Richard and Stew get shiny new postcards for reading my blog and answering the Delia style 'where are ya'. JP has already had online praise and I know it will just go to his head if I send him anything further. My laptop is still not wi-fi fixed and I am beginning to despair of getting anything before Barcelona.
Some interesting side information, as I've got a few minutes. People get fatter the further south you go in Spain. Must have to do with the affluence of the tourists, I suppose. DWP are still paying me, and although I do clearly deserve it, I thought you mere taxpayers might like to know that I've asked them to stop. I've been watching the GCN job alerts and there are at least two jobs I haven't seen advertised yet - you know who you are, people, get a move on.
I have lost loads of weight. You would think this would be just a brilliant thing, but with only one pair of trousers, I have also developed a truly offensive case of builder's crack - don't be afraid to check the Flickr account - we photoshop it out if it becomes a problem. Which, of course, is a gentle reminder that you should have a look at my Flickr pages every now and then - if you are able to answer a few simple questions by the time we get back, you won't be required to attend the slide night...
Final admin bit - my sim card has died. I am using a new number which I will email to everyone in the very near future. Stoatie has a new tattoo, according to a text that I very belatedly received (no reason why it got caught up, but it took a long while to get to me, according to the date it was sent). A picture would be very nice indeed!
Miss you all - more from the road soon!
Friday, June 15, 2007
15 June 2007
Map & pin: Granada; Carchuna; Adra; Almeria; Tabernas; Mojacar.
Again it’s been way too long between blog updates, but we are currently trapped for a few days in Mojacar effecting repairs (of which more below), so it’s a good opportunity to at least run through the highlights of a very busy and excellent week or so. Granada was every bit as good as expected – we spent a full day sightseeing and only managed to take in about half a dozen different places. The sightseeing pinnacle was definitely the Alhambra/Generalife – a Moorish castle, gardens and other assorted stuff perched on the top of the hill overlooking the city. Everything about the place combines elegance, beauty and style with extraordinary peace and tranquillity. The gardens all centre around running water and despite the intense heat of the sun, everywhere feels cool and relaxed. From the top of the towers you can see the Sierra Nevadas, the city, the groves of olive trees stretching away into the distance – truly awesome place.
Other particularly good bits included an exhibition by a painter called JP Morales (when I have an internet connection I will try to give you some more info, but look out for his extremely surreal and often tiny oils), the cathedral with a most impressive organ (tee hee) and the street parade we caught – some kind of festival going on in the city.
We also got on the piss with some fellow travellers at the campsite – Dan and Darcy who are doing a similar trip to ours but on motorbikes. A good laugh and hopefully we might catch up with them in Valencia or Barcelona – obviously they are travelling much faster than us but staying longer in many places and taking more time out for side trips.
The ride down from Granada was way easier than expected, which is always nice. Fantastic scenery, though. As we approached the coast, the road followed the bottom of a ravine winding for several kilometres through massive cliffs and mountains. It was breathtaking stuff – the rock seemed so old and strong, the cyclist so transient and tiny. Such was the scale of the thing that there seemed no point in taking pictures – they could not possibly convey the feeling of the place. Then, just as you felt you might be crushed, the cliffs receded, sky reappeared and out we popped onto the coast again. V cool.
Carchuna – don’t bother. Nothing there except a very expensive campsite and an average (by, admittedly, the very high standards around here) beach. Here and Adra are part of what is referred to as the ‘exotic coast’. The guidebook informed me that here many exotic and tropical fruits are grown. Fabulous, I thought, all those beautiful fruit trees, what an appealing prospect. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In fact, the entire area is pretty much endless greenhouses – ugly, dusty, dry and baking in the sun. On the upside, we did get the bonus of cooking with food found by the side of the road, which is always nice. At the campsite in Almeria we met an American guy who is studying the impact of the greenhouse agriculture on the region, so I’ll be keeping an eye out for his damning criticism of it sometime soon.
Since we hit Adra, I’ve been swimming every day, which is of course another bonus. This has been accompanied by a sharp increase in bugs – flies and mozzies operating on a rotational shift basis in each campsite. We’ve bought two types of mozzie repellent, but Neil still manages to look like a leper and we’ve had to start sleeping with the screens closed on the tent, which is very warm. The campsites in Adra and Almeria were right on the beach – less than 100m from tent door to lovely, lovely salt water. Tabernas was in the middle of nowhere and the only water we saw either fell from the sky or was sprayed up on us, disguised as filthy mud, by passing trucks. But then it is Europe’s only desert. Frankly, I’m becoming increasingly dubious about some of these claims – I’ve seen Europe’s biggest cathedral in at least four different places and the country around Tabernas, while very interesting, didn’t look much like a desert to my exacting Australian eyes.
Anyway, Tabernas was very nearly the scene of some tears. According to our guidebook, and to flyers Neil had been collecting, it was the site where many spaghetti westerns were filmed, including a number of the Sergio Leone classics, and studio/sets/shrines to Clint-type places could be visited and enjoyed. Based purely on the name, we selected one Texas Hollywood – it was rubbish. It was so bad, it actually went out the other side and became funny. We cycled through the desert on rocky, dusty roads to pay €15-odd each to look at an old film set, have a ride in a horse-drawn cart and watch a ‘wild west show’ conducted entirely in Spanish which consisted of three men playing cards and fighting in a bar. After going through the rollercoaster of emotions from extreme excitement to utter horror, anger and hostility, we arrived at a kind of mild hysteria which allowed us to appreciate how utterly we’d just been conned and genuinely laugh at a world that produces tourists as gullible as us. And Indiana Jones was filmed there too (no, I don’t know which one – I only glanced at the film stills in the bar)!
Anyway, all of this brings us to the here and now, which is trapped in Mojacar while Neil’s bike is repaired. The original snapped spoke was repaired in a rather slapdash manner, so that eventually the buckle returned and on the way down from Tabernas to the coast a further two spokes snapped and we had to limp into town and seek help. The ride down had been going fantastically well to that point. Great roads with little or no traffic, a light drizzle of rain so that it didn’t get too hot, lightning striking the mountains, Spain’s unfriendliest town (Sorbas – clear inspiration for The Hills Have Eyes), and a period of prolonged filth which left me and everything I own coated completely in mud. Still, it could have been a lot worse and at least it turned out we had alighted in just the right spot! We are staying in a wonderfully quiet and pretty campsite just outside Mojacar town itself, with almond trees all around us to assist in our mission to eat as much food we find on the ground as possible. The woman that runs the campsite is doing us a cheap rate, that has got cheaper the longer we stayed, and two old English brothers that are staying at the site have been immensely helpful. They found us a bike repair shop through a friend who lives locally and drove Neil into the next town to drop his wheel off. Unfortunately, it has taken three days to repair and Neil is off to collect it this afternoon. The brothers are, it goes without saying, utterly mad. A favourite saying, for example, seems to be that the world is run by women and socialists – not the one I’m living in, unfortunately – but have so far seemed largely harmless. We shall buy them some beers to thank them for their help before we head off tomorrow morning. Meantime, I’ve been enjoying a wonderful relax. The campsite has a pool that we’ve had pretty much to ourselves. On Wednesday I walked down to the seafront a couple of kilometres away and found an English bar that put the State of Origin on for me (yay you toadies). Neil joined me after his trip to the bike shop and we spent the rest of the day getting pissed, topped off by a wonderful vege dinner on a rooftop restaurant in Mojacar. There appears to be a massive expat community here but the place itself has very little to recommend it. Still, there’s a communal fridge at the campsite, so we’ve been able to keep cool food that we’ve been avoiding because of the heat and we’ve spent a few days laying about eating and drinking much like big fat Mediterranean cats.
