Tag: Spain

We left the house-sit in Pinos Del Valle early the morning after Laurie and Annie arrived home. With two weeks to make our way up to Barcelona in time to catch the ferry to Sardinia, we wanted to cover some ground early on and avoid retracing our steps, this meant a 415km journey through to the Costa Blanca. It was a long time since we’d travelled this sort of distance in a day, but the varied scenery and good roads made it enjoyable. The first couple of hours took us up through the mountains where fresh snow weighed heavy on the pines trees and deep drifts were heaped between craggy outcrops. In Spain you don’t need to go far to be in complete wilderness. We stopped briefly to admire the cave houses in the mountain city of Guadix. This is real-life Hobbiton. Houses built into the side of hills, the small entranceways deceptive of their size, which is only given away by the many chimneys popping out of mounds all over the place. People who live in these cave houses are called troglodytes and since Moorish times half the population of Guadix has lived underground. Now they are sort after, and many have been renovated into luxury accommodation and plush homes.

Costa Blanca, Alicante & Benidorm

Our first destination was Costa Blanca, just north of Alicante. We planned to stay three nights and then move on to Benidorm for a night, but when we arrived we saw there was a tramline running along the coast with a station right next to the campsite, giving us easy access to Alicante and Benidorm. So, we decided to stay put for four nights.

Alicante is a lovely city. The waterfront is lined with elegant buildings and the expansive pier has a marina filled with nice boats on one side and a golden beach stretching out on the other. Its old town, Barrio de la Santa Cruz, is a maze of quaint narrow lanes and coloured houses, and the city is overlooked by the golden-brown Castillo de Santa Barbara, set on a hilltop with sweeping views of the Mediterranean coast. We had a great day exploring Alicante, climbing to the top of the castle and relaxing in a waterfront eatery with paella for lunch.

After a day in Alicante we spent the next day around El Campello where our campsite was.  The morning was spent getting a much-needed haircut, our first in 10 months. In the afternoon we biked a couple of hours along the coastal cycleways admiring more beautiful beaches, and the many lovely apartments.

After watching the TV comedy Benidorm, I was keen to see if art imitated life. The next day we caught the tram to Benidorm, and yes it does. Once a sleepy Spanish fishing village, Benidorm is now filled with Brits on cheap holiday packages looking for a boozy break in the sun. At midday the many pubs that line the beach were already filled with pint swilling patrons and even though it was only 12 degrees there were plenty of big bellies and breasts on display on the beach. Mobility scooters zipped up and down the promenade and everyone was wearing track-pants, grey marl for the lads, pink for the ladettes. It was like the characters of Eastenders and Coro had joined the guests from the Jeremy Kyle Show on holiday.  We were aghast. Benidorm is not our cuppa tea.  We found a semi-authentic Spanish taverna for lunch and surprisingly the waiter spoke Spanish, which at this stage was a welcome relief. It’s hard to find anything to like about Benidorm. Yes, the beaches are beautiful, and the Med is so clear and blue, but there are so many beautiful beaches in Spain. We wondered what the Spanish think.

Valencia & Peniscola

The drive up the coast from Costa Blanca to Valencia was beautiful. Vanilla villages cascading down steep hills to the sea, dramatic mountain ranges and that ever-blue sea.  It was the weekend and we passed peloton after peloton of lycra-clad cyclists. The Spanish are into cycling in a big way.

Our campsite in Valencia was about 9km out from the city in a natural reserve area on the coast. A network of walkways and cycle paths wound along the coast through protected sand dunes and wetlands. I was so impressed I went for my first proper run for the year.

