The Generation GameWednesday, October 25
Hotel Gran Bahia, Tossa de Mar After six months on the road, we’re pausing in our van odyssey for a few nights in a nice hotel at this unfortunately named but rather wonderful Costa Brava resort, full of quaint side streets, chic bars and shops and, without doubt, the best kebab takeaway in Spain. Jane and I had an extra day at the hotel to prepare for the arrival of Joseph and Georgia, who are bringing our granddaughter Grace with them for a visit, along with our great friend Marianne, from back home in Sully. We’re expecting a few days of eating, drinking, frolics and hi-jinks before they go back on Sunday via Ryanair, at which point we move on south in search of another all-year-round campsite. The hotel, we discovered, is full on the day we arrived. Full of French and English families catching some early winter/late Autumn sunshine, and there’s plenty of it as we discovered when we spent Wednesday afternoon on the hotel’s rooftop solarium. It was the calm before the storm. On Wednesday night, we had the hotel’s included buffet dinner in a quiet corner of the restaurant. By the end of the first course, it was overrun with a French coach party but we couldn’t and didn’t complain. At this end of the market, you get what you pay for and for us half-board worked out at about £87 a night. On Thursday afternoon, we headed to Girona airport to pick up our visitors and, with four in the seatbelts and Joseph and Georgia perched precariously in the rear, with their luggage spread around, we headed back to the hotel, me trying to drive as sensibly as possible along the sometimes winding corniche roads back to Tossa. It was lovely to see them all, of course, but we wanted to lavish our attention on Grace, who we hadn’t seen since we left the UK back in April. Happily, she was thrilled to see us, and thrilled with just about every aspect of the trip – the flight, the hotel pool, the room, the lot. On Friday, we took a walk into Tossa and all embarked on a hour-long trip on a glass-bottomed boat which took in the caves etched into the coast to the north of the resort. As a way of seeing thousands of fish (especially when the boat skipper threw chunks of bread into the water) it couldn’t be beat. On Saturday, while Joseph, Georgia and Marianne enjoyed a few hours in Girona, we took Grace to the beach and larked about in the surf before stopping for lunch (a kebab) then going back around the pool – Grace’s favourite place since she palled up with a little friend, Maisie. Saturday night dinner was another lovely affair and in the bar after the meal we tossed around a few quiz questions. Grace stumped us with her poser for us: what are the names of the three Minions? She had to tell us it is Stuart, Kevin and Bob. Who knew? Well, Grace did. Our final day together was spent mainly around the pool and it was the hottest day of the weekend. At around 2.30 in the afternoon, we trudged back to the van, parked on some wasteland near the hotel, and headed for the airport. There were tears in the departure lounge and on the road to Lloret, where we planned to spend Sunday night, the mood was a little flat but it was only to be expected after such a lovely reunion weekend with friends and family. Sunday, October 29 Camperstop, Lloret It wasn’t a long drive to Lloret and we found the site easily enough after the airport drop. Essentially, it’s a roped-off part of a campsite that, apart a few pitches for an overnight stop (€10 without electricity), is closed for the season. We decided to do without power and, with a few hours left until sunset, we took the short walk into Lloret for a look at this famous, if not infamous, resort. On the front, an international music festival was winding down and we caught a Russian children’s choir going through its paces in front of an attentive crowd, but it wasn’t for us. Elsewhere, Lloret felt a little like a larger, less classier Tossa. Hotels and bars were plentiful but there was nothing to draw us in and we went back to the van for a simple dinner, still feeling a little low after the emotion of the big farewell to Grace. Monday, October 30 Vilanova Park, Vilanova i la Geltrú We had high hopes for this site, having been here before in 2003 when we stayed in a pre-erected tent with Joseph and Jane’s dad, Tony, not long after her mum died. Then, it was high season and there was plenty to do. Plus, we had the car with us and were able to travel around the region and see places like Sitges, the next big town up the coast. This time, with just our bikes to hand, things were a little trickier and we felt confined to barracks for much of the three days we were there. Nevertheless, it