Feliz Navidad and all that

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain", not in our experience . . .

The weather seemed to rain on us around the coast line – throwing the odd sunny day then reverting to its wet side. We sat out a few days in a campsite about a 1km from the coast, ducking out for a walk when the drizzle abated then after the sun looked as if it was going to stay we packed up and headed for a spot we had noticed during a walk along the beachfront of Torrox Costa.

Wild camp, Torrox Costa

Services – 3/10, views 10/10, convenience 9/10. The weather was warm and sunny, the waves providing a white noise background, snow capped mountains making a backdrop behind us (with apartment blocks in between) and a pretty lighthouse to the right of us. The other trucks were all German but you can’t have everything.

Dancers at breadcrumb festival

When we were at our previous site in the campground we walked cross country through large avocado orchards to go to a festival. The festival was for the locals and called Fiesta Migas – breadcrumb festival.( Note for Tim – Stuart thought it was BYOB)

Migas is a traditional peasant food of breadcrumbs stirred in warm olive oil with a bit of something on the side. When I checked in Wiki it looked a lot more appetising and nothing like the migas I have been served here, the festival food certainly didn’t tempt me to give it another go. We watched Flameco dancing, men playing Spanish guitars, people dancing in the square.

Original houses in Balerma

 Our Christmas base is in Balerma in a coastal campground. It is a well appointed new site so hasn’t attracted large groups and is totally sunny as the shade is provided by removable shade cloths. It is close to a village that was targeted by developers; the economy and market took a downturn and the village has lots of half completed apartment blocks which gives it a strange unloved feeling. Such a contrast to Auckland where there is a shortage of housing, in these parts there is a surplus of apartments. A few of the original houses are left which would look at home in a cowboy movie – actually the remnants of a spaghetti western movie-set is nearby, recycled into a tourist attraction, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly was shot here

Original houses in Balerma

The other big point of difference in this area is the enormous number of ‘plastic houses’ used to grow produce for the supermarkets in Europe. These huge dull-green coloured constructions sit wherever a flat piece of land has been created. At one stage we were travelling with snow capped mountains on one side and the Mediterranean on the other but a sea of plastic houses filled the large gap between highway and water. They seemed to be seamless except for the odd access road. I peeked into a couple of these places near the campground and saw cucumber/aubergine/capsicum plants growing vertically. I could have plucked a huge red capsicum if we weren’t filled to the gunwales with capsicum already.

So cute, a little ice cream served with the coffee

A more adventurous motor home than ours

Part of lighthouse near wild camp at Torrox Costa

Torrox Costa

So here’s wishing you all a jolly good holiday – by the time you read this you will all be back at work wasting company time reading blogs, not that I would know any of that of course.

Feliz ano nuevo

The noise, the gorge, the palace

For 9000 miles we traveled with “the noise”. It emanated from the large skylight above the cab area. The first time it happened I nearly jumped out of my skin, it was a huge hornet-scream above our heads and gave no warning prior to its start. It roared and whined at about 100 km/hr. “Make it stop it Jane, twiddle the latches, wind the handle out”. I became the conductor in an orchestra, jumping up and down, releasing the pressure on the latches, tightening or loosening the handle to stop the racket as our speed naturally altered on the road.

Stuart bought sticky foam in different widths and strengths to wedge between skylight and roof, ripping it off when frustration set in. We felt we were managing things however, with me “playing the levers” but the noise never ceased to frighten me with its sudden onset. It also played a little game of ‘brrrrriippp’ as we jolted over joins in the tarmac.

Then one day last week Stuart stood on the drivers seat and pulled out a thin strip of cellophane that was between the skylight and roof. “Whats that” I said, “nothing much” sez he and stuffed it in the rubbish. That was it – the reed in the flute of the truck, causing all that irritation. We have enjoyed silence (apart from the rattling of the cups etc) ever since.

