and hopefully get her engine fixed. It was here at Ibi that the most dazzling sunset happened with the sky quite literally looking like it was burning.

Next morning it was back to the coast in the general direction of Alicante on the Costa Blanca and then the manically busy roads around the city and south west to Murcia and Lorca. Our campsite for the night was in the Cabo de Gata national park, just to the east of Almeria. The site was, to say the least, uninspiring and full mainly of long term staying Brits sunning themselves away from the winter weather back home. It didn’t help that it was slap bang in the middle of a sea of plastic covering acre upon acre of tomato plants. These unsightly polythene greenhouses stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction and the sun near blinded us as it shone of the surface. Along the roadsides were broken down, ramshackle and roofless buildings that the itinerant workforce had, rather ingeniously, wrapped up in the large sheets of plastic, tied it up with rope and made into living quarters. It may well be an economic necessity to produce fruit this way but, the site of plastic covered fields stretching almost unbroken from mountains to shoreline, is very ugly indeed.

Peggy at Mamola

One night at the Cabo site was more than enough so off we went, heading west along the Costa del Sol coast road to Motril, on our way calling in for lunch at the neat seaside village of Mamola with it black, volcanic sand beach. We had a sunny couple of hours there playing with Peggy on the beach and trying to persuade her into the waves – no chance……water she loves but the movement and splash of the waves has her running away. After an uneventful but peaceful night in Motril it was west again past Nerja, the very busy Malaga and to our campsite just a few kms short of posh Marbella and posher still, Puerto Banus where the rich and famous moor their private yachts and cruisers. Any space in this landscape not taken up by swanky mansions and exclusive shopping malls is a golf course – an expensive golf course.

In the bar one night I overheard a conversation between a German, a Swede and a Fin – in English, the only language they explained that they all had in common. There were quite a lot of Scandinavians on that site and all looking like aging Vikings – big with long grey hair, full beards and gruff voices…….and the men were quite similar as well – come on now, you knew that was coming. 

The beach here was beautiful and clean with soft creamy sand and, just to make it perfect, there’s a smashing bar and restaurant right on the beach. I didn’t need any encouragement to take Peggy for walkies down there and if I happened to sample the vino tinto whilst there – so what. We enjoyed a lovely lunch at that restaurant on Thursday with friends Brian and Joan who live in France but are having 5 weeks at Benalmadena, about 30 minutes up the road - great to see them both again.

It was on their recommendation that, the next day, we made the short hop along the coast to Gibraltar with it dirt cheap booze, cigs and perfume. That strong wind coming off the land had badgered us all down this coast making driving difficult at times especially when I was being swept across the duel carriageway with a 50 ton juggernaut overtaking me at 120km/hr. 

Rocky take-off

At the new marina, just over on the Spanish side, we were able to park overnight for 12 euros. In the afternoon we walked over the border with Peggy, crossing the airport runway and into the old town with its shops and restaurants. It did seem a bit weird with a British Bobby halting pedestrians and traffic at the runway’s edge whilst a Monarch holiday flight took off right in front of us, then lifting the gate when all was clear for everyone to flood across.

Not so old sea dog

Jane treated herself to some perfume at what she claimed was a rock bottom price and we got a couple of bottles of well-known brands of spirits at less than a fiver a litre to see us through the next week or two. That evening we left Peggy in charge of Dolly Bus and walked back over the border for an excellent Italian meal in the main square. For anyone else making a trip to Gib, don’t bother driving in, avoid what are sometimes three hour queues at border control, park up and walk the 20 minutes across – no bother at all.

British through and through

Gibraltar appears to be a curious mix of customs and cultures where Spain meets Britain meets North Africa. Just across the bay we could see Algeciras which is the main ferry crossing port to Tangiers less than 2 hours away. And the Spanish influence was strongest in the man square where they sold genuine English fish and chips – well you can’t get them at home anymore. The weather while we were there was a bit drizzly so we didn’t bother with the cable car to the top of the rock. And as for missing the monkeys, well, you’ve seen one monkey, you’ve seen them all. They pinch your wallets and things anyway.

From Gibraltar we headed north west, avoiding Cadiz and the Costa de la Luz, into the hills of Los Alcornocales toward Seville. The dull, rainy weather stayed with us through this part of the journey and, with the sheep grazing the hills it again reminded us of………..errrrrr……..Wales! Like Valencia the countryside around Seville is famous for its oranges and the groves lined the roads on both side as we approached the city and beyond.

.#bnkio – Peggy just stood on the keyboard and typed that last word – one smart dog hey, just needs to improve her speed and spelling and we’re on to a winner.

Taxi!

El Rocio is where we’ll spend tonight and maybe tomorrow we’ll make it into Portugal at last or stay here another day and explore the nature parkland which has all sorts of wildlife roaming free including linx – the cat one not the aftershave! This place is horsey paradise with more hoof prints in the sand than tyre marks and horse and trap being the main form of transport. 