05 June 2007
Map and pin: Conil de la Frontera; Punta Paloma; Algeciras (Gibraltar); Granada.
Last few days have been mad and packed full of really interesting stuff. First of all, we cycled about 55km to Punta Paloma – a very windy 55km. It is worth noting that there are a number of warning signs that cyclists might like to be aware indicate less than ideal cycling conditions ahead. These include massive wind farms, wind sock signs on the side of the road, hotel names like ‘Hotel Hurricane’ and millions of kite surfers. Yes, wind freaks, we’d arrived at the so called ‘wind coast’, world headquarters of wind surfing and kite surfing. It goes without saying that we had no idea we were approaching this and arrived at Punta Paloma gobsmacked to see the sky filled with giant kites and the palm trees horizontal. We set up camp and then wandered down to the beach to soak up the spectacle – and got our second delightful surprise: Africa. From the beach you could see the north coast of Africa rising up on the other side. How cool – I didn’t know it was so close. We had a couple of beers and a nice dinner. Sunday has become our main eating out night as the day in Spain is like Sundays when you were a kid – nothing (except restaurants/bars) is open.
The wind howled all night long and we set off the next morning nothing short of fearful, into what seemed like a strong wind. We were right to be afraid, and it wasn’t a strong wind – that was still to come. Turns out we were riding through the winds that blow between Spain and Africa through the Strait of Gibraltar and although we only did 30-odd km for the day it was absolutely killer. The wind, combined with mountains, was so strong that we had to push the bikes on a number of occasions not because it was too steep but because we were in serious danger of being blown off the road. It was amazing. Just when I was about to despair, having taken over an hour and a half to do less than 10km, we arrived at a bar near the summit of the highest mountain and had a quick beer. Then, bless the spirits of wind, it was all down hill to Algeciras.
We’d planned to camp there, but on arrival we were told that the nearest campsite was back where we’d stayed the night before and quickly changed our mind. Instead, we stayed in a really cheap pension and took the bus to Gibraltar for the evening. What a bizarre place. For the first time since we left England, someone actually checked out passports. Once you’re in, it is genuinely like you are back in England. All the signs are in English, the stores are English, the currency is pounds and pence, the pubs (and the pub food) are English. To be honest, it all seemed a bit run-down and sad. We met a local artist, though, who told us quite a bit about the island and what it was like to live there. We had a pub dinner and a few pints – bought a 50g pouch of tobacco (no, I haven’t quite given up smoking, it would seem) for £1.02!!!!! – bought some wine gums for Neil and wandered around for a while before taking the bus back to Algeciras. It was just €45 for a day trip by ferry to Tanger, and we were sorely tempted to nip over to Africa while we had the chance (just so we’d been) but decided against it. You can’t do everything and the costs for every extra day mount up – we’re already exceeding our budget on a regular basis and have pretty much concluded that we won’t be doing much further travel once we’ve finished this trip, but we’ll see how we go.
Algeciras seemed a very odd place – obviously a major port for travel/trade between Europe and north Africa, which was reflected in a very mixed population, fantastic variety in the food at the local markets and signs in several languages. It’s also home to a massive industrial area and it appeared from the flow of traffic that many locals work on Gibraltar.
Today, we trained it up to Granada – and thank fuck for that because just looking at the mountains through the window made me tired. Met a fellow Aussie traveller – retiree from Adelaide – who was excellent company and we exchanged travel tips. The campsite in Granada is really close to the city, which is brilliant, and we’re here for two nights before heading back down to the coast. According to the map, we’ve got to go over a couple of 1000+m mountains on the way back, so as well as sightseeing we’ve been building up our strength. Granada looks beautiful so far and tomorrow we’ve got a packed itinerary to get through, so I better go have a beer and get camp dinner sorted. My iBook is still not working on wireless, so I’m not sure when this will get posted but if we’ve got some spare time and a free wi-fi connection I’ll see what I can do.
02 June 2007
We appear to be beginning the descent into noisy campsite hell – I write this to the accompaniment of screaming children, loud Spanish pop music, barking dogs, scooters and even the occasional bray of a donkey, although I have no idea where the hell the donkey came from and I did take a walk around the campsite when we arrived. The donkey and the dogs can be quite soothing, but the overall effect is anything but. Last night we had several desperately shouty Spanish families, lead by chief shouter Willy Wanker (so named because he appeared to have his own oompah loompah – sorry, but even I wasn’t brazen enough to take a picture of them six foot away and shouting to each other) who forced me to have a 1am tantrum. I was reduced to shouting random abuse and slamming the pots of our tiny cookset together – the only thing I had that could make noise in any way competitive with several adult shouters, a troupe of monkey children playing with a giant tennis ball and loud Spanish television. At least they made the monkey children stop.
In fairness, you expect Friday and Saturday night at a campsite to be noisy and noise doesn’t generally bother me – let’s face it, I’m damned noisy myself. I think I was particularly pissed off because this was a deeply militant campsite where reception had impressed on me, through the use of words, gestures and pictures, the evil of using any kind of portable music player: antisocial behaviour far more hideous than shouting, playing ball games and watching loud television outside your caravan at 1am. It is probably also worth noting that people who stay in caravans cannot possibly know just how little noise a tent filters out – it’s like wearing ear trumpets as ear plugs.
But enough preliminary moaning, on to the main moan of the day: I have been robbed in the most annoying and disappointing way possible. You expect, travelling like this, that you will get stuff nicked – frankly I figure it’s inevitable. However. Today, while I was at the beach (yes, yes, I am aware that noting I was off swimming in the clear blue Spanish sea at the time is likely to lessen any sympathy I might be due) someone stole my repair kit from my bike. Spare tube, puncture repair kit and a set of allen keys (no idea how you spell that, so apologies if it’s wrong) – not the bag they actually live in, which is strapped under the seat, mind, just the three essential repair items. Total value: £10 maybe. The bike, it goes without saying, was chained up with my fuck off giant bike chain and lock. Okay, so I realise it’s not heart medicine or grandmother’s wedding ring or something, but that’s hardly the point. These three things could *only possibly be of use* to a cyclist. What kind of scumbag bastard cyclist steals another cyclist’s repair kit? Nothing else taken: Ernie and my bike computer still there, Neil’s quick release wheels untouched. Just the three cheap, essential items a cyclist – AND ONLY A CYCLIST – would need if they got a flat tyre.
