Calp’s famous Ifach rock, as seen from the hills above the town
The long voyage home...
... Thanks to our lovely HoolaTV contract (£5 a month for all the U.K. channels, as long as you’ve got decent wifi), we settled down for the England-Wales game. As usual, Wales won handsomely, the glory of their victory only tarnished by the fact their opponents managed to score more points than them.
To recover from the excitement, on Sunday we had a lovely stroll along the town, taking in the promenade and ending up at the community centre where we’d heard there was a fiesta planned for the early evening. We strolled in just before 4pm, as most people inside were finishing their meals. Happily, the waiter we’d met a few days earlier managed to find us a table and quickly took our order. About 15 minutes later, we’d been served a mixed salad and pig cheeks, and paella and hake, along with the litre of red wine... perfect. Then, as the plates were cleared away, a Spanish singer set up his gear and within 10 minutes the pensioners in the room – most in fancy dress, including two spectacular Minions – were dancing to his expertly sung Spanish folk songs. If you thought it couldn’t get any more bizarre, wait until we get to Santo Domingo! Monday, February 12 Camping Altamira, Navajas With a heavy heart, we had to leave the coast behind and head for Santander for the ferry on the 24th. With hindsight, we should have clung to the warmth of the coast for as long as possible, maybe three days before boarding. Instead, we decided on a slow, leisurely route through the Spanish hinterland, arriving first at Navajas, about 70 miles west of Calp. Remote, tiered and wooded, the campsite here overlooks an interesting old town, full of wonderful turn-of-the-century villas, built by the rich merchants of Valencia who would come here to spend the summer where it was cooler and where they could enjoy the thermal waters of the town. Today, however, the town has nothing of the grandeur of its fin-de-siecle heyday. It remains a magnet for hard-core hikers and mountain bikers but it wasn’t for us. We might have stayed another night but, after chatting to a nice couple who were heading to Valencia for a week or so, then catching the same ferry as us, we discovered we’d run out of gas. Not the thing to do when our heating is not working on electric! So, we moved on in search of gas, and more interesting surroundings. Tuesday, February 14 Wild camping, Teruel A look in our All the Aires book identified this busy, if remote, little city as a place we could find Autogas and, after another 50-60-mile trek through the wilderness of the high Spanish plain, so it proved. After filling up, we drove through the town, across a very deep gorge, and stocked up with provisions at a little city centre Aldi before retracing our steps to the free aire on the edge of what seemed to be a high-rise urbanisation, next to a Mercadona and the Guardia Civil HQ. After settling down, we walked back into Teruel to find it in siesta mode. Nevertheless, we did find the cathedral and the adjacent museum open and learnt that the city had been fought over bitterly during the Civil War. The bishop and his deputy were shot (and subsequently martyred) for standing up to Franco’s thugs. A check on Wikipedia also revealed that the city has something of an inferiority complex, despite being the regional capital, and a few years ago launched the ‘Teruel Existe’ campaign to remind the rest of Spain that it, er, exists. This had the effect of forcing the federal government to build new roads giving the town better connections to the surrounding region. Nevertheless, it remains the only Spanish city without a direct rail link to Madrid. Every February, the city has a very theatrical celebration of its two most famous inhabitants, a wealthy woman and the poor knight who loved her. To prove his worth and raise the fortune he needed to marry her, he set off to fight in the Crusades but was killed. Despite the fact event this was in a couple of days and looked like it was going to be a hell of a party, we resolved to move on. Wednesday, February 15 Wild camping, Cascante Another 200 miles, one of our longest drives in Spain, brought us to a free aire in Cascante, next to a very well-equipped municipal sports complex. Here, we pitched up and took a stroll into the nearby town, notable for its impressive Baroque church and elaborate covered arcade, built to give the clergy shelter on their walk into the town. If they were looking for interesting shops, bars and restaurants, their hard work was sadly all in vain as the town, certainly in this day and age, is very sleepy. Only a large breakers yard on the outskirts, and a few Rioja bodegas, make it worth coming here. We did fancy a swim at the lovely-looking indoor municipal pool but balked at paying €17 for the privilege! Thursday, February 16 Camping Bañares, Santo Domingo de la Calzade It was just another 70 miles or so to this ACSI site, adjacent to the main A12 and about 3km from the pilgrim stopover of Santo Domingo. As sites go, this seemed fine but had very few touring pitches – what’s more, we were the only visitors in the two days we were there. After a quiet night, we took the long walk into the town and found it to be easily the liveliest place we’d visited since Calp – a bustling haven for the thousands of pilgrims who must pass this way on route to Santiago de Compostela, about 550kms to the west. To cater to them, there are scores of interesting