was a great place to spend the winter, with most services still in place, like the bar, the restaurant and the supermarket. The tennis court was free and, when the rest of the site started winding down on November 1, and both outdoor pools were closed, a nice indoor one came into its own. On our second day, we took the bus into Vilanova and as it wound its way around the backstreets, along the front and finally to the bus station it was clear this busy but unlovely town wasn’t for us. So, at the station we decided to cut our losses and caught a train to Sitges which we knew from our previous visit was a lot more cosmopolitan and ‘touristy’. The bustling streets of the front and the old town were home to any number of bars and chic little boutiques and we broke the day with a beer at one before heading back on public transport. But we decided we couldn’t spin things out any longer at Vilanova, certainly not without a trip to Barcelona, which we didn’t fancy, so on Thursday we wrapped things up and decided to try our luck with a nice-looking camperstop in Peniscola. Thursday, November 2 Camping La Masia, Almadrava Best laid plans and all that... we had about 50 miles under our belt, happily heading for Peniscola, another of those lovely Spanish towns that is used as a location for Game of Thrones, when Jane mentioned that we were passing another ACSI site on the coast, about five or six miles from our current location. “Well, let’s have a look and if we like the look of it we can have a few nights there,” I said. We don’t have to be anywhere until just before Christmas so we have some time to kill and if somewhere catches our eye, why not stick around? As it turned out, La Masia is a lovely place. Open only until the end of November, it’s not a place to spend the winter but for a week or so out of season, it couldn’t be better... or quieter. Apart from another couple of vans, we are the only ones here but I can’t understand why – yes, there is a nuclear power station less than a mile up the coast but there is a wonderful, new pool complex, a new tennis court and the site leads directly onto a lovely beach where the water is warm enough and clean enough to swim in, which is what we did on Friday. Before then, we had a quick drive to L’Hospitalet del Infante, the nearest big town about five or six miles away, and stocked up with enough groceries to keep us going should we decide to stay for a week. Back at the camp, we bought a week’s Wi-Fi for €10 and settled down for the long haul. For the first couple of days, it was bliss – wonderful weather, with the pool, the court and the beach more or less to ourselves. The showers etc. are fine and just a hop away from the van and the site shop is open and stocked with just enough to satisfy our spur-of-the-moment urges, like crisps. But on Saturday, after a nice walk down the coast to the marina and urbanisation at Calafat, the predicted thunderstorm started to gather over the mountains to the west. At around 5.30pm, all hell was let loose right over us as one of the most stunning electric storms we’d ever seen lit up the sky and brought a prolonged burst of hailstones with it. Luckily, we’d battened down the hatches and packed away the chairs, table, awning and one of the ground sheets but the noise on the roof made conversation impossible. How bad must it have been for the French aid convoy of about 15 vehicles which turned up just as the storm was raging? They’d only stopped here for the night on their way down to Algeciras and then across to Senegal but they managed to get their gear up and we’re cooking a meal alfresco by the time the storm had been degraded to a howling gale. At 3.20 in the morning, the noise of the wind was keeping us awake so we did what we always do in such circumstances and made a cup of tea, dropping off again at about four. At about 7.30, we woke again just in time to see the convoy packing up and heading off. Hopefully the weather is better in sub-Saharan Africa. Taking stock after breakfast, we realised the wind is no less fierce in Peniscola, which will be our next stop, so we’ve decided to stick it out for a few days and make the most of this lovely, quiet campsite where we now really are the only ones here. Anyone fancy a game of doubles? |
Pictured, from top: the gang in Tossa during the glass-bottomed boat trip; Tossa from the heights of the castle; Grace loving the feeding frenzy; in her Spanish outfit by the hotel pool; the pool complex at La Masia; enjoying the sea, and the funky caravan park near our pitch; the nuclear power station and, below, the gateway from the campsite to the beach
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