A place in the sun - National Park wild camping spot

The Caminito del Rey was a ‘to do’ before we left New Zealand. Her in the satnav had spurned the normal scenic route and found us an alternative one that delivered us to the exit. After asking a couple of people about access to the walk, we found out it was Monday - “Monday is closed, you need to turn up early tomorrow at the start of the walk”.

We found an excellent spot overlooking the man-made lake in the national park and sat in the sun reading books. Our new deck chairs were courtesy of our previous Kiwi camp-mates, Keith and Brone in Marbella. Stuart fixed up their chairs to see us through until we leave.
Lack of information and language made organising the walk rather confusing, but we got there in the end. To buy tickets we walked 2.7km to the office to buy them, not a hardship as it was a nice walk in the pines and we were allowed to join a group already waiting.

Note the original path below the new one

The walkway was initially built in 1905 and used by King Alfonso XIII in 1921 as a means to inspect the progress of works on the hydro scheme – the name means path of the king. It had a reputation as being the worlds most dangerous walk due to the number of deaths and was closed in 2000, re- opening last year.The Caminito del Rey is now probably the worlds safest walk, also incredibly popular, tickets are usually only available on-line. We were kitted out with hard hats and had a safety talk before leaving. The new path was about 1 metre above the old path which looked horrendous. It hugged the cliff face and the drop down to the water was vertiginous. Garganta del Chorro is a massive natural fissure, 4km long, up to 400m deep and as little as 10m wide. It is above this fissure that the walkway is mounted. The narrowest part of the gorge used to be known as the ‘spurt’ as the volume of water came through the narrow passage with tremendous force spurting into the air and terrifying villagers. It is probably tamed now as the nearby hydro dam regulates flow.

A long way down

 After the pleasant but not frightening trip, a bus transported us back to the start.

The fissure - Garganta del Chorro

 

Photo credit: Stuart

Photo credit: Stuart

Photo credit: Stuart

Photo credit: Stuart

Photo credit: Stuart

Granada is about 100km inland from the southern coast of Spain, situated under the impressive snow capped Sierra Nevadas. It was the last stronghold of the Muslims against the Catholic church and the legacy is the Alhambra palace which was our main reason for visiting. It is a city with a gritty side as well as having elegant white high-walled houses, souvenir and high-end shops and an inner maze of small shops not unlike that in the grand bazaar in Istanbul – and indeed selling similar items. It was also extremely cold as it is quite high in altitude and receives cold air from the mountains. It is reputed to have the best churros and chocolate in Spain. The churros of course cooked fresh, and the chocolate I had to share with Stuart who says he prefers coffee but helps himself to my order.

Granada

Alhambra is part fort, part palace, and a world heritage site – all set in beautifully manicured and geometrically sculpted gardens. It was built by a Moorish Emir and converted into a palace by the Sultan of Granada but taken over by Christian King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in the 1500s. It is truly Islamic in architecture and one of Spain’s major tourist attractions. The detail inside the palace was amazing, in everything you looked at, but somehow harmonious and restrained, unlike some major cathedrals and palaces I have visited. 

Part of Alhambra

Suffice to say I went away well satisfied with the experience, there was water flowing everywhere with understated fountains that would provide a cool atmosphere in summer, however I was quite cold and regretted my wardrobe choice. Four layers were not enough, should have taken the down jacket. More churros and chocolate ordered, sitting next to one of those outdoor heaters warmed me up sufficiently for the trip back to the campsite on the bus. Chausson chucked out some good heat quickly that had us peel off a few layers and we rattled up a dinner of sausages and mash.

Looking at Granada from the Alhambra

Adios amigos, we are back off to the coast to seek some sunshine, we will be among British, German and Dutch motorhomers who flock to the Spanish Coast to escape the European winter. Hopefully we will find somewhere suitable to enjoy Christmas, which isn’t quite the same this year.