We stayed three nights here and caught the bus into Valencia on the Sunday. We find Sundays are great days to explore cities as everyone is out and about with family and friends and the pace is much slower than during the week. Valencia was no exception. There was a market in the main square, Plaza del Ayuntamiento, with fresh produce, cheeses, honey, crafts and street performers entertaining the crowds. The place was humming. We walked up to the old train station and the bullring, stopping for lunch before heading to El Carmen, the historic part of town, where the Valencia Cathedral links two of the iconic squares of this city, Plaza de la Virgen, home of the Turia Fountain, and Plaza del la Reina. The cathedral is an impressive structure and, like all these religious giants, has been added to over many centuries, becoming a blend of architecture styles – baroque, Romanesque and gothic. From here we walked through the narrow pedestrian lanes in what appeared to be the hip, artistic part of town with plenty of galleries, boutiques, organic cafes and theatres, to Torres de Quart, the twin gothic-style defensive towers that were built in the 1400s as part of Valencia’s city wall. The central market was closed, but we could still admire this striking Art Nouveau building from the outside. Slowly we wandered back to Plaza del Ayuntamiento and then through to Turia Gardens. This is one of the largest urban parks in Spain and runs for nine kilometres through the city on a former river bed. We walked over two kilometres through the park, down to La Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias (The City of Arts and Sciences). This is one the most beautiful modern complexes we’ve ever seen. Truly space age, made up of huge domes glowing bright white, the City of Arts and Sciences is an impressive example of modern architecture. The “city” is made up of an opera house and performing arts centre; Imax Cinema and planetarium; walkway and garden; science museum; open-air aquarium; and many other versatile spaces to hold varied events. Surrounded pools of water, the whole complex feels like it is floating. In Europe history is everywhere and the historic buildings are magnificent, but there are also amazing modern buildings that are just as significant, La Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias is one of these.

With only a week until our ferry sailed, we left Valencia and headed closer to Barcelona, to the pretty seaside resort of Peniscola. I had read about Peniscola and the claim that it was one of Spain’s most beautiful towns. When you’ve seen as much of Spain as we now have, that is a big claim and I was sceptical. We arrived in the late afternoon, it was overcast, the grey sky was tinted pastel peach and the beach was a mango sorbet. At the end was a rock dominated by a storybook stone castle surrounded by narrow whitewashed houses. It was beautiful. Peniscola is often called the “Gibraltar of Valencia” – a rock on the end of a point is the only similarity these two vastly different places share.

If you are a Game of Thrones fan, this castle was the city of Meereen. In fact, Peniscola is very proud of the many films an TV shows that have used their castle as a film set, and there are information boards around the city showing scenes from these films. The 13^th century castle is immaculately kept and there was barely anyone there when we went through the museum. The artillery gardens on the seaward side of the castle are perfectly manicured and the historic town that covers the rest of the rock is gorgeously quaint with winding cobbled streets lined with narrow houses, complete with bright blue doors and shutters. One more famous than the rest is Casa de Las Conchas, a house covered in shells. Like all Spanish towns this one is immaculate; the streets clean and free of rubbish and the beaches beautifully groomed. We had mentioned this at our last house-sit and were told that anyone on a benefit or welfare must do a certain amount of community work for their town to keep it beautiful, and they do it happily, all ages too.

There are only 8,000 permanent residents of Peniscola but the number of apartment buildings with shutters down, and the number of restaurants closed for winter, indicates the population must swell considerably in the summer months.

We spent two nights in Peniscola, and apart from exploring the castle we spent our time walking and biking along the coast, making use of the amazing bike paths and paved waterfront walking areas that are so common in coastal towns in Spain.

Cambrils, Tarragona and Barcelona

Our next destination was Tarragona, 100km south of Barcelona. We couldn’t find a campsite that was open in Tarragona so decided to stay 20km south, in Cambrils. We were pleased we did. Cambrils is another beautiful seaside settlement and when we arrived it was warm and sunny, so we walked along the beach to the town centre. The marina filled with expensive looking boats and the many upmarket eateries suggested this is a well-heeled area, most likely used as a weekend getaway for “Barcelonians”. Sadly, this peaceful town was thrust into the limelight last year when terrorists drove into a crowd of pedestrians and stabbed and killed a local woman. This happened at the same time as the attack in central Barcelona.

