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Notes from my trip to Spain and Portugal in 2016
Day 1 – Thursday 4 August
It was early afternoon
when I left London to drive to Newhaven for the evening ferry going to Dieppe.
It was good to be on the road again for another month-long adventure.
I reached the
ferry without incident. Then, when I disembarked an hour or so before midnight,
I drove that evening until somewhere near Tours. I had the first of several
nights of sleeping in the car. Although the weather had been hot during the
day, it felt quite nippy at night and I wore a jacket and a light jumper, and
also used a heavy bath towel as a pillow.
Day 2
My aim was to keep
driving at around 60 miles an hour and see where I reached on day two, i.e.
whether it would be in France or Spain. It turned out to be the border town of
Irun in Spain. I found a hotel costing £76 and booked in – far too much! I was
able to link to the Internet. In fact, I was more successful in every way with
the computer than with the smartphone, which I therefore barely used.
Day 3
In the morning I passed
through the first Spanish town where I had ever stayed. This was San Sebastian.
I drove many miles along the north coast that day, skirting Bilbao and
Santander, but taking the opportunity to visit Guernica for the first time.
Finally I had another night in the car. My aim was to find a pleasant seaside
village. My first choice, Cudilleros, was hopelessly full and I never even
managed to to drive into the village. So I went on to Luarca, which turned out
to be a delightful small fishing town tucked into a tiny bay. Once again, a
very large number of holidaymakers, all of whom seemed to be enjoying
themselves. I parked right next to a funfair and slept well for almost 7 hours
in the car. This is really a very popular coast.
Day 4
The following morning I
drove for the first time through Galicia to a place that I had long wanted to
see. That was Santiago de Compostela, and I would be following in the footsteps
of thousands and thousands of pilgrims since 600 or 700 A.D. Even Chaucer’s
Wife of Bath had been there, and Winchcombe’s vicar had cycled there. A huge
investment has been made to the road system in Spain since I was last driving
in the country 30 or so years ago. Obviously it is all much busier.
Compostela is still the
destination for a very large number of hikers and trekkers. For a couple of
minutes, I even considered staying in one of the extremely cheap hostels,
costing only €12 per night for a place in the dormitory. But in the end I found
a very satisfactory hotel right by the Alameda Park, just on the edge of the
old town. There was an underground car park in which I left my car, and I
booked for two nights there.
Day 5
I spent the day exploring
the Cathedral and other parts of the old town. This included queueing for about
half an hour to kiss the ornamental relic which is behind the main altar and
which marks the resting place or body of Spain’s patron saint, St James.
Then once again an
enjoyable evening of food and drink.
Day 6
The next morning I left
Santiago and headed west to Spain’s most westerly point. This was the very
small town of Finisterre. I had wanted to take a selfie of myself against a
road sign showing the name, i.e. marking ‘the end of the world’, but failed
completely to do so
Then once again some very
pleasant driving. During the day I crossed the border and started driving in
Portugal. My plan was to stay in the car that night. I did this in an Aire on
the road to Porto. It was a reasonably good sleep. That Aire included a large
cafeteria that was open all night, though virtually empty. The Rio Olympics had
started by this time and I was able to see some of the running heats in the
early hours.
Day 7 - Wednesday
I had quite a shock next
morning. The cost of the motorway toll was well over €30 whereas I had expected
it to be about half that amount. I wonder whether the ‘hotel cost’ of having
spent the night in the car park of a service station was included along with
the mileage cost! Probably not – but I will have to be careful. (Later I
learned that the toll system in Portugal depends on photographing car number
plates, and the resulting bills get sent through to the home addresses of the
drivers.)
I entered Oporto that
morning but decided not to linger or explore, but instead to make my way to the
next of my objectives – Coria, back in Spain. Once again it was an excellent
system of modern roads. The comparison with the past was totally dramatic. It
was very hard to imagine that the last time that I was driving along fairly
basic roads in Portugal, most people were either walking on foot or riding on a
donkey. Also it was rare to find a village that had a café or bar.