Obviously, there is no point wishing a flat tyre on him/her as they now have at least one brand new puncture repair kit, and a snapped chain or similar seems a smidgen light as punishment goes. In truth, I hope they accidentally ride into a seemingly empty field and get gored by an angry bull that was only last week, much to the thief’s disappointment, spared by the crowd at the local bullfight because it had fought courageously – poetically leaving him/her to expire slowly from a puncture that no stolen repair kit can mend. Or something similar.
On top of this irritating theft, I discovered that I had lost my travel shampoo (bloody brilliant little shampoo cake from Lush – not tested on animals – with its own little travel tin). Neil, on being told that I couldn’t find it, made things infinitely better by responding: “Oh yes, you’ll have left that at the last campsite - I thought I saw that outside the showers but didn’t think it was yours.” Grrr indeed. There is a horse neighing now, as well.
Map & pin: Granada; Carchuna; Adra; Almeria; Tabernas; Mojacar.
Again it’s been way too long between blog updates, but we are currently trapped for a few days in Mojacar effecting repairs (of which more below), so it’s a good opportunity to at least run through the highlights of a very busy and excellent week or so. Granada was every bit as good as expected – we spent a full day sightseeing and only managed to take in about half a dozen different places. The sightseeing pinnacle was definitely the Alhambra/Generalife – a Moorish castle, gardens and other assorted stuff perched on the top of the hill overlooking the city. Everything about the place combines elegance, beauty and style with extraordinary peace and tranquillity. The gardens all centre around running water and despite the intense heat of the sun, everywhere feels cool and relaxed. From the top of the towers you can see the Sierra Nevadas, the city, the groves of olive trees stretching away into the distance – truly awesome place.
Other particularly good bits included an exhibition by a painter called JP Morales (when I have an internet connection I will try to give you some more info, but look out for his extremely surreal and often tiny oils), the cathedral with a most impressive organ (tee hee) and the street parade we caught – some kind of festival going on in the city.
We also got on the piss with some fellow travellers at the campsite – Dan and Darcy who are doing a similar trip to ours but on motorbikes. A good laugh and hopefully we might catch up with them in Valencia or Barcelona – obviously they are travelling much faster than us but staying longer in many places and taking more time out for side trips.
The ride down from Granada was way easier than expected, which is always nice. Fantastic scenery, though. As we approached the coast, the road followed the bottom of a ravine winding for several kilometres through massive cliffs and mountains. It was breathtaking stuff – the rock seemed so old and strong, the cyclist so transient and tiny. Such was the scale of the thing that there seemed no point in taking pictures – they could not possibly convey the feeling of the place. Then, just as you felt you might be crushed, the cliffs receded, sky reappeared and out we popped onto the coast again. V cool.
Carchuna – don’t bother. Nothing there except a very expensive campsite and an average (by, admittedly, the very high standards around here) beach. Here and Adra are part of what is referred to as the ‘exotic coast’. The guidebook informed me that here many exotic and tropical fruits are grown. Fabulous, I thought, all those beautiful fruit trees, what an appealing prospect. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In fact, the entire area is pretty much endless greenhouses – ugly, dusty, dry and baking in the sun. On the upside, we did get the bonus of cooking with food found by the side of the road, which is always nice. At the campsite in Almeria we met an American guy who is studying the impact of the greenhouse agriculture on the region, so I’ll be keeping an eye out for his damning criticism of it sometime soon.
Since we hit Adra, I’ve been swimming every day, which is of course another bonus. This has been accompanied by a sharp increase in bugs – flies and mozzies operating on a rotational shift basis in each campsite. We’ve bought two types of mozzie repellent, but Neil still manages to look like a leper and we’ve had to start sleeping with the screens closed on the tent, which is very warm. The campsites in Adra and Almeria were right on the beach – less than 100m from tent door to lovely, lovely salt water. Tabernas was in the middle of nowhere and the only water we saw either fell from the sky or was sprayed up on us, disguised as filthy mud, by passing trucks. But then it is Europe’s only desert. Frankly, I’m becoming increasingly dubious about some of these claims – I’ve seen Europe’s biggest cathedral in at least four different places and the country around Tabernas, while very interesting, didn’t look much like a desert to my exacting Australian eyes.
Anyway, Tabernas was very nearly the scene of some tears. According to our guidebook, and to flyers Neil had been collecting, it was the site where many spaghetti westerns were filmed, including a number of the Sergio Leone classics, and studio/sets/shrines to Clint-type places could be visited and enjoyed. Based purely on the name, we selected one Texas Hollywood – it was rubbish. It was so bad, it actually went out the other side and became funny. We cycled through the desert on rocky, dusty roads to pay €15-odd each to look at an old film set, have a ride in a horse-drawn cart and watch a ‘wild west show’ conducted entirely in Spanish which consisted of three men playing cards and fighting in a bar. After going through the rollercoaster of emotions from extreme excitement to utter horror, anger and hostility, we arrived at a kind of mild hysteria which allowed us to appreciate how utterly we’d just been conned and genuinely laugh at a world that produces tourists as gullible as us. And Indiana Jones was filmed there too (no, I don’t know which one – I only glanced at the film stills in the bar)!
Anyway, all of this brings us to the here and now, which is trapped in Mojacar while Neil’s bike is repaired. The original snapped spoke was repaired in a rather slapdash manner, so that eventually the buckle returned and on the way down from Tabernas to the coast a further two spokes snapped and we had to limp into town and seek help. The ride down had been going fantastically well to that point. Great roads with little or no traffic, a light drizzle of rain so that it didn’t get too hot, lightning striking the mountains, Spain’s unfriendliest town (Sorbas – clear inspiration for The Hills Have Eyes), and a period of prolonged filth which left me and everything I own coated completely in mud. Still, it could have been a lot worse and at least it turned out we had alighted in just the right spot! We are staying in a wonderfully quiet and pretty campsite just outside Mojacar town itself, with almond trees all around us to assist in our mission to eat as much food we find on the ground as possible. The woman that runs the campsite is doing us a cheap rate, that has got cheaper the longer we stayed, and two old English brothers that are staying at the site have been immensely helpful. They found us a bike repair shop through a friend who lives locally and drove Neil into the next town to drop his wheel off. Unfortunately, it has taken three days to repair and Neil is off to collect it this afternoon. The brothers are, it goes without saying, utterly mad. A favourite saying, for example, seems to be that the world is run by women and socialists – not the one I’m living in, unfortunately – but have so far seemed largely harmless. We shall buy them some beers to thank them for their help before we head off tomorrow morning. Meantime, I’ve been enjoying a wonderful relax. The campsite has a pool that we’ve had pretty much to ourselves. On Wednesday I walked down to the seafront a couple of kilometres away and found an English bar that put the State of Origin on for me (yay you toadies). Neil joined me after his trip to the bike shop and we spent the rest of the day getting pissed, topped off by a wonderful vege dinner on a rooftop restaurant in Mojacar. There appears to be a massive expat community here but the place itself has very little to recommend it. Still, there’s a communal fridge at the campsite, so we’ve been able to keep cool food that we’ve been avoiding because of the heat and we’ve spent a few days laying about eating and drinking much like big fat Mediterranean cats.