Photo credit: Stuart

Help help me Ronda, The Rock

Impressionism - rainy day in Ronda

Heavy rain, drizzly rain accompanied us when we arrived at Ronda, a ‘white town’. Fortune smiled on us though as we noticed the parking lot at the railway station had the barrier raised, and 5 motorhomes were ‘in’. We slotted in to a spot chosen to minimise the risk of entrapment by Spanish parkers and dodged puddles as we walked into the centre of town. The rain doubled its efforts and an umbrella purchased; we dripped quietly in a cafe that advertised fresh churros and thick chocolate. The buzzy cheerful waitress ignored the puddle growing around us and set down our order. It was SO GOOD - all the other churros I have had are just stale imitations.

Tajo gorge in Ronda

We waited out the rain back in the truck and set off again into Ronda when the sun peeped through, we were not leaving with business half-done. Ronda was a big surprise for me, we had been told to visit but I didn't know why. The 'why' is the spectacular placement of this white town on the sheer cliffs of the Tajo gorge. The town has been made famous by people such as Hemingway and Orson Welles. The dizzying gorge is spanned by a towering bridge, the gorge so deep you can't see the river without climbing down steps to view it from a distance. This bridge (Puente Nuevo), separates the old and new towns. We walked through an Arab fortress, descending flight after flight of steps running with floodwater down to the river and also visited the adjacent hanging gardens. Both rather disappointing compared with the spectacular setting of the town.

The visit concluded, we decided we didn't need to spend the night in the railway carpark and although the light was diminishing we set off to an aire in another white town. The journey was on a steep ridge, fog coming up from the valley obscured the scenery, and in some places, the road.

The sun came out - looking out from the cliff in Ronda

It was quite dark when we turned onto a minor road and headed downwards into the valley. I had fingers crossed that the aire didn't involve plowing through some squishy village and it worked because the aire was neatly set on the upward side of the village. Five spaces each with their own services. Over-engineering had come into play here, we have experienced one black/grey/fresh water connection to service 100 vehicles. This one had 5 of each!

Hoods up on our jackets, we had a look-see around the village, a coffee in the bar and then off to Gibraltar with a via point of Lidls to replenish supplies. It bucketed down as Stuart returned the trolley, joining it to its fellow trolleys to get our Euro coin back.

We turned onto the highway and followed the coast in the rain, when around a corner suddenly a huge chunk of rock standing sentinel looking out to sea dominated the vista. We settled into a spot on the marina, tomorrow would be a better day to explore 'The Rock'.

100 metres above the Tajo  gorge in Ronda,
an Egyptian Cleopatra poses for the ultimate photo

We walked from the marina, through customs and immigration and across the airport runway to get to British controlled Gibraltar. Yes, both the road and footpath bisect the runway at Gibraltar. Once in the town proper it was like stepping into an English high street. Debenhams, Marks and Spencer, Next, Mango - all were there together with advertisements for fish and chips with mushy peas. The surprising thing for me was eavesdropping on locals' conversations. They would start in Spanish, drop a whole sentence in English in, then revert to Spanish. The accents were British and the currency sterling, things were a bit pricey and ever so slightly scruffy.

A cable car whisked us up to the top of ‘The Rock’, a strategic military position overlooking the entrance to the Mediterranean from the Atlantic. It is a prized piece of real estate that has been fought over many times. We walked through tunnels that have been developed over centuries, the last extension was made during WWII. The day we visited there was water running everywhere, fallout from all the rain that had bombarded the area recently.

Sitting on top of the world

 I was a bit apprehensive about meeting the Barbary macaques that live at Gib, my encounters in India and Nepal with monkeys have not been good. There they were, greeting visitors as they emerged from the cable car or taxi-vans. One grabbed at a woman’s handbag – she had something interesting inside, I kept my bag zipped and eyes open. They were pretty cool really and after a while I could walk quite close to them and not feel threatened. The babies were especially cute and subjected to a lot of grooming by the adults. The macaques (tailless monkey) are provided with good quality food and there are notices about not feeding them – something disregarded by the taxi drivers. Legend says that when the macaques disappear from Gib so will the British, they looked as if their feet were well under the table so to speak.