A brief note of
explanation is necessary. It was some 30 or 40 years ago that that I had
dropped off my father at a Madrid railway station for him to return to England,
and then decided to drive further west. I visited the very picturesque town of
Alberca and then went up the Hurdes mountains where two or three tracks had
recently been tarmacked. I was hitchhiked by a man who told me that he had been
waiting for several hours for a car to pass. He and his family wanted to travel
to the small town of Coria in Extramadura where his daughter, Marisol, was
going to start her novitiate in a convent the following morning. So I drove to
his tiny village, picked up 7 or 8 of the family (my car was an estate car) and
took them those 30 or 40 miles to Coria
We went to the convent
and talked to his 13-year-old daughter and to the nuns through the grill of the
convent. I was invited to stay the night in the convent, then act as a kind of
godparent.The formal service was held the following day, with the nuns on one
side of the grill, and the family, a priest and myself on the other side.
Following this, I returned the family to their hilltop village.
A Spanish friend later
told me that they would still be talking about this in their village that many
years to come. I certainly remembered it vividly and so, some 30 or forty years
later, I returned to Coria.
Having checked first with
the tourist office which was in the walled area right next to the convent, I
booked for two nights into the Hotel Keke in the main street. By a remarkable
coincidence, my visit to Coria coincided with the town’s annual festival which
was going to be on the next day. Already the town was alive with excitement,
and I looked forward very much to what that following day would bring.
Day 8 – Thursday 11
August
To me, the main point of
the trip was to visit the Convent of the Madre de Dios. There were still 14 nuns living in this
Franciscan order nunnery, though this was somewhat fewer than in the past. My
main contact was with Sister Katarina. I did not find out whether or not she
was Mother Superior, but she was a helpful, capable and confident person in
every way. Her main task on this feast day seemed to be selling convent-made
cakes and delicacies from behind a grill, and just occasionally ringing a bell
for some reason or other. As it happened, she had not been in the convent when
Marisol was there. However I met two other Sisters who remembered her. They
told me that Marisol had made one or two missions to Quito in Ecuador. They
told me too that she had a very good singing voice. But she had finally left
the convent, had married a musician, had given birth to a child and now lived
in Madrid. Her mother meanwhile now lived in Caceres.
I handed over my visiting card. But I doubt
that anything will ever happen.
The rest of the day was
given over to celebrating – Coria style. The town was decorated and a large
variety of stalls of every kind had been set up within the walled area of the
town. Most seem to be selling local craft work of some kind, though others
included the display of various animals and birds, including a llama. In addition
two or three bulls (not for fighting) had been led through some streets as a
so-called ‘salon taurino’
Meanwhile hundreds of
people of every age, including tiny infants, paraded the streets and patronised
the cafes and bars – singing, strolling, and drinking until well past
midnight. It was quite a day!
Day 9
I drove up into the
Hurdes hills on what are nowadays very good roads. I was not sure of where I
had found that hitchhiker so many years before. However I went to the village
of Las Vegas and went into a bar to begin my enquiries. I showed the four or
five photos that I still had from that occasion. To my amazement, the man to
whom I was showing them immediately said of one of them “That’s my father”. He
told me that his name was Damian and that his father’s name was also Damian. He
also told me that his father lived further up the road the village, and
directed me to that address.
It seemed unbelievable –
and unfortunately it was. Also present were two or three other people who told
me that Damian was actually well known to be a fantasist. There was absolutely
no truth in what he had said to me. Obviously I was bitterly disappointed, but
there was nothing else that I could do.
So I continued my journey
to Ciudad Rodrigo (still in Spain) and from there went back into Portugal and
finally reached the capital city of
Lisbon. I had arranged with Anna
and Jorge, good Portuguese friends who had stayed with us in Southfields, to
spend a couple of days at their house. More by luck than judgement, I found my
way there. A warm welcome, and two days that I shall never forget.
Day 10
Sadly their delightful
daughter Beatrix, now seven years old, was away further north with her
grandparents, so I could not see her. However Jorge and Anna were the perfect hosts
and very clearly wished to be with me and to show me around their fine city.
The morning started with a very quick cup of coffee in the nearby café. Then
first of all we saw the newly developed area of Lisbon that was a legacy of a
large international exhibition held there a few years ago. Highly impressive.
Then we drove and walked around the sights in the central areas, including the
more artistic area. I have to say that I have never in my life seen so much
brilliant street graffiti work! We then had a spot of lunch and explored the
castle before finally getting back to the house for the evening. Jorge did the
cooking. At about 11.30, we decided to pop out for a final coffee.
Day 11
Having covered Lisbon
itself on the day before, we headed out towards the excellent resort of
Estoril, and then towards Cintra. Interestingly, Portugal seems to be going
through a period of spelling changes, including the spelling of some of its
towns. Cintra/Sintra is, I believe, an example. It must be very confusing for
all the children as well as the adults, and is naturally controversial.
