Back among the Germans... and a new tennis freund
Tuesday, October 2
Camping Torre La Sal 2, Cabanes, Costa Azohia The following day, having dodged the bingo and after-bingo jam session in the bar (at which, a week earlier, I’d foolishly agreed to sit in on washboard), we decided after much debate to move south to another of our favourite camps from last year, the much-storied ‘German’ site, so called because, er, it’s full of Germans. As it was just 20 or 30 miles down the road, we arrived in mid-morning, in good time to have a close look at all the available places such as they were, this being a very popular place for overwintering Bavarians. Last year, we had a tight but light pitch on the beach side. This year, though, none was available so we squeezed ourselves into a narrow spot on the other side of the road, quite close to the swimming pool, the tennis court and the bar-restaurant, knowing a beach-side space was becoming available on Saturday. With the weather still lovely, we managed an hour or so by the pool and reacquainted ourselves with the Cabanes bar. On Wednesday, we inaugurated our new keep-fit regime, getting up early in the morning for my run (jog-walk-jog-gasp-walk-jog) and Jane for her brisk walk along the beach. Other highlights: a menu del dia at the neighbouring Didota campsite where, for €9.90 each, we had a very acceptable three-course lunch plus drinks, and in the evening just about managed to persuade the bar manager to turn the TV over to the Barcelona-Spurs game. After a routine first half, we went back to the van... only to find in the morning that Messi and crew had given the north Londoners a football lesson after the interval. On Thursday, we were back in the main bar for its ‘Oktoberfest’, a half-hearted attempt at a German beer festival. In effect, it meant hauling out the meagre stocks of bottled lagers and rolling out the usual Thursday night turn, ‘Emperor’ Bosko, as Jane has dubbed him, to deliver his dodgy cover versions of country favourites (Achy-Breaky Heart) and German folk tunes on his old Bontempi. We managed to move to our second pitch a day early when a walk around the site in the morning revealed it to be vacant so Friday morning was spent packing up, moving and making ourselves at home in a bigger but, it has to be said, darker spot over by the beach. Further away from our daily tennis game, we were nevertheless happy to be right on the beach, just less than 100 yards from a wonderfully warm sea and super, clean beach. We were also a little bit closer to Didota where, every Friday, there’s live music. This week, we endured ‘Belle de’L’, a strident female singer with a jazzy guitarist accompanying her. She’d obviously brought her own crowd along who were cheering her caterwauling to the echo. They loved her Mercedes-Benz, the Janis Joplin throwaway, and loved her Me and Bobby McGhee even more, especially when she produced a kazoo – a kazoo! – and slung in not one but two tuneless solos. The beauty of this site is its completeness. With three pools, two bar-restaurants, a tennis court, two padel courts, five immaculate shower blocks, a disco and, of course, the proximity of the beach, it doesn’t want for much. About a mile away, there’s a very good Mercadona supermarket and, across the road from that, a huge Chinese bazaar. And if you can’t be bothered to cycle there, the campsite has a pretty good shop itself. The nearest Lidl, though, is a 40-minute ride away and on Wednesday my muesli stocks were running dangerously low. As a result, I had a ride through Marina d’Or, Oropesa and on to the reclaimed railway line that’s now the Via Verde to visit Benicassim, the stylish town some way south. It was a gruelling uphill ride all the way there, against the wind, but the way back, with panniers full of shopping, including four big bags of muesli, was a freewheeling breeze. Friday meant another night at Didota for the live music session, this time with ‘Two for Blues’, a passable country and blues duo which featured one guy on acoustic guitar and another would-be Jimi Hendrix on electric. They wouldn’t have been too bad if the axeman hadn’t insisted on noodling his pseudo-James Burton country licks on every song, whether they were appropriate or not. He also seemed to be playing them in whatever key he fancied. At Marina d’Or, the bizarre high-rise beach community about a mile or so south of the campsite, this is a very quiet time of year. The row upon row of apartment blocks are 90% empty during the week and in the late autumn/winter months things only pick up at the weekend. On Saturdays (we can tell, because the noise from the development reaches the campsite) things get a little livelier as the Spanish drive in to their holiday apartments and swell the numbers a little. So, on the Saturday before my birthday (16th) we had a walk in at night to see what all the fuss was about. Disappointingly, despite lots of people wandering around en famille, and all the shops, bars and restaurants open on the brightly illuminated strip (like the Golden Mile at Blackpool, without the hookers or the rock), the place was still soulless and depressing. We probably spent an hour and a half wandering around but couldn’t find anywhere that looked like we wanted to spend money or time having a drink. So, we walked back to the campsite and had a drink in the main bar. No music, no telly, no problem. We celebrated my 57th birthday on Tuesday with a lovely menu del dia at the main campsite bar. For €12 each we had the usual three courses plus a nice