05 June 2007
Map and pin: Conil de la Frontera; Punta Paloma; Algeciras (Gibraltar); Granada.
Last few days have been mad and packed full of really interesting stuff. First of all, we cycled about 55km to Punta Paloma – a very windy 55km. It is worth noting that there are a number of warning signs that cyclists might like to be aware indicate less than ideal cycling conditions ahead. These include massive wind farms, wind sock signs on the side of the road, hotel names like ‘Hotel Hurricane’ and millions of kite surfers. Yes, wind freaks, we’d arrived at the so called ‘wind coast’, world headquarters of wind surfing and kite surfing. It goes without saying that we had no idea we were approaching this and arrived at Punta Paloma gobsmacked to see the sky filled with giant kites and the palm trees horizontal. We set up camp and then wandered down to the beach to soak up the spectacle – and got our second delightful surprise: Africa. From the beach you could see the north coast of Africa rising up on the other side. How cool – I didn’t know it was so close. We had a couple of beers and a nice dinner. Sunday has become our main eating out night as the day in Spain is like Sundays when you were a kid – nothing (except restaurants/bars) is open.
The wind howled all night long and we set off the next morning nothing short of fearful, into what seemed like a strong wind. We were right to be afraid, and it wasn’t a strong wind – that was still to come. Turns out we were riding through the winds that blow between Spain and Africa through the Strait of Gibraltar and although we only did 30-odd km for the day it was absolutely killer. The wind, combined with mountains, was so strong that we had to push the bikes on a number of occasions not because it was too steep but because we were in serious danger of being blown off the road. It was amazing. Just when I was about to despair, having taken over an hour and a half to do less than 10km, we arrived at a bar near the summit of the highest mountain and had a quick beer. Then, bless the spirits of wind, it was all down hill to Algeciras.
We’d planned to camp there, but on arrival we were told that the nearest campsite was back where we’d stayed the night before and quickly changed our mind. Instead, we stayed in a really cheap pension and took the bus to Gibraltar for the evening. What a bizarre place. For the first time since we left England, someone actually checked out passports. Once you’re in, it is genuinely like you are back in England. All the signs are in English, the stores are English, the currency is pounds and pence, the pubs (and the pub food) are English. To be honest, it all seemed a bit run-down and sad. We met a local artist, though, who told us quite a bit about the island and what it was like to live there. We had a pub dinner and a few pints – bought a 50g pouch of tobacco (no, I haven’t quite given up smoking, it would seem) for £1.02!!!!! – bought some wine gums for Neil and wandered around for a while before taking the bus back to Algeciras. It was just €45 for a day trip by ferry to Tanger, and we were sorely tempted to nip over to Africa while we had the chance (just so we’d been) but decided against it. You can’t do everything and the costs for every extra day mount up – we’re already exceeding our budget on a regular basis and have pretty much concluded that we won’t be doing much further travel once we’ve finished this trip, but we’ll see how we go.
Algeciras seemed a very odd place – obviously a major port for travel/trade between Europe and north Africa, which was reflected in a very mixed population, fantastic variety in the food at the local markets and signs in several languages. It’s also home to a massive industrial area and it appeared from the flow of traffic that many locals work on Gibraltar.
Today, we trained it up to Granada – and thank fuck for that because just looking at the mountains through the window made me tired. Met a fellow Aussie traveller – retiree from Adelaide – who was excellent company and we exchanged travel tips. The campsite in Granada is really close to the city, which is brilliant, and we’re here for two nights before heading back down to the coast. According to the map, we’ve got to go over a couple of 1000+m mountains on the way back, so as well as sightseeing we’ve been building up our strength. Granada looks beautiful so far and tomorrow we’ve got a packed itinerary to get through, so I better go have a beer and get camp dinner sorted. My iBook is still not working on wireless, so I’m not sure when this will get posted but if we’ve got some spare time and a free wi-fi connection I’ll see what I can do.
02 June 2007
We appear to be beginning the descent into noisy campsite hell – I write this to the accompaniment of screaming children, loud Spanish pop music, barking dogs, scooters and even the occasional bray of a donkey, although I have no idea where the hell the donkey came from and I did take a walk around the campsite when we arrived. The donkey and the dogs can be quite soothing, but the overall effect is anything but. Last night we had several desperately shouty Spanish families, lead by chief shouter Willy Wanker (so named because he appeared to have his own oompah loompah – sorry, but even I wasn’t brazen enough to take a picture of them six foot away and shouting to each other) who forced me to have a 1am tantrum. I was reduced to shouting random abuse and slamming the pots of our tiny cookset together – the only thing I had that could make noise in any way competitive with several adult shouters, a troupe of monkey children playing with a giant tennis ball and loud Spanish television. At least they made the monkey children stop.
In fairness, you expect Friday and Saturday night at a campsite to be noisy and noise doesn’t generally bother me – let’s face it, I’m damned noisy myself. I think I was particularly pissed off because this was a deeply militant campsite where reception had impressed on me, through the use of words, gestures and pictures, the evil of using any kind of portable music player: antisocial behaviour far more hideous than shouting, playing ball games and watching loud television outside your caravan at 1am. It is probably also worth noting that people who stay in caravans cannot possibly know just how little noise a tent filters out – it’s like wearing ear trumpets as ear plugs.
But enough preliminary moaning, on to the main moan of the day: I have been robbed in the most annoying and disappointing way possible. You expect, travelling like this, that you will get stuff nicked – frankly I figure it’s inevitable. However. Today, while I was at the beach (yes, yes, I am aware that noting I was off swimming in the clear blue Spanish sea at the time is likely to lessen any sympathy I might be due) someone stole my repair kit from my bike. Spare tube, puncture repair kit and a set of allen keys (no idea how you spell that, so apologies if it’s wrong) – not the bag they actually live in, which is strapped under the seat, mind, just the three essential repair items. Total value: £10 maybe. The bike, it goes without saying, was chained up with my fuck off giant bike chain and lock. Okay, so I realise it’s not heart medicine or grandmother’s wedding ring or something, but that’s hardly the point. These three things could *only possibly be of use* to a cyclist. What kind of scumbag bastard cyclist steals another cyclist’s repair kit? Nothing else taken: Ernie and my bike computer still there, Neil’s quick release wheels untouched. Just the three cheap, essential items a cyclist – AND ONLY A CYCLIST – would need if they got a flat tyre.
Obviously, there is no point wishing a flat tyre on him/her as they now have at least one brand new puncture repair kit, and a snapped chain or similar seems a smidgen light as punishment goes. In truth, I hope they accidentally ride into a seemingly empty field and get gored by an angry bull that was only last week, much to the thief’s disappointment, spared by the crowd at the local bullfight because it had fought courageously – poetically leaving him/her to expire slowly from a puncture that no stolen repair kit can mend. Or something similar.