We went on to the
remarkable Castle of Pena, sitting at the top of a mountain, and deservedly a
world heritage site. I learned much about Portuguese history. There were had
been four Royal houses over time in Portugal (which incidentally is Britain’s
oldest ally). It came to an end when finally the King and his heir were
assassinated in the streets of Lisbon in, I believe, 1908. The dictator Salazar
came along about 10 years later, and stayed in power until some 20 or 30 years
ago.
Day 12
I headed off at about 10
AM, and drove south over the bridge across the Tagus towards the Algarve. It
was quite a long day of driving. I never really saw the beaches of the many
towns and villages that form the Algarve. Instead I tended to use the main
roads or possibly the centres of the various towns along the way. Clearly the
whole province is now very well developed.
For the last day or two,
Portugal had been badly affected by forest fires brought about by the
exceptionally high temperatures. Fortunately, although palls of smoke were
clearly visible at times, this had not affected the driving conditions. I thus
went as far as Lagos but decided not to go out to Cape St Vincent or Trafalgar.
Instead I drove back through Faro, crossed the border back into Spain, and
finally reached Huelva, where I slept happily in the car in a fairly central
part of the town.
Day 13
I woke up after 5 hours
of sleep. It had been a really good night. However, as in many Spanish towns,
there seemed to be virtually no people and no traffic around until about 8
AM. My next destination was to be
Seville. However, there seemed to be huge hold ups on the road as I approached
that city, due entirely to the massive volumes of traffic that have developed.
It took me ages but finally I was able to park quite near to the Torre de Oro.
From there I walked, surrounded by what seemed to be thousands of tourists, to
the Cathedral and the Giralda.
The last time that I was
in Seville, many years previously, I remember strolling along the river. There
were no crowds, either on the road or in the Cathedral. It was a huge
difference, which I felt took some of the pleasure away. Then, as I left, I passed a 2-3 kilometer
queue of cars still coming into Seville.
My next destination was
Cadiz. It was my first visit and seemed a very pleasant city. From Cadiz, I
then took the coast road towards Algeciras, which is just a few miles before
Gibraltar. Some parts of the route were remarkable. For example the road passed
a really extensive Kite School near Tarifa (Spain’s closest town to Africa)
which is a renowned centre for kitesurfing training. In addition, I went along
a stretch of road in which I was able to see over 100 wind turbines at the same
time. That certainly is not something that we could experience in this country.
Something else that I noticed was that there was no
mention of the word ‘Gibraltar’ until just 2 or 3 miles from La Linea. Then the
notice is simply read ‘La Linea. Gibraltar’. There was no hint that Gibraltar
was a foreign country.
Within La Linea, I was very lucky and was
able to park in the parking area very close to the frontier. Tourism and local
people pointed me towards the Campana Hostal (full), then the Carlos I Hostal
(full) and finally – for one night only – to the Carlos II Hostal (OK) in
Carboneros Street. It was extremely hot. For a time, I just relaxed by watching
the Olympics on television. As in all other hotels, and hostals where I stayed,
Wi-Fi was said to be available. Unfortunately, however, the Wi-Fi did not work
in my room, so I had to join a guy from Tyneside with sitting on the floor near
Reception, where it was working. My day ended, as normal, with visits to a bar
and a restaurant – also by checking the car – and I finally had a good sleep
from 1230.
.
Day 14 – Wednesday 17
August
I was fortunately able to
book for a second night at the hostal, so I now had a full day to enjoy in
Gibraltar. I walked across the frontier and boarded the Route 5 bus into town.
It was my first time in
Gibraltar, though Adrian (my son) had worked there for two or three years. The
impact made by this completely different country was immediate All the
well-known British high street shops seem to have branches there. Certainly all
the banks were present, including one or two that I had never heard of.
Currency changing establishments seemed frequent (‘We buy your unwanted gold’).
Police uniforms were the same as in Britain. And notices were in English.
My own first task was to
discover a facility called GibLab and receive a blood test that was due that
day. Another task was to buy a replacement charger for my mobile phone, since I
had left the appropriate one in Lisbon. Just as in Britain that same week, the
BHS store was closing down and queues were buying anything that was left at
just 50% of the normal price.