The next day we caught a train to Tarragona. Tarragona was formerly the Roman colony of Tarraco and boasts many Roman ruins, the most impressive being the amphitheatre right on the waterfront. The ruins are UNESCO listed and bring many tourists to the town. Andrew wasn’t as keen as I was to step back into the Roman times, but, as always, he warmed to the idea and we were soon exploring these ancient sites. Unlike the Amphitheatre, only part of the Roman Circus remained intact, but a 3D movie inside brought the ruins to life and helped us understand the enormous scale of this structure. The medieval city was built around and over the Roman ruins and at it’s centre is a magnificent 14^th century cathedral. As we’ve moved north again we’ve noticed the architecture change. Gone is the Moorish influenced Mudejar Style, the white-washed facades, colourful mosaics and tiles, replaced by the golden-brown sandstone, romanesque and baroque, and northern Europe influences.

With only three nights left in Spain we drove our final leg to Barcelona, stopping briefly at Decathlon to get Andrew’s bike pedal fixed and buy some new walking shoes for me. Decathlon has become our favourite European chain store.

Our campsite outside Barcelona was on the beach and right beside the airport. When we arrived, we went for a walk through an area of market gardens directly under the approach to the runway. We were trying to recognise each of aircraft from their livery, but there were some we’d never seen before. Much to Andrew’s amusement I spent the rest of the afternoon excitedly monitoring the departures online and jumping out of the van to look up and confirm the passing aircrafts identity – who knew plane spotting could be so much fun. Even after three days the novelty hasn’t worn off.

We spent two days in Barcelona city, taking the bus in both days. We love Barcelona and spent four days here in 2016 and both of us have been separately before then, so we have seen many of the tourist attractions, in some cases more than once. This allowed us to relax a bit and enjoy the city for what it is without rushing from one place to the next. I did have one place I wanted to visit – Palau Guell, or Guell Palace, the last of the Antoni Gaudi buildings on my “to-see list”. More of a palatial townhouse than a palace, it is stunningly elegant and is the only example of domestic architecture that Gaudi completed hat has not undergone significant alteration. Like all of Gaudi’s houses the roof terrace is the most magical, this one having 20 chimneys all turned into fantastical works of art with bright colours and curvy shapes.  In the middle of them is the 15-metre high spire which tops the dome of the central hall, covered original recycled stone and typically asymmetrical in shape.

Gaudi’s influence on Barcelona is everywhere and his unique architectural style has become symbolic of the Catalonian capital – his most famous work being La Sagrada Familia, the unfinished cathedral that is an iconic image on the city’s skyline. Despite having visited the cathedral before we couldn’t go to Barcelona without seeing La Sagrada Familia – the outside is much more impressive than the inside anyway. We also had to stop by Gaudi’s Casa Batlló too. I have been inside before and it’s magical, but the outside is fantastic too – all curvy and flowing, it’s more of a living thing than a building.

Our first day in the city was a Sunday, it was sunny and warm, and the waterfront area was teeming with people. Barcelona’s marina is full of superyachts, and last time we were here we were impressed by a Mexican billionaire’s 93-metre boat, Mayan Queen. That boat looks like a dingy compared to what was in port this time. The 156-metre-long shiny gold Dilbar, owned by a Russian Oligarch, dwarfed everything in the marina.

The rest of our time in Barcelona was spent people watching in Plaça de Catalunya, eating tapas on La Rambla, meandering through the narrow lanes of the Gothic Quarter, enjoying ice-cream outside the Basilica de Santa Maria del Pi, doing a spot of shopping in Passeig de Gracia, and generally soaking up the vitality of this lively and beautiful city. Barcelona is the rebellious sister to Madrid – wild and wanton, the one wearing red lipstick and dancing all night. Madrid is elegant, refined and sophisticated, but ever so slightly uptight.

Yellow ribbons hang outside many buildings in Barcelona, and we saw many people wearing them too. These ribbons are calling for the release of the Catalan vice-president, Oriol Junqueras, the Catalan home affairs minister, Joaquim Forn and two activists. These four men are considered political prisoners as they lead the push for Catalan independence. Independence from Madrid.