On top of this irritating theft, I discovered that I had lost my travel shampoo (bloody brilliant little shampoo cake from Lush – not tested on animals – with its own little travel tin). Neil, on being told that I couldn’t find it, made things infinitely better by responding: “Oh yes, you’ll have left that at the last campsite - I thought I saw that outside the showers but didn’t think it was yours.” Grrr indeed. There is a horse neighing now, as well.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Where at we are at
I've just added two posts below - one a long update that I've been writing on and off for the last couple of weeks, the other a list of everywhere we have stayed so far.
We're back in Spain and visiting particularly ace places at the moment - Sevilla for a couple of days, Jerez yesterday and today we are in Cadiz. Unfortunately, I have still not got my iBook problems sorted (airport card screwed) so posting is likely to remain intermittent for some time. I have also just uploaded some new pictures on to my Flickr page but as I am using Neil's laptop, which is sadly not my iBook (but works and therefore could be temporarily said to be in some small way at least as good, if possibly just for now not *better* than my iBook) which does not have the same Flickr uploader set up on it, the pictures have no caption information and probably no titles either. Sorry - I'll fix it when I can.
Bloody hell, this is hard work. Fortunately, El Puerto de Santa Maria, where we are currently camping, is a major shipping port for sherry, made both there and just up the road in Jerez, so when I finish this blog entry, and drink the rest of this beer, and catch the ferry across the bay, I'll be able to wind down with a nice glass of sherry. Lucky - it's so important these days to avoid stress.
I will continue to try to tidy things up and add some pictures to these posts. As a quick aside, friends of Owl-boy may be interested to know that he is the Dave of Portugal. Yup, you can't swing a cat without hitting a Joao in the country - the little buggers are everywhere, not to mention sainted all over the shop. Certainly made me giggle a lot.
Best post this now before I use all of Neil's battery and become even more unpopular...
PS JP, you rock for reading and posting a comment. The rest of you probably suck, but I'm willing to entertain unlikely excuses for why you might not be reading/commenting (possibly lack of content might even be one of them).
We're back in Spain and visiting particularly ace places at the moment - Sevilla for a couple of days, Jerez yesterday and today we are in Cadiz. Unfortunately, I have still not got my iBook problems sorted (airport card screwed) so posting is likely to remain intermittent for some time. I have also just uploaded some new pictures on to my Flickr page but as I am using Neil's laptop, which is sadly not my iBook (but works and therefore could be temporarily said to be in some small way at least as good, if possibly just for now not *better* than my iBook) which does not have the same Flickr uploader set up on it, the pictures have no caption information and probably no titles either. Sorry - I'll fix it when I can.
Bloody hell, this is hard work. Fortunately, El Puerto de Santa Maria, where we are currently camping, is a major shipping port for sherry, made both there and just up the road in Jerez, so when I finish this blog entry, and drink the rest of this beer, and catch the ferry across the bay, I'll be able to wind down with a nice glass of sherry. Lucky - it's so important these days to avoid stress.
I will continue to try to tidy things up and add some pictures to these posts. As a quick aside, friends of Owl-boy may be interested to know that he is the Dave of Portugal. Yup, you can't swing a cat without hitting a Joao in the country - the little buggers are everywhere, not to mention sainted all over the shop. Certainly made me giggle a lot.
Best post this now before I use all of Neil's battery and become even more unpopular...
PS JP, you rock for reading and posting a comment. The rest of you probably suck, but I'm willing to entertain unlikely excuses for why you might not be reading/commenting (possibly lack of content might even be one of them).
The rest of Portugal, in brief
26 May 2007
It’s our last night in Portugal, so before summing up I’ll quickly run through the last week in brief:
May 20 – Sagres to Lagos – this was a deeply, deeply unpleasant cycle. Thank your lucky stars I’m writing this a week later or previously inconceivable levels of obscenity and bile would currently be filling these pages. The first 10kms was straight into the most ridiculously strong wind imaginable. I shit you not, the road was lined with shredded wind socks. SHREDDED. This was a wind so strong, that if I stopped pedalling * down* a hill, it would blow me and my bike back up the hill. It was relentless and painful and best never spoken of again. Before we set off on this ride, we visited the end of the world (the lighthouse at Sao Vicente), which was excellent, and the castle at Sagres, which was shit. We stayed in Lagos for three days – it turned out to have a thriving Aussie traveller scene so we did way too much drinking and not a lot else. Apart from Aussies, the place was jam packed full of poms. Mainly old ones. The town had a cool museum but not much else. Prices are starting to rise.
May 23 – Lagos to Albufeira – what a shit hole. Apparently, this is where people go when they visit the Algarve. It could have been anywhere in the world that crappy English tourists descend on en-masse. No character, no nothing. Really expensive and yet tasteless and dull. We watched the Champions League final, but the Liverpool fans weren’t interested in being offended by our cheering and taunting. Afterwards, I met a bunch of people from Leeds; one family in the process of emigrating to Australia. The father is a huge rugby league fan (moving to Melbourne, I might add – someone hasn’t done their homework…) and spent most of the night telling us how his son, a decidedly unhard-looking 10 year old was going to be the greatest rugby league player in the world and will one day play for Australia. I expect it will all end in tears when he turns out to have a passion for nuclear physics or poetry. I was supposed to remember his name but I’ve forgotten it already. The Algarve is rubbish.
May 24 – Albufeira to Olhao – actually, the Algarve has been somewhat redeemed by Olhao and Faro, both of which are really pleasant, interesting places full, largely, of Portuguese tourists. We stayed in Olhao due to an absence of campsite in Faro. We took the train with our bikes between the two, which was really fun – travelling in our own little baggage compartment with the doors open and leaping about like mad things to get our bikes and stuff off when we got to our stop. I have concluded that the reason these places have not been destroyed by hideous English and other foreign tourism is because they have no beaches. Lagoon/wetlands cover the coastline (apparently supplying 90% of Portugal’s mussels and oysters – how’s that for a useless fact) producing waterfronts that look out over stretches of shallow water filled with fishing boats. Does make for delicious seafood, though, so we had dinner along the front just to make sure everything was up to scratch. It was. As US/UK films are screened in Portugal in English with subtitles, we also took the opportunity to catch Pirates and Spidey 3. I will probably bang on about both at some later point, but suffice to say for now that the former was better than expected, the latter not as good – Bruce Campbell probably saved it, though, from a more harsh assessment.