I walked along Main
Street to the cable car terminus, and joined a very long queue. It turned out
that it might well take up to one and a half hours to be able to make that
ride. Luckily some Tour Agency people advised us that we could do the same trip
in an 8-seater minibus that would cost the same amount (€30) as the cable car
trip. I therefore went on board. It was indeed a good trip. We stopped at St
Michael’s Cave – absolutely remarkable stalactites. Then at a place very near
the Gibraltar monkeys who were awaiting us. They are fed at 10 or 11 o’clock
every morning. However that is not enough for them. They really are brilliant
at stealing. Finally we stopped at a place where we had an excellent view down
onto the sea at both sides.
Gibraltar is certainly a
highly distinctive economic powerhouse. The tourist machine has to earn heavily
in the summer to keep its employees alive in the winter. Apparently too, some
12,000 or more Spaniards crossed the frontier into Gibraltar to work every day.
The arrival of a cruise ship would add, say, 3000 further people.
Quite naturally the
eventual result of Brexit causes an element of anxiety. Two referendums in
recent years have shown that 99% of the population wish to stay with Britain,
and the recent Brexit referendum produced a 93% result in favour of Britain’s
remaining in the EU. Kevin Negron (our
minibus driver) told us that children growing up in Gibraltar just naturally
became bilingual. It is in fact a totally different world from Spain just
across the border. Hopefully its existence can continue to be fully accepted by
Spain.
After the tour, I had a
cup of tea (very English!) in Main Street, continued my walkabout, and finally
headed back into La Linea where I had my meal for the night.
Day 15 – Thursday 18
August
In the morning I went
back into Gibraltar to pick up the GibLab report. It was totally satisfactory,
I’m pleased to say. Then back into La Linea, and started on the drive to Ronda.
I parked and was able to look at the old town, especially of course the bridge
over the huge ravine that divides the town in two. Ronda can very seriously
claim to have been where bullfighting, as we know it now, started at some time
in the 1700s. Thus I also spent a few minutes in the shop at the Bull Ring.
I then headed on the
delightful and very demanding road through the mountains to Granada.
I had extremely fond
memories of Granada, and intended to stay for two nights. My first aim was
therefore to try and find a Turismo. However that was going to be impossible
because it was somewhere in the middle of the city, and a most helpful cyclist
told me that cars were no longer allowed right into the middle of the city.
Only taxis. However I then had a lucky break. I went as far as I could and then
stumbled across a perfectly good and helpful hotel just off the Gran Via in a
tiny side street. The receptionist had one night free and the possibility of a
double room the next night (i.e. at double the price). I accepted, kept my
fingers crossed for the second night, and finally obtained a single room for
that second night also.
To end the day, I found a
good pavement cafe just around the corner, so was able to enjoy yet another
good Spanish meal. It had been a day of much driving but certainly enjoyable,
and I looked forward very much to what the next day would bring.
Day 16 – Friday 19 August
I left my hotel and
walked into Granada’s city centre. From conversation at the hotel, I had picked
up the unexpected news that you could not visit the Alhambra unless you had
booked the day before. This turned out to be a fact. The enormous numbers of
tourists now visiting Granada have altered it totally. I took a bus that went
out to the entrances to the Alhambra and the Generalife but could not enter
either. However I was able to take another bus that took me up the Albaicin
Hill to the St Nicolas Church esplanade from where we could look across the
small valley to the Alhambra. Large numbers had done the same. It was not that
world-renowned ‘Alhambra by moonlight’ view, but it was something. My walk back
down the hill then took me past the massive variety of tiny shops selling
largely Islamic bits and pieces.
I headed back towards the
hotel via the small streets around the Cathedral, and that evening went to the
same restaurant as the night before. So I had ‘done’ Granada, but it was
obviously disappointing
Day 17 – Saturday 20
I left Granada and drove
back through the mountains towards the Mediterranean. I had given myself
several days to work my way through the “Costas” - Blanca, del Sol, Dorada,
Brava and one or two others less known.
One of my hopes was to
find and visit a bullfight again, whether in the city or a smaller local town.
That day I made the error of not trying to get into the one being held at
Malaga, but heading instead towards a smaller event in the village of Cieza,
quite near Murcia. Unfortunately my information was wrong. It was not being
held that day but in three days time. Sadly there would be no other bullfight
being held on a suitable day in the towns that I would be passing.