Each year in May or June this little town, not much bigger that a village really, plays host to around one million pilgrims, some travelling from all corners of Spain in fancy decorated ox carts. The come to pay homage to the statue of the Virgen del Rocio which has supposedly been responsible for miracles since the 13^th century – maybe she’ll perform one for us and get us to Portugal before next Christmas!

And on that note….adios amigos…..more in a week or so……………………………..Paul  

Sleepy Sunday morning, downtown El Rocio

PS. It’s Saturday night and we’ve just had a walk into the town of El Rocio with all its streets of fine, dusty sand and cafes and bars with horses tied up outside. It is like something from a cowboy movie. The buildings are from a different era and as I would imagine Spain looked a century or more ago. Many buildings seemed to have a religious significance with crucifixes and tiles on their walls depicting the town’s famous virgin. I was unable to find out if it was a particular fiesta or saint’s day but it was definitely party night and, from open doorways and brightly lit windows came the sound of Spanish guitars accompanying the traditional, harsh sounding singing and hand clapping. Families and friends gathered for a good old knees-up and, naturally, nosey old me wanted to walk in and join the fun but Jane wasn’t up for it so we walked on. Interesting though and I’ll return in the morning for photos of the town.   

Splash!

Finally made it to the Med where the sun is hot – well quite warm anyway – and the sea is very cold. Not that I’ve been brave enough to test its temperature but it looks icy blue and our new travelling companion, water babe that she is, risked only about 10 seconds ankle deep then came out shivering …….sorry, just in case there’s anyone left in the UK (or the wider world come to that) who hasn’t yet been informed, Peggy (all black 8 month old cocker spaniel) is now the proud owner and manager of Jane and I. 

After eleven days on the road we’ve finally made it into Spain, but not without a problem or two along the way. We’ve had snow, strong winds, rain and shine. We’ve had days of monotonous driving along boring featureless motorways and a whole day looking for a very illusive fuse box. But let’s get back to the beginning…..

Our drive down to the south coast was uneventful except for a most welcome and extremely comfortable B&B half way thanks to ‘Cousin’ Ken and his lovely wife, Lesley. Fellow motorhomers please note – good level parking right outside their front door in Redditch and free to boot? Ken & Lesley do a quite reasonably priced B&B for 10 euros and an extra 5 euros a head will get you a slap up dinner, a glass or three of wine plus sarnies for the next day.  Cheers K&L and please book us in for the return journey in March – maybe a nice joint of lamb with mint sauce next time.

Taking the tunnel to France may be more expensive than the ferry but it’s such a doddle and you’re there in less than 40 minutes. Didn’t want to risk leaving our owner alone for 2 hours on what may have been a rocky crossing by sea. We took the motorway pretty much right out of the tunnel terminus and made it to St Valery sur Somme in the early evening. Heavy rain playing drums on the roof overnight gave us little sleep although a certain young lady snored through it all without a care in the world while her can opener and chief walker tossed and turned the night away. Despite all attempts to make her stay in her own basket she’s twisted us, as usual, around her little paws and has now found a warm, comfortable birth nestled up to Jane at night. A drive through the town in the morning showed what a pretty little place it is with yachts moored in the estuary and a tidy shopping street that is, no doubt, chocker block in the summer.

In our efforts to get as far south as possible and as quickly as possible we’ve ditched our usual ‘no motorway, no tolls’ rules and, as a one off, the extra cost isn’t too bad. But it is tiresome. Yes, the motorways in France, except close to major cities, are almost empty but certainly in the north and central regions the landscape is boring and it takes an effort to stay awake and concentrating. This motorhome is really good and has most mod cons but still can’t steer itself if (when) I doze off.

Such a huge difference to summer time when everything is lush and green but now it’s all so dull, grey and lifeless. Mile after kilometre through countryside that has been flooded every bit as much as in the UK with ploughed land looking like rows of small canals. Fields of damp and dreary stalks are now all that’s left after the crops have been harvested – reminds me of summertime in Wales. The leafless trees, skeletons of their former glory, are festooned with balls of mistletoe looking like cheap, last year’s Christmas decorations that no one could be bothered to take down. And when we reach the wine growing regions all that can be seen in the vineyards are the stumps of the vines, devoid of any foliage or fruit. Solitary men and women move slowly and carefully along the lines pruning and weeding so patiently……..I say a quiet ‘merci’ to them all in anticipation of sampling the fruits of their labour in years to come.

By Wednesday night we’d got as far as the Loire and stayed at Selles sur Cher then had an early start the next morning for more rain sodden miles down to Grammat which is close to Rocamador. At both places the water supply on the Aires had been turned off and even the taps had been removed for fear of them freezing up – daytime temperatures were mild enough but it got parky at night and we had a frost or two by morning. Wet wipes and a few drops of the remaining water sufficed for the day’s ablutions – good job there’s no one around to smell us! There was free electricity at Grammat, though I suspect it had reverse polarity resulting in some electrical faults – the toilet wouldn’t flush, the heater fan wasn’t working and the electric step wouldn’t retract when the engine was turned on as it should do.