Today – so now we’re in Vila Real de Santo Antonio, our last stop in Portugal before another ferry whisks us back to Spain in the morning. As luck would have it, we’ve arrived on the weekend of the international speed boat championships, which we will shortly be going to watch. I know. You’re thinking: you sly dog Angela, I’ll bet you planned the whole trip so you could be in VRdSA on this particular weekend. But I swear to you, it’s pure coincidence. I mean, of course I dared to hope…
I’ve been thinking about my overall impression of Portugal, and I think my feelings are pretty damn positive on the country as a whole. Most of the Algarve was really, really shit and I would not recommend anyone even consider it for a holiday. Other than that, though (and Sines, don’t go to Sines), it’s been fun. The north in particular was beautiful and interesting; the people were helpful and friendly; the food and drink is great. I enjoyed both Porto and Lisbon, though I think the latter needs a week-long visit of its own to get better acquainted. Some places there was a tedious tendency for people to rip you off, or at least try, which does piss you off after a while. But then I grew up in a tourist town, so I have some sense at least of what locals probably think of us. Highlights (in no particular order): Porto; Viana do Costelo; Lisbon; Zambujeira do Mar; the end of the world; Sao Jacinto (Aviero).
Lowlights: the Algarve, generally; Sines; the place with no name in the middle of nowhere; Madalena.
Best campsite: near Lourical
Worst campsite: the place with no name in the middle of nowhere
In other completely unrelated news, my airport card in my laptop has completely packed it in, meaning that I am off wireless until I can find someone to install a new one. And I’ve lost a filling. I now need to find an English-speaking dentist. I hasten to add that this has nothing to do with any perceived difference in quality/competency/etc between a dentist who speaks English and one who speaks Portuguese/Spanish/etc. I am shit scared of the dentist and I need the dentist to know that so he/she can be extra, extra careful – I also need to explain very clearly that while there may be other cavities, etc, in there, or other dental matters which need addressing, I only want the filling that has fallen out replaced. I am hoping that the bit of the Spanish coast where all the expat English gather will have someone who can help me.
So, it would seem that my worst fears have been confirmed, regarding the airport card. In a bar with free wi-fi, iBee fell over repeatedly, but now that I’m back at the campsite, everything seems to be okay. Neil is already snoring in the tent, which at least conserves light, one of our major concerns. Barbelith has come through with some addresses of places I might try for Mac assistance at least. Bless you all, you brains trust of compassionate people. I can’t begin to explain how utterly fearful being ibee less would make me, but hopefully, this ill can be dealt with. At least I feel now that it’s not just complete death that he is facing, but a specific problem which might easily and comfortably be solved. I look forward not just to a good day’s cycling and seeing tomorrow, but hopefully a cure for whatever ails iBee.
19 May 2007
We’re in Sagres, which appears, disappointingly, not to be the home of the beer we have been so enjoying during most of our stay in Portugal. In fact, it doesn’t appear to be the home of much at all. Except for a large ant population that descended upon our tent, and Neil’s panniers in particular, during our absence and has left him in a foul mood for the evening’s tent time.
Bob, our tent, has had his first injury. Nothing too serious – from the safety of Neil’s bag, the phone monkey and a pair of clippers, conspired to burn a hole in Bob – although in truth the incident could have been serious, so all’s well that ends well. We were lying in the tent in Zambujeira do Mar (of which more in a moment) when a strange smell assailed us. I thought it must be gas, but it continued to get stronger. Then, reaching for a cotton bud from his bag, Neil discovered that the smell was coming from the foot of the tent and comedic panic ensued as we threw everything from the tent in a bid to not die in the world’s smallest hostel (tent) fire. Turned out that the phone monkey/nail clipper combo had burned a hole through Neil’s bag, his sleeping mat, the tent and the ground sheet. However patching has been carried out and hopefully Bob will soldier on and wear his scars with pride.
Oddly, this incident came at the end of a near perfect day – the 70-odd-km to Z-d-M had been relatively easy and we had actually taken a mystery road, when pretty much completely lost, that turned out to be that most magical of things – a shortcut that worked. We emerged onto the road we should have been on all along with a scant 5km to go to the campsite. Which was lovely. And easy to find. And close to the town. Which was lovely. And full of little restaurants and bars. We walked around the headland that overlooks magnificent rocky coastline and down onto the town’s main beach for a quick dip. The water was crisp but wonderful and there was just enough swell to make for a pleasant and refreshing swim. There was a small shop in the town able to supply us with the essentials and the beer was cheap. Overall a beautiful place and I would recommend it as one of the nicest spots I’ve seen in Portugal.
Today’ ride was a little more like hard work, although only about 10km further than yesterday. The road wound inland for a bit, which is the universal signal for HILLS. There was quite a lot of uphill work but it was pretty gradual so bearable in the end. Sagres itself is a bit of a nothing – a small town with lots of bars but no tourists at present so oddly forlorn. We watched the end of the FA Cup final, by chance (sucked in Man Utd and all your irritating fans), in a rather expensive bar, but then made up for it by having a delicious and v cheap omelette dinner in a small snack bar in the main square. Tomorrow, we shall visit the end of the world – Cabo Sao Vincente – and the fort of Sagres before pushing on to Lagos which our rubbish guide book claims has the best museum in Portugal. It should at least have a store where Neil can buy some new gloves and a spoke tool to straighten the buckle out of his wheel. Hopefully we can also buy a battery charger so that we might have light after the sun goes down, a revolutionary idea which might just change the way we live and aid our development somehow…
16 May 2007
The stench of oil and a plague of flying spiders – ah, Sines, how to describe thee. I’ll gloss over it for a moment and go back to our departure from Lisbon. After some small confusion over the departure point, we found the appropriate ferry and were on our way to costa da caparica, well except for the usual motorway avoidance issues and a 10km trip becomes 20km. A relatively sleepy spot, in the middle of nowhere, given that it’s terribly close to Lisbon. Still, there were a couple of nice bars and apart from the infestation of cats, the campsite was okay. Then it was on to the place with no name. I shall not speak of this, because I believe Neil is preparing an entry on that particular hellish-ness. Suffice it to say, we cycled over 100km for the first time in a single day and not by intention.
Genuine travel tip of actual value to anyone visiting Portugal or Spain!! I know that, largely, little of real lasting value has come from these pages so far, but if you still choose to visit Vigo and Ribadasella at least take away this – on a Sunday, many major tourist attractions are free before 2pm in Portugal and all day in Spain. So make a note – closed on Monday, free on Sunday between 10am and 2pm/all day. And it helps to pretend you are actually catholic, if you’ve the stomach for it, when you visit cathedrals, because you can easily queue jump by looking suitably pious. A look, which it probably goes without saying, we didn’t achieve.
Anyhoo, despite Sines being uniformly unpleasant, and I do mean unremitting, the campsite has been passable and has allowed me to clean all of my clothes. Oddly enough, I’ve become quite precious about hand washing. I mean, before now, I would have said that if you know it’s been cleaned, who cares what it looks like – right? Well, actually, handwashing makes me care. I realise attitudes may differ (and I accept that the answer to the last question for many people may have been different – its probably just me who doesn’t care if they look like shit), but handwashing is actually really hard work. When I spend half an hour scrubbing shit out of my clothes, I want the buggers to look clean. It’s not enough to know they * are * clean, I want that clean clothes non-scummy look. Who knew travelling would make me so vain. Sadly, I haven’t achieved that with today’s batch of washing, but I live in hope.