I stayed that night in
Orihuela, a small town (now much larger!) that I knew between Murcia and my
next day’s target – Campoamor. It was a well appointed hotel, much above my
intended price range. I particularly remember the meal which I had in the Casa Pepe restaurant, seated outside in a
busy side street. Rather than asking me to select in the normal way from a menu
with dozens of choices, the waitress simply asked me ‘meat or fish?’ I said
‘fish’, and the most delicious meal was gradually brought item by item to my
table. The chef and waiting staff – not I – had made the decisions, and they
were certainly good ones.
Day 18 – Sunday 21 August
I left Orihuela the
following morning. My next target was Campoamor where my wife and I had bought
a holiday home in a newly developed ‘urbanizacion’ back in the 80s. However the
road signs were very misleading, and finally I found myself north of Torrevieja
and had to head back south towards Campoamor.
It had been developed
considerably. Obviously the six high tower blocks, which were the town’s
trademark, were still there, with the ring of private dwellings beyond them. I
experienced too a flash of recognition as I passed by that well-known word
‘Sudecasa’, but the delightful hotel, with its pool, where we had first-stayed
looked very different from what I remembered. All I was carrying was our
purchase agreement for Duplex 69. I found one building numbered 69 but it was
not a Duplex, ie a twin dwelling. And in the end I could not locate any villa
that I recognised. So much has changed in the whole township
Finally I headed north
towards Alicante, and from there took the road to San Juan de Alicante. I was
able to locate calle Carmen 36, which had been the address of Isolina in recent
years. I had first met Isolina as a pen-pal when we were both in our teens, and
we had communicated by Christmas card for over 50 years. However I had not received
a card from her for the past two years, so I decided to call. I pressed two of
the buttons and spoke briefly to a man who answered. Unfortunately he could not
recall someone by the name of Isolina.
So in the end I carried
on northwards and finally came across “Hostal Noquera” where I spent the night.
Day 19 – Monday 22 August
I enjoyed a totally
relaxed breakfast, then started driving.
Quite soon I passed
Benidorm, that resort first created near to sand dunes some 60 years ago which
is now a huge megalopolis or, as some would say, monstrosity. I recalled
Isolina driving me past it on one occasion and expressing huge pride what her
people – the Spaniards – had achieved. One place where I stopped for a coffee
was Calpe, with its massive rock dominating the beach. As I progressed, my
route took me through the magnificent city of Valencia, though I did not stop
on this occasion. Instead my aim had been to reach the town of Peniscola, which
is sometimes said to be similar to France’s Mont St Michel.
Once again the place was
very much bigger and busier than I remembered it. I visited Turismo and
enquired about hostals. The one that I was directed to had the nerve to ask me
for the very large sum of €91 per night, which was double the normal cost! So I finally decided to spend the night in
the car, and was able to park just around the beach from a very lively funfair
that went on till approaching 1.00 a.m. I was glad that I can always get back
to sleep easily if woken!
My plan for the day was
to reach and book in to Tarragona where I had worked as a tour company
representative in the summers of 1958 and 1959. Some parts of the coast were
less built up, especially the area around the estuary of Spain’s biggest river,
the Ebro, which is now largely a nature reserve. The town of San Carlo de la
Rapita was especially pleasant. I went inland to visit Tortosa, and was told by
a cafe waiter that the small village of Alfara de Carles, some 20 or 30 miles
into the nearby mountains, was due to hold a small bull festival. I therefore
drove there. The information was correct, but the event was not due to take
place until four days time.
Day 20
Shortly before Tarragona,
I made a short visit to Salou. When I worked in the area, Salou held only one
hotel, a railway station, and what was claimed to be the first campsite in
Spain. It was now a really large tourist town with numerous high apartment
blocks and many hotels.
Finally I passed through
Tarragona’s industrial and oil refinery area and reached the city itself. I was
able to drive right up to the Rambla Nova, where I had my small office all
those years ago, and make accommodation enquiries at the city’s Turismo. I was
referred to the Pigal Hostal, some three blocks away, and booked at a good
price for two nights. Run by Xavi and his sister, it serves as a student
residence for most of the year but becomes an attractive hostal during the
summer months. Xavi was able to advise me where to park the car virtually free,
which was useful since the nearby underground car parks were charging €24 a
night.
Xavi was particularly
interested to know that I had worked in Tarragona when package holidays were
just starting, and asked if I would visit a friend the next morning to discuss
this further. I readily agreed
After settling in, I
walked up to the Mirador balcony at the end of the Rambla Nova, and looking
down onto the tiny figures, firstly in the road, secondly on a beach, several
hundred feet below, relaxed over a drink and a meal and also caught up with
some Internet typing. It was good to be back in Tarragona.