No problem I hear you say, simply change the fuse and off you go………well, let me tell you that it took three days, five different garages and probably 30 man hours just trying to locate where the fuse box was. We all knew there must be a fuse box somewhere for the habitation part of the motorhome and each mechanic and electrician said it should be in a very obvious position, but could we find it, could we heck!!! In the end and completely by accident I spotted it tucked away in a corner above the cab and replaced the fuse myself. What was nice though was that, despite the hours these garages spent trying to identify the problem, none of them charged me and they all dropped what they were doing at the time to try and help this Brit in distress, so thank you to them all, that’s what I call customer service. And relaying the problem to non-English speaking auto engineers has certainly improved my lingo and a truer appreciation of the word ‘merde’!

All this running around the various garages took place near Perpignan where we had a couple of nights on a great Aires at Latour Bas Elne – recommended. Ten euros with good water facilities, exceptionally well maintained and 10 amps hook-up. Perpignan itself is a bustling, busy place backed by snow-capped mountains which looked quite picturesque.

Before getting to Perpignan we’d spent three nights on one of the few campsites actually open at this time of year in the village of Alet les Bains close to the city of Carcassonne. The campsite backed onto l’Aude river and was right behind a 12^th century abbey, now in ruins and an ancient church whose bells, I can assure you, were not in ruins and were in perfect and very loud working order – every hour and half hour, day and all night! Despite this it was a neat little site with good hot showers – essential in the morning when overnight temperatures dropped below zero I can tell you.

Although we didn’t actually go into the old city of Carcassonne we did see it from afar and very impressive it looks. Our purpose for staying in the area was to check out a few potential places to rent long term later this year and we saw four, one of which, in the village of Bize was really good. A very ‘French’ feel to the property with steps down to a beach on the river below, but there’s more to check out on line and maybe pay another visit to the region in May for a more detailed search.

We took a detour into the Montagne Noir to visit the ancient town of Minerve, which gives its name to the local region of Minervoir and its famous wine. Tiny villages are dotted amongst the hills surrounded by hard, flinty soil from which grows the precious nectar bearing grapes. It’s a tough looking landscape and even the stubbly, gnarled and twisted vines look like they would bit you if you got too close. Minerve itself nestles along the edge and down into a deep ravine with the river Brian at the bottom. Crawling with tourists in the holiday season it was all but deserted on our visit except for one other couple and their pooch. There were one or two touristy shops open but no cafés or bars, an interesting little place all the same. 

From Perpignan we took the trucker’s road heading west into Spain and immediately you cross the border you’re greeted by a town full of supermarkets selling booze, cigarettes and perfumes at a fraction of the prices in France. The car parks are full of French reg cars all stocking up to take the cheaper goodies back home. It’s a major transport hub with literally thousands of HGVs parked up or on the road. There’s also a fair number of young ladies, scantily clad even in close to zero temperatures, sat on plastic chairs by the side of the road, waiting to greet the lorry drivers with a friendly wave (and maybe more) how kind they are remarked Jane. Such an innocent girl! Will you explain to her or shall I?

Our planned campsite for that night had decided that it wasn’t going to bother opening which meant an extra 60 miles or so, in the growing dark, up and over a mountain range with snow starting to fall and us both wondering if we should have fitted snow chains. We ended up at a Spanish Aires in a small village called Navarcles and there’s a prize for anyone else who can find this place in the dark and with a mist falling. It was a decent stop over all the same with friendly natives in the village bar who welcomed us with looks that said “Brits are lost again I see”.

In the morning the sun was shining…. Hurray! We headed back towards Barcelona and the coast in bright, warm sunshine for the first time on this trip and we both felt a lot more cheerful. Skirting Barcelona and after a few arguments with the satnav our journey eventually continued with us making our way  through a few down trodden looking coastal towns, to Ametlla de Mar, the other side of Tarragona.

Really nice site this and within a few hundred yards of the beach. This is where Peggy had her first dip in the Mediterranean and a mad half hour dashing about on the pebbles. We’ll have at least a couple of days here to wash off the dust of our journey and give Jane chance to wash my smalls ready for our onward travels.

Peggy’s Progress – well of course, much of the focus and organisation of this trip revolves around us now having a dog on board. Yes, she’s had three trips away in the motorhome in the UK prior to us coming over here and had appeared happy enough with the life but this is a new adventure for us as well as her. It is fascination though to see her learn and develop each day, not least as she becomes more confident and inquisitive. Today for instance, she learnt how to dismantle the wine box – only after I’d emptied it of anything drinkable you understand – so I guess it’s my duty as a caring dog owner to supply her with many more empty wine boxes. Oh yes, I take Peggy’s interests very seriously.

Adios for now mi amigos and there’ll be more of Peggy Does Portugal as and when I can get internet access.

Cheers from Paul & Jane.

PS I promise there will be some, not many, but some photos that don’t feature Peggy…….maybe.