tuna side salad and a great bottle of red wine. Not the cheapest MDD we’d ever had but probably the best and certainly the best value. We followed that up the following day with a fantastic pork knuckle meal (€10 each) at the beachside Cabanas restaurant, their last special night before they closed on the Sunday for a long refurbishment, reopening in the New Year under new management. Run as a franchise by a lovely Spanish couple, the restaurant is a great boon to the site and we couldn’t help thinking that when new people come in in January it will struggle to have half the charm it had. Rumours about the couple being squeezed out by the campsite appear to be unfounded. As the week drew on, the clouds started to gather and it was clear from forecasts that the weather was going to worsen. By Thursday, we’d pulled the awning of the van in and put away all the chairs and tables, in expectation of the promised deluge. Sure enough, it came that night and we endured a washout with torrential rain making conversation and telly impossible inside the van. It continued through the weekend and it was only on Sunday that we felt able to emerge and put the awning out again, even spending the afternoon by the lovely pool at the top end of the site, now reopen after being closed by the storms. On Sunday, I even managed to get a game of tennis in with my new German friend, Claus, who had put an appeal out via the reception for opponents. We had a great game (three good sets) and we’ve resolved to play every day, weather permitting... as long as my regular tennis partner agrees, of course. Calamity! Just when I think we’re getting into a lovely routine, Claus and I find our tennis sessions interrupted by a nasty injury on Wednesday. We were having one of usual ding-dong matches when I thought I had him on the run: first a forehand to the deuce court which he returned, then a backhand to the opposite corner which he reached, then a mis-hit dropshot which had him scampering to reach. He just made it, then skidded on the slippery line painted on the concrete surface and he crashed sickeningly into the steel mesh at the side of the court. When I helped him up I could see he’d got a nasty gash just about his right eye which was pouring with blood. He’d also taken half the skin off his lower right leg and almost dislocated one of his thumbs. Did I mention he’s 67? He staunched the blood with a flannel he had in his sports bag but decided it would be better to call it a day. I went to see him later and he was a little subdued, understandably, and was covered in plasters and aloe vera gel. He reckons he’ll be fit again by Monday. On Thursday, we had planned to take the train to Castellon but as the weather was starting to take a turn for the worst we decided to stick around the van and attend to an urgent matter. Over the course of the past couple of months we’ve been applying for jobs as campsite wardens for the 2019 summer season in the U.K. A lot are being advertised at the moment so that sites can secure their teams for next year, in time for the usual opening in March/April. We had a few positive responses but had set our hearts on Three Cliffs Bay Holiday Park, a very impressive five-star site in the Gower, about an hour from our home in South Wales. We’d had an email from the manager inviting us to have a FaceTime interview in ‘mid-October’ but as mid-October came and went we started to feel a little nervous. So, on Thursday morning we called them and arranged the interview for 10.30 the following morning. The next day, we conjured up a good WiFi signal and sat nervously in the van, like two green work-ex’ kids hoping to get a Saturday job at Boots. Tom, the young manager of the site, interviewed us and we thought it went well, even though the signal failed halfway through and we had to complete the chat on the phone. Later, he sent us an email saying he felt good about the conversation and promised to call us on Saturday morning. After another nervous night, with us on edge and trying not to get too excited or optimistic, Tom rang with the great news that we’d got the job! We start on March 11 with a week of preparation, training and team building before the season proper starts a week later. We will have a free pitch with electricity on a plum site in one of the most beautiful parts of the U.K., overlooking a beach that’s regularly voted one of the best in Europe, if not the world. We’ll be working 35-40 hours a week each, doing all the jobs that keep a campsite ticking along but it sounds like a great challenge. Best of all, we have the next phase of our lives planned and can relax a little knowing that we have something wonderful to look forward to when we return next year, hopefully on the Brittany Ferry crossing from Santander to Portsmouth on Sunday, March 3. After our news, we both felt relieved and thrilled. We celebrated with another excellent menu del dia at the campsite bar. Jane’s Pina colada never tasted so sweet! Pictured, from top, the futuristic sculpture at the roundabout near Marina d’Or dominates the landscape; Jane gets the halo she deserves during one of Torre La Sal’s spectacular sunrises; the amigurumi frog that made for a very special birthday present; one of the pork knuckles served up by the Cabanes restaurant on the campsite; Marina d’Or lit up on a late Saturday night in the season; me and Claus after he’d been in the wars; an aerial shot of our new workplace, Three Cliffs Bay Holiday Park near Swansea
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