bars, restaurants and shops, especially in the antique precincts of the impressive cathedral. Drawn in, we found the cathedral to be your usual Baroque treat, with one important and delightful difference – the chicken run! In the Middle Ages, so the story goes, a young man and his family visited the town during their pilgrimage to Santiago. Here, the young man attracted the attention of a young woman but her love went unrequited. Slighted, she planted her purse on him and claimed he had stolen it. For this offence, he was hanged! Despite this setback, the man’s family continued their journey to Santiago. On their return journey, they came back via Santo Domingo to find the man still hanging... but alive! He asked his parents to fetch the mayor so he could be cut down but when they told the mayor he scoffed and said the young man was alive as the chicken he and his family were about to eat. At this point, the chicken sprouted feathers and leapt off the table! And that is why, to this day, a live rooster and hens are kept behind a glass screen close to the altar in Santo Domingo’s cathedral. If you’ve ever wondered where the writers of Father Ted got their inspiration for the strange ways of the Catholic Church, here it is in all its glory. Saturday, February 17 Camping Fuentes Blanca, Burgos Inadvertently, we seem to be following the traditional pilgrims’ route to Santiago. A consequence of this is that the roads are very good, there are lots of hostels on route and we pass a lot of people hiking through the impressive, but still very bleak scenery. On Saturday, after a couple of nights in chicken town, we had another short hop (about 50 miles) to the lovely city of Burgos, renowned for its magnificent cathedral. After settling in at the campsite, we took the 3km walk along the river and into the heart of the city. Well preserved and full of lovely eateries, Burgos seems like a great town and we enjoyed walking around the cathedral, stopping for some nice pastries at a small cafe. Our route back took us closer still to the river and through an established country park used by runners and cyclists all enjoying some fine later afternoon winter sunshine. Back at the site, we resolved to have some tapas at the very busy camp bar which seems to be very popular with local people and walkers. As nice as the site was, it still seemed expensive (€19) for what is essentially a stopover site. But Burgos had plenty to offer so on Monday morning we skedaddled to a popular free aire just on the edge of the town. This allowed us to enjoy some cut-price sightseeing on the Monday and, though the tapas bar we had been recommended was shut there were plenty of other chic little establishments to enjoy. Tuesday, February 20 Aire, Aguilar de Campoo On Tuesday morning, waking up at the aire, there appeared to be a lot of commotion going on around us and it became clear a fair was moving in and preparing to set up on a corner of the car park where we – and about nine or 10 others – were camped. We mulled over our options and decided that we knew when we weren’t wanted. So, we took the short hop on the route to Santander and found a very good free aire at the edge of the pretty town of Aguilar de Campoo. Free water and waste facilities, plus a level pitch close to amenities… what’s not to love. The only downside was the fact we were effectively parked next to a school and twice a day we felt we were making life difficult for all the parents dropping off and collecting their kids. Even so, at all other times it was quiet and so we were happy to tread water here for a couple of days. On Wednesday, another English couple, Fred and Cath, parked alongside and it was interesting to hear their stories of touring. They too had been impressed with the landscape around Benidorm. So impressed, in fact, that they’d bought a little static mobile home to use as a winter bolt hole. In the summer, they said, they were taking up the offer of managing a campsite in St David’s, in west Wales. Hmm, we thought, when our full-time touring days are over that sounds like just the sort of thing we could do, even for a couple as impractical as us. If all they want is a pair of meet-and-greeters who can clean toilets, we fit the bill perfectly. We bade them farewell on their way to Santander (they were catching an earlier ferry) and went back into the town for a good explore. Quaint, cobbled streets here are watched over by an imposing castle while, a short hop out of town, one of Europe’s biggest biscuit factories employs what seems like the whole region. Every February they celebrate the Festival of the Cookie (a rough translation) in Aguilar but, sadly, we’d just missed it. To compensate, we had a lovely meal in a restaurant recommended by a local shopkeeper and found its menu del dia (€11) didn’t disappoint. Thursday, February 22 Aire, Cabarceno It seemed like we’d been aiming for this aire since we’d heard about it from someone me meet at Isla Plana. “You have to go there,” he said. “It’s a free site that overlooks a safari park… you get a free view of the elephants!” Well, with a recommendation like that, we couldn’t resist and, after a short, windy drive from Aguilar, we made it. The village itself, out of season, is quiet but charming, like an alpine hamlet in autumn. There was some snow on the surrounding hills and a real nip in the air but, nevertheless, the park was open for business and, once we’d had a night to familiarise ourselves with the surroundings, we gave in to temptation