We had a quick look-see in St Michaels Cave, a huge natural grotto within The Rock full of stalagmites and stalactites, lit with lurid pulsating lights and music and once again running with water. 

Top of the Rock

Our feet were tired by the time we arrived at the heaving Morrison’s supermarket, part of an English chain. Such a treat to peruse the shelves filled with things I haven’t been able to buy in Europe. As we were still some distance from ‘home’ and only could choose what we could carry, we were somewhat limited. I choose some precooked lamb shanks in red wine and Stuart chose a box of hot roast potatoes. It was a feast that night.

Street in Gibraltar

This post is being written from a campsite between Marbella and Malaga on the Mediterranean coast. 

Marbella is one of the more swanky places on the Costa del Sol (sunshine coast). A highly developed (think concrete tower blocks) area which has offered cheap holiday destinations to Europeans since the 70s. There is a large Brit population here and lots of notices are in English.

It is a short walk to the beach which has stretches of sand dunes and boardwalks, a little like NZ.  The camp is a lot different to the other places we have been staying, the majority of the guests have GB on their number plates and it looks as if they stay for a long time and are regular visitors. They are into the Christmas thing and pitches are decorated with lights, baubles, 3D reindeer, purple Christmas trees .....We are the odd men out – the tourers who only stay for a short time.

Beach near our campsite

Serendipity struck again in the campground and we parked next to two Kiwis towing a Fifth Wheeler that they are exporting back to NZ in a weeks time. We have had a great time sharing dinners and drinks with Keith and Bron-e and they have been generous with sharing their equipment – a ladder for cleaning our roof and awning, a printer/scanner for some admin, and a lift in their Navara to the supermarket. We had a kiwi working bee cleaning organic matter from our vehicles so they can make the big trip home.

All good things come to an end and we will embark on the next chapter of our adventures to – El Chorro and Granada in the mountains.

Rain, black bulls and white villages in Espagne

After the loss of Howard and Hilda we headed for the coast for some R & R, sitting in the sun in a little camp ground. Grass of sorts was on the ground which is a luxury in campgrounds in Europe – there are a lot of dusty campsites that become yukky when wet and trail muck into the truck if I am not vigilant re fellow truck-dweller.

The second day it started to rain, the next day thunder was roiling in the distance, jagged flashes of lighting striking out across the bright turquoise sea. The sky joining the sea on the horizon was a matt ashy-charcoal, very dramatic. Two ships offshore, one listing severely to starboard. Every day we looked, the ships remained the same – a mystery we shall never solve.

The rain kept coming, the pools of water in the camp got larger and we sat tight watching TV shows and movie files that we could agree on. Books. Eating. Internet. Peering out at the neighbours. We studied the forecasts and decided everywhere in southern Spain was getting a lashing, the news reported 10 people died in the flooding so we were looking pretty good really.

When the weather cleared, the race was on to get to the washing machine first. I bagged first wash but had to fall back in the queue for the next load. Alfonso (campman) had a large enclosed marquee that trapped the heat, I strung our laundry out to dry in it – done in next to no time.

The nearby village was far from picturesque, the houses and gardens neat and trim but rubbish collected in the pot-holed main street – often next to the huge bins provided by the council. The horticultural activities interspersed between the houses had their own refuse accumulating around them. The beach was a long horseshoe of golden sand but each tide bought in a fresh collection of plastic bottles, nets, and other depressing matter, to add to that flushed out by the village stormwater.

We visited a coffee shop close to the camp many times, the proprietors were no more friendly on day one than the day we left. Stuart used the Google ap on his phone to translate the menu with a view to lunch, he aimed the phone at the menu and Google translated it. Nothing took our fancy that day – the word ‘lizard’ popped up a few times. I didn’t believe it until I Googled it, and yes – this area does eat lizards.