Day 21
I walked up to Xavi’s
friend’s small office which was adjacent to one of the gates of the walled city
– the Puerto Rosal. This friend, also
called Xavi, whose business was called Itinere, was making a small study of the
start of Tarragona’s tourism, and over coffee I was able to give some helpful
information. He was particularly interested in the trips that we arranged for
our tourists, such as to an old local monastery, to a bullfight in Barcelona,
or even to Tarragona’s only nightclub at that time.
Most of the rest of the
day was spent sightseeing around the old and new city, with various stops for
refreshments, an afternoon siesta, and an excellent evening meal. It is not an
overstatement to say that the thousand miles of Spanish ‘Costas’ have been
largely overwhelmed by tourism. Of the places I visited, only Tarragona seemed
to have survived with its full majesty intact.
Day 22 – Thursday 25th of
August
My destination that day
was Catalonia’s capital, Barcelona. I first spend some time driving to some
places I had known, such as the old monastery at Santa Creus. Then, I finally
the reached the city, passing the Cristobal Colon by the Port, and finally
driving up the Ramblas. I parked and discovered the tourism office in Plaza
Catalunya (most names are now written in Catalan rather than in Spanish), who
gave me the name of a hostal nearby. I visited and found it charged €120 per
night. Yet it was still described as a Hostal and not a hotel.
So I tried another, one
just off the Ramblas. It was full and I was told that others were very likely
to be full. So I clearly had some thinking to do about whether or not to stay
in Barcelona for one or even two nights. In the meantime I would carry on with
my sightseeing, and so drove over to Barcelona’s fantastic Sagrada Familia
cathedral. There is still the hope that one day Gaudi’s vision may be
completed, and the building will rise by those few hundred extra feet.
Meanwhile extraordinarily tall cranes now dominate the structure, and crowds
gather to view it.
Very conveniently, I was
able to park in the road right by the Sagrada Familia, and decided that that would be my place for
the night. So I had a drink, another drink, a meal, a walk around the adjacent
small park, and then a final drink. After that I slept quite satisfactorily in
the car for a full night.
Day 23 Friday
I woke at about 6.30.
Barcelona was obviously extremely quiet but there were some signs of movement
of people and traffic. In the end, by about 9 o’clock, I started my drive
towards Girona. Unfortunately I missed my way in the northern suburbs, and – to
solve the problem – I drove back into Barcelona – including down the Ramblas –
went round the city via the Litoral, and finally reached the correct exit route
to Girona.
The small seaside towns
north of Barcelona, officially described as being on the Maresme Costa, are now
fairly major resorts in their own right. I was particularly interested to stop
for a time in Calella de la Costa where I worked for my first month as a Rep.
before being moved to Lloret in the Costa Brava. The railway line still runs
virtually next to the beach, thus creating a barrier between town and sea, but
it is now apparently a fully fledged and successful resort.
I then headed inland
towards Girona, where I had decided to spend two nights
rather than spending that
extra night in Barcelona, and eventually I reached there.
Girona is of course a
provincial capital, and therefore large. But all the tourist activity is to be
found in the old town which retains its charm, its cathedral and its narrow and
hilly streets. With the help of the tourist office, I was able to book into a
very welcoming Pension, with a shared bathroom, and offering good value. I also
had the unnerving experience of having to drive my car through the tiniest of
streets up to a hilltop parking area just outside the old walls.
But it was a good choice
of location and a very welcoming place to stay.
Day 24 – Saturday 27th
August
In the morning I walked up
lengthy flights of ancient steps to the car in its parking lot, and found that
I had left the front window open. I’m pleased to say that very fortunately
nothing had been taken. My plan for the day was to revisit some of the places
on the Costa Brava which I had known slightly in the distant past.
I started with the
seaside town of Lloret. It had of course grown out of all recognition. The only
thing recognisable was the castle-like structure which was still there on the
headland at the very end of the beach.
My next
destination was Tossa del Mar. This had been the main venue for those
pioneering package holiday tourists who came down by train in the 50s. A very
small fishing village was transformed within a couple of years into a popular
mass resort. I remember a Spaniard telling me at the time that “If you give us
back Gibraltar, we will give you Tossa del Mar”. It might even have been a
bargain! But its huge success now meant that cars were not permitted even to
drive to see the beach.