Things wrong with the world today – episode 1: you can’t buy anything small anymore. When you want just one, or at most two rolls of toilet paper, do you thing you can buy that? No. Can I get a tiny bottle of olive oil? Or of washing detergent? Jam? Shampoo? The concept of under-consumption is the anathema of modern retailing it would appear and we are reduced to ‘reprovisioning’ from hotel rooms, but that’s another story.
The big questions: who, and based on what information, decided that people who use campsites don’t want or need toilet seats? I mean, I know I’m your typical southern nancy city type, but still, if you’re going to provide toilets, is it really outrageous to think you might go the extra mile and give me a seat? Actually, I didn’t even think of it as the extra mile before now – I mean, I understand supplying your own toilet paper, but your own seat??
Neil was going to the supermarket on his bike for wine and other sundries. He’s been gone some time and had drunk several beers before leaving. I better save this and start combing the streets for road kill…
It’s our last night in Portugal, so before summing up I’ll quickly run through the last week in brief:
May 20 – Sagres to Lagos – this was a deeply, deeply unpleasant cycle. Thank your lucky stars I’m writing this a week later or previously inconceivable levels of obscenity and bile would currently be filling these pages. The first 10kms was straight into the most ridiculously strong wind imaginable. I shit you not, the road was lined with shredded wind socks. SHREDDED. This was a wind so strong, that if I stopped pedalling * down* a hill, it would blow me and my bike back up the hill. It was relentless and painful and best never spoken of again. Before we set off on this ride, we visited the end of the world (the lighthouse at Sao Vicente), which was excellent, and the castle at Sagres, which was shit. We stayed in Lagos for three days – it turned out to have a thriving Aussie traveller scene so we did way too much drinking and not a lot else. Apart from Aussies, the place was jam packed full of poms. Mainly old ones. The town had a cool museum but not much else. Prices are starting to rise.
May 23 – Lagos to Albufeira – what a shit hole. Apparently, this is where people go when they visit the Algarve. It could have been anywhere in the world that crappy English tourists descend on en-masse. No character, no nothing. Really expensive and yet tasteless and dull. We watched the Champions League final, but the Liverpool fans weren’t interested in being offended by our cheering and taunting. Afterwards, I met a bunch of people from Leeds; one family in the process of emigrating to Australia. The father is a huge rugby league fan (moving to Melbourne, I might add – someone hasn’t done their homework…) and spent most of the night telling us how his son, a decidedly unhard-looking 10 year old was going to be the greatest rugby league player in the world and will one day play for Australia. I expect it will all end in tears when he turns out to have a passion for nuclear physics or poetry. I was supposed to remember his name but I’ve forgotten it already. The Algarve is rubbish.
May 24 – Albufeira to Olhao – actually, the Algarve has been somewhat redeemed by Olhao and Faro, both of which are really pleasant, interesting places full, largely, of Portuguese tourists. We stayed in Olhao due to an absence of campsite in Faro. We took the train with our bikes between the two, which was really fun – travelling in our own little baggage compartment with the doors open and leaping about like mad things to get our bikes and stuff off when we got to our stop. I have concluded that the reason these places have not been destroyed by hideous English and other foreign tourism is because they have no beaches. Lagoon/wetlands cover the coastline (apparently supplying 90% of Portugal’s mussels and oysters – how’s that for a useless fact) producing waterfronts that look out over stretches of shallow water filled with fishing boats. Does make for delicious seafood, though, so we had dinner along the front just to make sure everything was up to scratch. It was. As US/UK films are screened in Portugal in English with subtitles, we also took the opportunity to catch Pirates and Spidey 3. I will probably bang on about both at some later point, but suffice to say for now that the former was better than expected, the latter not as good – Bruce Campbell probably saved it, though, from a more harsh assessment.
Today – so now we’re in Vila Real de Santo Antonio, our last stop in Portugal before another ferry whisks us back to Spain in the morning. As luck would have it, we’ve arrived on the weekend of the international speed boat championships, which we will shortly be going to watch. I know. You’re thinking: you sly dog Angela, I’ll bet you planned the whole trip so you could be in VRdSA on this particular weekend. But I swear to you, it’s pure coincidence. I mean, of course I dared to hope…
I’ve been thinking about my overall impression of Portugal, and I think my feelings are pretty damn positive on the country as a whole. Most of the Algarve was really, really shit and I would not recommend anyone even consider it for a holiday. Other than that, though (and Sines, don’t go to Sines), it’s been fun. The north in particular was beautiful and interesting; the people were helpful and friendly; the food and drink is great. I enjoyed both Porto and Lisbon, though I think the latter needs a week-long visit of its own to get better acquainted. Some places there was a tedious tendency for people to rip you off, or at least try, which does piss you off after a while. But then I grew up in a tourist town, so I have some sense at least of what locals probably think of us. Highlights (in no particular order): Porto; Viana do Costelo; Lisbon; Zambujeira do Mar; the end of the world; Sao Jacinto (Aviero).
Lowlights: the Algarve, generally; Sines; the place with no name in the middle of nowhere; Madalena.
Best campsite: near Lourical
Worst campsite: the place with no name in the middle of nowhere
In other completely unrelated news, my airport card in my laptop has completely packed it in, meaning that I am off wireless until I can find someone to install a new one. And I’ve lost a filling. I now need to find an English-speaking dentist. I hasten to add that this has nothing to do with any perceived difference in quality/competency/etc between a dentist who speaks English and one who speaks Portuguese/Spanish/etc. I am shit scared of the dentist and I need the dentist to know that so he/she can be extra, extra careful – I also need to explain very clearly that while there may be other cavities, etc, in there, or other dental matters which need addressing, I only want the filling that has fallen out replaced. I am hoping that the bit of the Spanish coast where all the expat English gather will have someone who can help me.
So, it would seem that my worst fears have been confirmed, regarding the airport card. In a bar with free wi-fi, iBee fell over repeatedly, but now that I’m back at the campsite, everything seems to be okay. Neil is already snoring in the tent, which at least conserves light, one of our major concerns. Barbelith has come through with some addresses of places I might try for Mac assistance at least. Bless you all, you brains trust of compassionate people. I can’t begin to explain how utterly fearful being ibee less would make me, but hopefully, this ill can be dealt with. At least I feel now that it’s not just complete death that he is facing, but a specific problem which might easily and comfortably be solved. I look forward not just to a good day’s cycling and seeing tomorrow, but hopefully a cure for whatever ails iBee.
19 May 2007
We’re in Sagres, which appears, disappointingly, not to be the home of the beer we have been so enjoying during most of our stay in Portugal. In fact, it doesn’t appear to be the home of much at all. Except for a large ant population that descended upon our tent, and Neil’s panniers in particular, during our absence and has left him in a foul mood for the evening’s tent time.
