Farewell Portugal, hola SpainTuesday, June 6
Aire, Seville Back in Spain at the start of our eighth week on the road, it felt like someone had flicked a switch and turned the heating up to Max. A drive of around 120 miles from Tavira brought us to this grand old Spanish city, with oodles of history, some magnificent architecture, wonderful bars and a huge Flamenco tradition. So why, you might ask, did we end up staying in the noisy, dirty yard of a backstreet motor mechanic and car importer in an industrial estate at the heart of dockland! That’s a very good question and one we can’t answer but after cycling into the city and exploring the fabulous, authentic Triana district (where we had two much-needed burgers) we had a predictably fitful night’s sleep and, luckily, found a much more salubrious car park near to the Plaza de Espana the following day. Despite the 40-degree heat, Seville really is a fabulous city, multi-faceted, not overpriced and possessed of so many treasures, not least the amazing ‘Mushroom’, the municipal ‘parasol’ not far from the centre of town which serves as a meeting area, picnic site, exhibition space and vantage point to give those prepared to make their way to its summit an unrivalled view over the city. On the Wednesday evening, after exploring the old town and seeing a wonderful open-air display of Flamenco dancing, we tried to retrace our steps into Triana but found a different district, just as rich and authentic, where we gorged on tapas before having a much better night’s sleep at the car park close to the Club Nautico. Thursday, June 8 Aire, Jerez Going south on General Election day, we covered the short distance (60 miles or so) to Jerez, a town synonymous with sherry. First stop was a huge retail park (La Luz) where we picked up some essential supplies at Ikea, where we also had an inexpensive lunch) and filled up with diesel (€1.01 a litre) and LPG. We stayed at an aire on the outskirts run by Antonio who greets every customer with a glass of cold sherry and, despite having virtually no English, makes himself perfectly understood with a personalised collection of shrugs, smiles, gestures and intonations. He showed us to our spot in a corner of his caravan and motorhome storage and repair business (adjacent to a Fiat van dealership), gave us a key to the gate and, crucially, introduced us to the manager of the dealership who made us an appointment for the following day to check our faulty cabin aircon. Antonio’s aire has everything we could want – fresh water, grey waste disposal, chemical toilet, hot showers and clean WCs – plus the best wifi we’ve yet encountered. The aire is about a 20-minute bike ride from the city centre, reached by lovely, smooth, straight and segregated cycle lanes and on Thursday, after dropping the van to the mechanic next door, we had a look around Jerez, having a lovely lunch in an old restaurant next to the old fish market and sampling more varieties of sherry than was good for us at a deserted bar just off the main drag. In the morning, Jerez was as bustling a place as you would expect to find on a Friday but when we went back to the main shopping street at about 4pm it was as if the emergency services had evacuated it without telling us. Such is the Spanish siesta, we concluded. Saturday, June 10 Camping Las Dunas, El Puerto de Santa Maria After two nights with Antonio, we wanted to have a look at Cadiz and so we drove south for 20 minutes or so to a campsite in the port which lies just off the city, a large complex with lovely, shaded sites perfect to allow us to hide away from the searing heat. After lunch, we cycled into the town, again along good segregated routes, and found it slumbering in its siesta. Taking a different route, along the beaches which act as a golden necklace for this little corner of Spain, we realised the entire town was crammed onto the sand, under a mushroom field of gaily coloured parasols. Barely an inch of frontline beach was free, and the sea was freckled with hundreds of swimmers braving the slightly choppy waters in the hope of cooling off a little. Sunday saw us abandoning our plans to take the short ferry ride to Cadiz, planning instead to return the van to Jerez for its much-needed repairs (delayed from Friday) and then cycling into Jerez again and catching the train to Cadiz. With nothing much to do, we chilled out around the van – Jane sewing and me blogging. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it! Monday, June 12 Aire, Jerez We’d planned to make an early start on the Monday morning to enable us to reach the van centre for repairs by 10am and then head off to Cadiz for the day. In the end, waylaid by another couple of campers who wanted to share life stories, we didn’t leave Santa Maria until just before 10 and didn’t get to the garage until 10.30. Another 45 minutes was spent explaining to the mechanic who we were and what was wrong with the van. This done, we cycled into Jerez, found the railway station, bought two return tickets to Cadiz (€16) and by 1.10pm we were walking into the city centre. It was an impressive place. The huge cruise liners are parked almost in the heart of the city and, thanks to the coloured route marks in the pavements, it’s easy to get around and follow the tourist maps. With a return train scheduled for 3.40pm, we didn’t have long in Cadiz (and spent an hour in a lovely craft beer bar) but we saw enough to convince us to return one day. Back in Jerez, we picked up the van, coughed up €200 for the repairs (very reasonable, actually) and drove the short distance back to Antonio’s next door (in a wonderfully air conditioned cab) for the night. After showers, we trotted off next door to the roadside bar and sampled the local delicacy, a jar of caracoles (sea snails), which everyone, but everyone, wolfs down, sucking the hapless little molluscs out of their shells and depositing the empties on the plate. This region must get through millions of these every month. Manfully, I fought my way through just over half the jar before pushing them away and washing the slightly queasy feeling away with a few gulps of Cruzcampo. Back at Antonio’s, we discovered we’d left the key to the compound in the van. A ring at the gate brought no response so it was left to me to climb over the fence and let us in.
|
Martin with our good friends Jonathan and Carolyn Pluck outside their holiday villa near Lagos
|