and coughed up the €44 to go in. From the aire, it was true that we could see the huge enclosure in which a family of African elephants was quietly going about their business, munching on the grass and idling in the muddy water hole. A public footpath allows you to walk around part of this enclosure and get perhaps 10 yards from these magnificent animals but we got a better view from the impressive cable car network that takes visitors up and over many other enclosures. The park is Europe’s largest and is set in 1,900 acres of what was once an open-cast iron ore mine. Now reclaimed and owned by the Cantabrian government, it’s billed as neither a zoo nor a safari park but more of a research centre and sanctuary that is part-funded by paying visitors. After two trips on the cable car, we took to the van and drove through the park, stopping periodically at the viewing oints along the way which gave us views of such animals as tigers, lions, bears, rhinos and cheetahs in as close to wild settings as it’s possible to get… without letting the poor things roam free, of course. Saturday, February 23 Ferry port, Santander So, after 322 days, 6,807 miles, three countries, 82 different camping locations and – so it says in my wife’s daily ledger – 47 balls of wool, the first part of our European adventure is over. Funny, after such a momentous journey, I thought I would feel more... different. I’ve put on a little bit of weight, picked up a bruise or two and acquired a taste for Spanish double malt beer. But my tan is fading and, as if to overcompensate for the fact friends and family might not realise I’ve been missing from their lives for 10 months, I’ve done what all explorers tend to do and grown a beard! To be fair, this dreadfully threadbare affectation only came about in the past couple of weeks, as the end approached, the washing started piling up and we both let our normally impeccable hygiene standards slip a little. With the rain always a threat in northern Spain and temperatures hovering around the freezing mark, the chance of getting any laundry dry was as low as the thermometer so we made what clothing we had last just that bit longer. Somehow, when you’ve been wearing the same t-shirt for a week there doesn’t seem much point in dragging a blunt razor over your chin. Here on the boat out in the Bay of Biscay, we don’t have much to keep us amused, but we do have a lot of time on our hands. So, we’ve been reflecting on our Year of Living Dangerously. Actually, it’s been more like our Year of Living a Little Less Comfortably Than Normal. We set out with the frontier spirit, forever seeking the next horizon and, while we were in Portugal at the start, camping by the roadsides overlooking amazing, deserted beaches, it was easy to think we were the last people on Earth, starring in some post-apocalyptic romantic drama, like Mad Max Meets Shirley Valentine. But as the rugged wilderness of Portugal morphed into the overdeveloped sprawl of the Costa del Sol, and we found ourselves living either in our friend’s plush apartment or a succession of well-appointed campsites, any sense of adventure we had was gradually – no, pretty much instantaneously – transformed into an irresistible urge to take it easy and sit in the sunshine. Months of slow-paced fun followed; what had been short, one- or two-night stops in fascinating, culturally significant places became longer lay-ups of two, three, even four weeks in somewhere that resembled something suspiciously like a Benidorm hotel, where the pool, the bar and the beauty salon were all within stumbling distance. In the depths of January, as Britain shivered in an unusually bad cold snap, it was hard to think we hadn’t made the right choice, especially as we played tennis in bright sunshine in the morning, and strolled hand-in-hand along a pristine beach in the afternoon. Annoyingly, a sense of guilt tended to creep over me at moments like this. “Listen, mate,” my conscience would say, “you’re meant to be having a life-changing experience, not just a bloomin’ long holiday. Get off your backside and go and explore the local Roman ruins!” I have to say, he had a point. When we make land, hug our family, MoT the van and recharge our batteries, we’ll look back on the past 10 months as a vital period of acclimatisation, a transition phase that turned us from the drones in Sector D to free-thinking liberal beatniks, devoted to spiritual enlightenment and cultural enrichment. Then we’re off again, through the Low Countries, Germany, Austria and Italy, consciously avoiding the beaches and the bars in favour of the museums, the opera houses and the grandeur of the Black Forest, the Alps and Lake Como. When we come back next time, we really will be different people. And with this beard, I’ve already got a head start! Burgos in all its glory
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Top, Ifach up close, captured during a lovely walk around the headland in Calp. Above, some images of Calpe, clockwise from top left, fun in the bar with Iron Man and Manfred from Germany; the lovely coastline; Benidorm, on the way to Calp; one of the Ifach residents; the menu at the community centre; the salt lake on the edge of the Boreal camperstop
Top, the arcade at Cascante. Above, some views of Teruel
Above, one of the fin-de-siecle villas at Navajas. Below, some of the sights inside and outside the cathedral at Santo Domingo, including the bizarre chicken run
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