Bob, our tent, has had his first injury. Nothing too serious – from the safety of Neil’s bag, the phone monkey and a pair of clippers, conspired to burn a hole in Bob – although in truth the incident could have been serious, so all’s well that ends well. We were lying in the tent in Zambujeira do Mar (of which more in a moment) when a strange smell assailed us. I thought it must be gas, but it continued to get stronger. Then, reaching for a cotton bud from his bag, Neil discovered that the smell was coming from the foot of the tent and comedic panic ensued as we threw everything from the tent in a bid to not die in the world’s smallest hostel (tent) fire. Turned out that the phone monkey/nail clipper combo had burned a hole through Neil’s bag, his sleeping mat, the tent and the ground sheet. However patching has been carried out and hopefully Bob will soldier on and wear his scars with pride.
Oddly, this incident came at the end of a near perfect day – the 70-odd-km to Z-d-M had been relatively easy and we had actually taken a mystery road, when pretty much completely lost, that turned out to be that most magical of things – a shortcut that worked. We emerged onto the road we should have been on all along with a scant 5km to go to the campsite. Which was lovely. And easy to find. And close to the town. Which was lovely. And full of little restaurants and bars. We walked around the headland that overlooks magnificent rocky coastline and down onto the town’s main beach for a quick dip. The water was crisp but wonderful and there was just enough swell to make for a pleasant and refreshing swim. There was a small shop in the town able to supply us with the essentials and the beer was cheap. Overall a beautiful place and I would recommend it as one of the nicest spots I’ve seen in Portugal.
Today’ ride was a little more like hard work, although only about 10km further than yesterday. The road wound inland for a bit, which is the universal signal for HILLS. There was quite a lot of uphill work but it was pretty gradual so bearable in the end. Sagres itself is a bit of a nothing – a small town with lots of bars but no tourists at present so oddly forlorn. We watched the end of the FA Cup final, by chance (sucked in Man Utd and all your irritating fans), in a rather expensive bar, but then made up for it by having a delicious and v cheap omelette dinner in a small snack bar in the main square. Tomorrow, we shall visit the end of the world – Cabo Sao Vincente – and the fort of Sagres before pushing on to Lagos which our rubbish guide book claims has the best museum in Portugal. It should at least have a store where Neil can buy some new gloves and a spoke tool to straighten the buckle out of his wheel. Hopefully we can also buy a battery charger so that we might have light after the sun goes down, a revolutionary idea which might just change the way we live and aid our development somehow…
16 May 2007
The stench of oil and a plague of flying spiders – ah, Sines, how to describe thee. I’ll gloss over it for a moment and go back to our departure from Lisbon. After some small confusion over the departure point, we found the appropriate ferry and were on our way to costa da caparica, well except for the usual motorway avoidance issues and a 10km trip becomes 20km. A relatively sleepy spot, in the middle of nowhere, given that it’s terribly close to Lisbon. Still, there were a couple of nice bars and apart from the infestation of cats, the campsite was okay. Then it was on to the place with no name. I shall not speak of this, because I believe Neil is preparing an entry on that particular hellish-ness. Suffice it to say, we cycled over 100km for the first time in a single day and not by intention.
Genuine travel tip of actual value to anyone visiting Portugal or Spain!! I know that, largely, little of real lasting value has come from these pages so far, but if you still choose to visit Vigo and Ribadasella at least take away this – on a Sunday, many major tourist attractions are free before 2pm in Portugal and all day in Spain. So make a note – closed on Monday, free on Sunday between 10am and 2pm/all day. And it helps to pretend you are actually catholic, if you’ve the stomach for it, when you visit cathedrals, because you can easily queue jump by looking suitably pious. A look, which it probably goes without saying, we didn’t achieve.
Anyhoo, despite Sines being uniformly unpleasant, and I do mean unremitting, the campsite has been passable and has allowed me to clean all of my clothes. Oddly enough, I’ve become quite precious about hand washing. I mean, before now, I would have said that if you know it’s been cleaned, who cares what it looks like – right? Well, actually, handwashing makes me care. I realise attitudes may differ (and I accept that the answer to the last question for many people may have been different – its probably just me who doesn’t care if they look like shit), but handwashing is actually really hard work. When I spend half an hour scrubbing shit out of my clothes, I want the buggers to look clean. It’s not enough to know they * are * clean, I want that clean clothes non-scummy look. Who knew travelling would make me so vain. Sadly, I haven’t achieved that with today’s batch of washing, but I live in hope.
Things wrong with the world today – episode 1: you can’t buy anything small anymore. When you want just one, or at most two rolls of toilet paper, do you thing you can buy that? No. Can I get a tiny bottle of olive oil? Or of washing detergent? Jam? Shampoo? The concept of under-consumption is the anathema of modern retailing it would appear and we are reduced to ‘reprovisioning’ from hotel rooms, but that’s another story.
The big questions: who, and based on what information, decided that people who use campsites don’t want or need toilet seats? I mean, I know I’m your typical southern nancy city type, but still, if you’re going to provide toilets, is it really outrageous to think you might go the extra mile and give me a seat? Actually, I didn’t even think of it as the extra mile before now – I mean, I understand supplying your own toilet paper, but your own seat??
Neil was going to the supermarket on his bike for wine and other sundries. He’s been gone some time and had drunk several beers before leaving. I better save this and start combing the streets for road kill…
Join the dots
Okay, map and pin people – and I know you’re out there – here’s something I should have done from the start, but with a completed country under our belt now seems as good a time as any to catch up. From now on I’ll try to include updates when I add stuff to the blog, but here is the list of places we’ve stayed (in order) so far:
Bilbao
Castro Urdiales
Laredo
Santona
Loredo
Santander
San Vicente
Ribadesella
Gijon
Luanco
Cudillero
Luarca
Barreiros
Ortiguera
Valdovino
A Coruna
Santiago
Pontevedra
Samil (Vigo)
A Guarda
Viana do Castelo
Porto
Madalena
Sao Jacinto (Avierro)
Figueira de Foz
Coimbra
Lourical
Nazare
Peniche
Santa Cruz
Lisbon
Costa da Caparica
??
Sines
Zambujeira do Mar
Sagres
Lagos
Alufeira
Olhao
Vila Real de Santo Antonio
Isla Christina
Punta Umbria
Sevilla
El Puerto de Santa Maria
Bilbao
Castro Urdiales
Laredo
Santona
Loredo
Santander
San Vicente
Ribadesella
Gijon
Luanco
Cudillero
Luarca
Barreiros
Ortiguera
Valdovino
A Coruna
Santiago
Pontevedra
Samil (Vigo)
A Guarda
Viana do Castelo
Porto
Madalena
Sao Jacinto (Avierro)
Figueira de Foz
Coimbra
Lourical
Nazare
Peniche
Santa Cruz
Lisbon
Costa da Caparica
??
Sines
Zambujeira do Mar
Sagres
Lagos
Alufeira
Olhao
Vila Real de Santo Antonio
Isla Christina
Punta Umbria
Sevilla
El Puerto de Santa Maria
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