Tonight we waved goodbye to Spain from the deck of the Grimaldi ferry taking us to our next adventure, Sardinia. We’ve spent three months in Spain and have seen and experienced so much in this vast country of tapas and siestas. The landscape has stunned us – wide open plains stretching forever in the north; dramatic mountains in the south; rugged wilderness and beautiful beaches.  The history has wowed us – imposing cathedrals and intimate chapels; forts and castles; palatial Moorish Alcazars; Roman ruins; and the quaint Pueblos Blancos of Andalusia. And then there’s the people. The Spanish seem to have an innate enjoyment of life, appreciating the simple things. Family and relationships are everything. Other countries may scoff at their 3-hour siestas and numerous public holidays and fiestas, but we think they may just have the balance right. They have been welcoming and helpful and have generously shared their magnificent country with us.

I’m writing this blog from our fourth house-sitting assignment in southern Spain, this one a lovely country house in the mountains near Granada with two gorgeous dogs. It is breathtakingly beautiful here. Overnight it has snowed and the hills around us are dusted with white. My last blog finished just before Christmas as we set off into the hills from Malaga to our second house-sit, so it’s been a while. In the six weeks that have passed since then, we have put on the brakes and enjoyed a much slower pace, staying put in the southern regions of Andalusia and Murcia and enjoying the Spanish way of life, away from big cities and avoiding as much of the harsh European winter as possible. We’ve done a lot, but at the same time not much, and have thoroughly enjoyed it. So, before we pick up the pace again and head north here’s what we’ve been up to over the last six-and-a-bit weeks.

Periana

Very early on in our journey we decided to try and find a house-sitting opportunity over Christmas, as we thought it’d be nicer to be in a house rather than the van and you can’t beat a home cooked meal on Christmas Day. We were lucky enough to find one for two weeks over Christmas and New Year in the Andalusian countryside, outside the village of Periana, 30km from the Mediterranean coast.

The homeowners had given us GPS coordinates to find their place – in rural Spain there aren’t addresses as such – so we put our faith in Google and headed to the hills. The road climbed steeply, and we were soon in Periana, a lovely white village nestled on the slopes and surrounded by olive plantations. The house-sit was 3kms further on and we started to get concerned when Google Maps directed us into a narrow lane that quickly became more of a track winding down into a valley. There was no way we could turn around if this was not the right road, then we met not one, but two vehicles coming the other way, both with trailers heaped with freshly picked olives. The drivers seemed unfazed and after a bit of manoeuvring we squeezed past. It wasn’t plain sailing from there, the track became narrower still and now we had scratchy pomegranate trees to contend with. Mr Love was not impressed with the shrill scraping sounds as we pushed by. Successfully navigated, we arrived at small alcove of white-washed houses, trimmed in sky blue and covered in deep crimson bougainvillea. This was Moya, an alcove of just eight houses, but a village in its own right.

Midi, Steve and their teenage son Joe welcomed us into their traditional Spanish farmhouse like old friends and introduced us to their animal family that we were entrusted to look after – their lovely dog Milo, who is very like a huntaway; the three horses, Sultan, Moreno and Sparky; Simon and Thumper the rabbits; Winston the cat; and two unnamed hens.

Understandably in a village of 8 houses you know all the neighbours and that evening all of those in residence were invited over for Christmas drinks to meet us. It was a great idea and a fun night. A couple of the houses are holiday homes, but the others are occupied permanently, with an American family, a Scottish couple, and another Scot making up most of the residents.

Before Midi, Steve and Joe left for Christmas in the UK they made sure we knew the surrounding area, taking us into Periana for coffee and a tour and showing us some of the many walking tracks through the olive groves. Moya is surrounded by steep hills and to walk anywhere you must climb one; stunning views make the effort worthwhile. Over the next two weeks we walked for many kilometres with Milo, up and down valleys through the olives and along rocky ridges and outcrops.