View from truck at Puerto de Santa Maria

Puerto de Santa Maria and Cadiz beckoned. A short drive south and my faith was restored, all was clean and tidy. We parked next to a river in a secure carpark, no rubbish along the river or the perimeter fence. The view across the river is whitewashed houses with palm trees in front and the streets have extravagent Christmas lighting. Does this town see a lot more government, EU or tourist Euro? No lizard on the menus, and the barman not only gave me the manzanilla I requested (a dry sherry served chilled) but he bought out 2 other types for me to taste.  

We rushed our lunch to catch the catamaran ferry to Cadiz (pronounced with a lisp). All was good until the skipper attempted to crank up the revs to ‘plane – “un problemo” he said and made a looping gesture with his hand. We turned back and spent the rest of the day exploring the lovely P. d Santa Maria. The historical centre has sherry bodgas (wine houses), the biggest of which was Osborne. Osborne had supplied large black bull cut outs emblazoned with their name on hoardings around Spain, the black bull is their logo. These large cut outs that loom on the horizon no longer bear the Osborne name but are all made in the same style.

Photo credit Stuart

Talking of bulls, I have an abhorrence for bull fights, rodeos and suchlike but there was a very well preserved bull ring in P.d Santa Maria and for the sum of $NZ5 each Stuart and I stepped into the ring and I twirled the matador cape. I know, I felt bad even being there but ...... We were the only people there (others had more sensibilities). The cape is incredibly heavy, it reminded me of PVC fabric, not easy to twirl.

Houses in the historical centre have large studded doors that when propped open revealed elegant tiled atriums. The atriums often lead through iron gates to leafy courtyard gardens. I slowed my pace to get glimpses of what looked like very desirable residences.

Photo credit Stuart

Cadiz

The new shoes went on their maiden voyage to Cadiz, the ferry was no longer broken but it was too windy! A coach was arranged for the passengers. Does the coach depart at the same time as the ferry?  What do you think?

Cadiz dates back to 800BC when it was settled by Phoenician traders (origins from around the coastal Syria/Lebanon/Israel area). There wasn’t much left from that era but there were layers of architecture from different eras in the old part of the city. Cadiz was the departure point for explorers going to the Americas and the receiving point of riches that were shipped back to the mother country.

Arcos de la Fronterra*
*(means frontier between Christian and Muslim settlements)

We had heard about the ‘white villages’ of Andalucia and set off on a three day tour. The villages were all either on the top of a hill or spreading up the hillside. Every building was white and box-like in construction. Streets were narrow, immaculate and no place for a truck like Chausson to attempt. The drive between the villages was lovely, we could see where the cork oaks had been de-barked for their cork. Gnarled olives dotted the hills and goats, sheep and lambs grazed the fields. We tried some of the prize-winning local cheese but remained unmoved.

We stopped for the night at the base of Grazalema village and dined in on asparagus, chicken fillets with lemon and rosemary (plucked from the aforementioned village) together roasted potato cubes and salad. The following day we set off over a high narrow pass with spectacular views. The road looked like a single lane but two vehicles could squeeze past very carefully and slowly. The view from the top was stupendous. Griffon vultures wheeled overhead, their wide wingspans catching the thermals. We went past a few more white villages and then before we knew it, we were in the midst of one – a big white box on wheels surrounded by white plaster box houses.

Fortunately it was Saturday siesta time and there was not much activity, Stuart stopped in the only place possible and I asked a Westie-looking guy hanging outside a bar for the road to Ronda. I only said ‘Ronda’ and gave an expansive Gallic shrug. Too much for him, he directed me into the bar where I did the same. I was accompanied out and we were pointed down a narrow street. It would not have been too bad if a car wasn’t parked taking half the available road, but to add difficulty the whole street had rainbow-painted terracotta pots attached outside the houses. Stuart squeezed Chausson’s big bum through with just millimetres to spare, keeping one eye on the parked car on and the other on the terracotta pots hanging just above head height.

We set our sights on Ronda after an uneasy night parked in the national park with rain thundering down on the roof, I had visions of us getting stuck but the ground held reasonably firm. People had told us we must visit Ronda so that is where we are going next. Then afterwards the coast beckons, I hope it has dried out.