Next came a brilliant
drive to San Felui round countless bends, stopping once or twice at camera
viewpoints. There was no trace at all of the tiny coves that used to exist on
that coast. They are now urbanisations in their own right, and the whole area
(including inland) seems to be built up. At San Feliu itself, I parked near the
beach and had a very welcome refreshment stop, then finished the day by driving
back via Palamos to Girona.
It had been an excellent
day in every way. In fact all the stages of my tour of Spain had been
excellent, but it was now time to go back once again to France and then
England.
Day 25 – Sunday
I left Girona and started
driving along the roads that would take me to the old Catalan townships of
Banyuls and Olot. I was due to arrive at Mike and Sally’s house up in the
French Pyrenees in mid-afternoon, but first wanted to buy some wine at an
economic price to take back to England. But no luck. It was a Sunday and sadly
the shops were shut.
It was however a really enjoyable journey. All
routes across the Pyrenees are beautiful, and this one was no exception. I
passed Camprodon, which I believe is a Spanish skiing centre and finally, via
small and winding roads, reached the border high up on the mountainside.
Historically this was the route which thousands of fleeing Spanish Republicans
used to escape from Franco at the end of the Civil War. Later on it was also
used to smuggle various escapees
into Spain and away from
Hitler’s empire.
Once over the border, I was able to make my way to
the small Pyreneean town of Serrelongue where I needed to ask for directions.
Fortunately the person I asked, Michel, turned out to be Mike and Sally’s
nearest neighbour – living only a kilometre or two from them! Hence I was able
to arrive at their house, along 2 or 3 miles of dirt tracks, shortly before
Mike, Sally and their energetic friend Don (just 88 years young) arrived back
from a planned appointment down on the coast at Perpignan.
Day 26
What can I say? Just
imagine staying in – and, in Mike and Sally’s case, living in – an exquisite
and very comfortable home, beautifully located and with excellent views, high
up in tree-covered mountains. Their backgrounds – Sally with her pottery, and
Mike with his long career as a television cameraman and photographer – makes
this the ideal for long and healthy retirement.
For my part, I just
enjoyed relaxing and sharing their company for a full day which included Mike
taking Don back to Montpellier airport for his flight home.
Day 27 – Tuesday 30
August
10 AM and it was time to
leave and head to Jen’s home in mid France for my next night’s stay.
I took Mike in my car to
Perpignan (Sally would follow later) so that I could view his exhibition of
photographs from Ethiopia in 1984, which was part of a much wider photographic
journalism exhibition spread across many locations in the town. The television
work that Mike was doing at that time, which was filming that terrible period
of famine in the country, will be remembered by many of us, and the still
photographs which he took retain their power to move us deeply.
I then made my way out of
town, initially towards Narbonne, followed by motorway driving westward to
Toulouse, then northward to Limoges, and finally along less imposing but still
good and fairly empty roads to Jen’s home somewhere south of Poitier. It was a
long journey and I needed to hurry. Finally I arrived at Jen’s house at about
730.
Once again – what can I
say? So much has been done to make this one-time barn into a delightful and
comfortable home. At the same time, there remains so much to be still to be
done over the years ahead. It was wonderful to be able to be with Jen in this
very happy corner of the world. It was also really great that her friends and
neighbours John and Judith came round and we we were able to chat and drink in
the garden for the evening until well after midnight.
Day 28 – Wednesday 31
August
It was quite a long drive
via Poitiers, Tours, Le Mans and Rouen to Dieppe. I finally arrived at about
7.00 PM, ready to go to the ferry port from 10:30 PM. Plenty of time for a
drink and a final meal.
So far, so good. But
then, frighteningly, I couldn’t find my car. Could it really have been stolen
or driven away by the police? But all was well. It turned out that I had parked
it near a second bridge, which was not visible from the restaurant where I was,
and I had lost my sense of direction. Panic over. There it was, waiting for me,
and the car and I got to the ferry port by 1050 pm..
Day 29 – Thursday 1
September
We arrived at Newhaven by
4:30 AM (British time) but it took an hour or more for the car and lorry ferry
to be unloaded. Being fairly tired, I drove to Pease Pottage service station
and had a nap in the car for an hour. Then home by about 9:30 AM. Unfortunately
I had picked up a streaming cold from somewhere in the last few hours, and did
very little all day.
It had been an amazing
way to spend my eightieth August, and one which I shall always treasure.