Steve had told us a about the Caminito del Rey, a famous walk through the El Chorro Gorge not far from their place, and suggested we make a day trip of it. We did. The Caminito was originally built in the first decade of the 20^th century and was used to transport material and people between two hydroelectric power stations that were built on either side of the El Chorro gorge. The original concrete path, El Caminito del Rey, threads the length of the gorge hanging precipitously halfway up its side. The danger of this very basic walkway became the stuff of legends and attracted climbers and adrenaline junkies from all over the world, with many people referring to the Caminito as the ‘world’s most dangerous pathway.’ It slowly fell into disrepair over the years and was officially closed in 2000 when three climbers fell to their deaths. After being closed for years a new hi-tech hanging walkway was built through the gorge and opened to the public in 2015. It has become one of the largest attractions in Andalusia and is so popular you need to book in advance, as numbers through the gorge are controlled. We could see why. The El Chorro Gorge is an amazing place, with huge walls of rock as high as 400m along its three-kilometre length. The new walkway opens this natural phenomenon to everyone, not just thrill-seekers, and seeing the crumbling remnants of the old concrete path I know I would never have ventured there otherwise. Heights are not my thing, but I always try and push myself, however, right at the very end of the gorge was an iron mesh swing bridge hanging across a ravine. People were taking selfies in the middle and we stopped, as I needed the bridge to be empty before I walked across. A very handsome Spanish guide asked if I was ok and offered to escort me across. Not needing to be asked twice, I quickly put my arm in his and we walked safely to the other side, much to the amusement of Mr Love.

When we arrived in Periana we were amazed by the number of olive trees and driving the 100km to Caminto del Rey we couldn’t believe how extensively olives are planted in this part of Spain. Midi and Steve had told us that EU grants to plant olives had resulted in other original crops, like wheat, being replaced. All the olives in this area are grown for oil. The farmers belong to a co-operative and the picked olives are taken to the village press, weighed, and then all mixed together, with the resulting oil being trucked to Italy to be bottled. It was nearing the end of the picking season when we there but there was still plenty of picking going on. It’s a very manual process and most of it is still done by whacking the trees – the rhythmic thwack, thwacking of wood against wood echoing through the valley, day in, day out, has an oddly calming effect. Some use blowers, similar to a garden leaf blower – the sound of these is not quite so pleasant.

We had a quiet Christmas, just us and the animals. Lunch on the roof terrace in the sun, and in the evening roast lamb with all the trimmings. Mr Love excelled himself.

Christmas isn’t the main event in Spain. That’s reserved for Three Kings Day, or Dia De Los Reyes, on January 6^th.  This is the day the children receive their presents. Much like children in other parts of the world eagerly awaiting Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, the same can be said on the eve of January 5, when children leave their shoes by the door with hopes that the three kings will leave them gifts in their shoes when they wake the following morning.

The day after boxing day we were invited to the neighbours for their annual festive breakfast. The guests were all non-Spanish living in the area. They hailed from England, Scotland, America, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium and of course there were us two Kiwis. We talked to a Norwegian helicopter pilot who now grows olives, and to a Dutch couple who moved here to start a horse-trekking business but had also moved into olives, using a private oil presser for their organic oil that they then sell directly back to the Netherlands. Olive oil is a common conversation topic here.

On a particularly sunny day we ventured back to the coast for lunch in the seaside village of Torre del Mar. As you drive down from the hills olives make way for avocados, lots of avocados. There are EU grants for these too, but they take a lot of water and water is far from abundant in this part of the world.

It wasn’t all sunshine in Periana, we had a few days of rain and the rock-hard earth turned to thick sticky clay. The horses were caked in it and mucking out the paddock took an age, with every step requiring extra effort as your feet were sucked into the ground.

The days passed quickly, New Year came and went. Life in the country was blissfully busy and soon it was time to go. The van was clean and the pomegranates along the roadway trimmed back ready for our departure.

While waiting for Midi and Steve to return we were showing the neighbours our van and discussing our plans and we mentioned our upcoming house-sitting assignment in Pinos Del Valle. “It’s not at Annie and Laurie’s is it?” They know them well. It’s a small world.

We said our farewell’s, gave Milo the dog an extra big hug, and trundled on our way. We had asked Midi where we could find Branston pickle and basmati rice – both very un-Spanish. She suggested we try a little English store on the way down the hill, Arkwright’s. Success, we stocked up with enough Branston for the rest of our trip.

Almeria & the Cabo de Gata-Níjar Natural Park

We had eight days to make our way to our next house-sit in Cehegin, 400km away. Almeria, being 200km from Periana was the perfect half-way stop.

Driving along the coast towards Almeria we were soon surrounded by a surreal landscape cloaked in white plastic. Growhouses stretching from the mountains to the sea. This landscape, once arid desert only good for filming spaghetti westerns, is now Europe’s garden, supplying fruit and veges to rest of the continent all year round. 40,000 hectares are covered in shiny plastic – so extensive that the temperature of the entire area has dropped because the sun is reflected off the surface. It is an incredible sight, fascinating and unsettling.

We had planned to stay the full week in a campsite by the beach near Almeria, but when we arrived we were less than impressed. The campsite was squeezed between cliffs with a busy highway running behind it, and although it was right on the beach it was a tiny bay with nowhere to walk or cycle. It was late when we arrived and as we wanted to visit Almeria we decided to stay two nights. Almeria is an unremarkable city. It has long been a poor area and only recently has the wealth generated from the market gardens in the region seen this city’s fortunes change. Apart from the imposing Moorish fortress overlooking it and its location next to ever-blue Med, it has little to make it stand out. Throughout history it has seen hard times, suffering many sieges over the centuries of Moorish rule, then being decimated by an earthquake in the 1500’s and later shelled by the German army during the Spanish Civil War, before finally falling to Franco in 1939, the last of the Andalusian cities to surrender. Underneath the city is a network of tunnels used by the Republicans during the Civil War as they fought against Franco’s army. I was disappointed to find the museum closed when we were there as I was keen to see how this part of Spanish history was portrayed.

We had seen enough and the next day headed off in search of some countryside not covered in plastic. We found what we were looking for in the Cabo de Gata-Nijar Natural Park. Cabo de Gata-Nijar boasts the best conserved 50 kilometres of coastal cliffs anywhere on the Mediterranean in Europe and is the only region in Europe with a true hot desert climate. It also incorporates an extensive marine reserve so is very popular for diving. Its ecology and landscape are unique, mainly due to the absence of winter weather and to its geological diversity.

We turned off the highway and took the scenic route along this stunning coastline. Rugged mountains made way for small white-washed villages and the deep blue sea sparkled against the ochre cliffs. We found a campsite tucked in a little bay, just a short walk over the hill from the small fishing village of Las Negras. Far from any highways and well off the beaten track we had found peace and quiet in this dramatically beautiful place. A coastal hiking track started from the beach in front of the campsite and took us over the hills and along the cliffs to magnificent unspoilt beaches. We spent five relaxing days here, enjoying the warm sun and many long walks through this extraordinary landscape.

Bullas & Cehegin

Our next house-sit was in Cehegin, 190km from Las Negras and 108km from the coast. As we were due there at lunchtime on the 11^th we thought it best to try and stay the night closer to our destination. However, although most campsites on the coast are open all year, inland they are not. This is because you don’t have to go far inland before you are heading up into the mountains and with the altitude comes the cold. We weren’t sure we’d find anywhere, but after searching online and emailing a few potential places we found an open campsite in the town of Bullas, only 15km from Cehegin. We arrived around 2.30 to find the office was closed for siesta, opening again at 4pm. The campsite seemed deserted, there were no campervans and only some permanent looking caravans that were shut up for winter, and there were a lot of stray cats. Oh well, it was only for a night and the benefit of being the only ones there is the bathrooms are all yours. The manager returned well before 4 and checked us in. He was very friendly and told all about the region, suggesting we visit the wine museum to find out about the wine industry that this region is particularly famous for. We had no idea. We had passed vineyards on the way in, but there didn’t seem to be a lot and they were sparsely planted low lying vines.  We were keen to find out more. One of the great things about Spain is although there is a siesta for 3 hours every afternoon where everything shuts, when they open again at 5 they stay open well into the evening. It was after 4 when we set off to walk into Bullas and it was after 5 when we found the museum of wine, but because it’s Spain it was open. Just like the campsite we were the only ones there so were given a private guided tour. From the outside it didn’t look much, but inside was an extensive contemporary exhibition showing the long history of wine in the region and explaining modern techniques used by wine makers here. They treat wine like a craft in this region, the quantities are small, and the result is beautiful. The red grapes grown are Tempranillo, Monastrell, Cabernet Sauvignon, Garnacha, Syrah and Merlot and the whites Macabeo and Airen. Monastrell is fast becoming a favourite of mine.

The house-sit in Cehegin was only for the long weekend, but we had thought it was a good opportunity to see a part of Spain that we probably would never have gone to. Already we were pleased with this decision, as Bullas and its wine was a very pleasant surprise.

Shirley and Tony moved from the UK 13 years ago and live in the country outside the historic town of Cehegin, growing olives and almonds. Their house is off-the-grid, running on solar power. We were welcomed with a lovely lunch and introduced to their three rescue dogs. In southern Spain there is a huge number of abandoned and stray dogs, so most pets are rescue dogs. Animal welfare isn’t to the same standard as we are used to and many dogs, especially in the countryside, spend their lives chained to a tree. Hunting dogs are abandoned when they are no longer useful and unwanted puppies dumped in drains and, to make matters worse, the Spanish are not keen on de-sexing their animals. Shirley and Tony’s dogs all had a rough start to life – Stebbie was found wandering the streets with a badly broken leg that was eventually amputated, Kayla was badly abused and is still nervy and needy, and little Bella was dumped in an empty shed at only 6 months old, alone and cold. For them it was a happy ending and they are much loved and cared for. We had a great time with these dogs. There was no shortage of empty countryside to walk through with rabbits and deer to chase. We’ve been particularly impressed by how clean Spanish towns and cities are, there are always workers picking up rubbish and sweeping streets. However, in the campo (the countryside) things are different, people dump rubbish everywhere without regard for the environment. It’s common to be walking through the wilderness and come across old mattresses, broken appliances and tyres.

Shirley and Tony returned from Madrid and we said our farewells, heading off with a lovely gift of 5 litres of home grown organic olive oil. That day was particularly cold, and we’d woken to snow on the surrounding hills. Not long after leaving Cehegin we rounded a corner and a blanket of white lay in front of us. At first, we thought it was more growhouses. It was not. It was snow, and lots of it.

Aguilas, Palomares and Motril

Our final house-sit was two weeks away and we meandered back down the coast visiting areas we hadn’t seen on the way up.  Our first destination was Aguilas, an old Roman fishing port and now a bustling seaside town in the region of Murcia. We spent three warm, sunny days here, taking long walks along the beachside promenade, climbing the point to Castillo de San Juan, the 16^th century fort sitting high above the town, and cycling around the bays.

Our decision to move on was mostly because the campsite was very full – we were packed in like sardines and there wasn’t much space to stretch out and relax. We headed down the coast to a campsite near a beach and surrounded by market gardens. It was not far from the service town of Palomares and between the fishing village of Villaricos and the bustling seaside town of Garrucha. It wasn’t the prettiest location, but the campsite had a lot more space and a very laid-back feel. It even had a naturist area, discretely screened off in the back section. The nudist beach and resort of Vera Playa is just down the road and the campsite must have seen a gap in the market. We chose a lovely spot in the “textile” area.

The nearby beach was very desolate with no buildings or houses close by, and very beautiful. Because of this, lots of people were “wild camping” there, with huge numbers of campervans lined along the waterfront, despite signs saying camping was prohibited. We counted 77 on one day. I suggested we join them and save some money. That idea was quickly rejected in favour of warm showers, flush toilets and electricity. Mr Love likes his creature comforts.

The market gardens in this area were mostly growing lettuces, millions of lettuces. We were walking by a field that had just been harvested and were shocked to see so many cut lettuces left lying on the ground. They obviously hadn’t passed the quality control test. We joined a couple of other campers and helped ourselves to the rejected greens. Surely they could be sold on the roadside or given to the needy?

We stayed here for almost a week and had beautiful weather, sunshine and 20 degrees most days. Across from us were a lovely English couple who lived in France but spent winter in Spain, always at this campsite. They were very proud of the campsite and declared it to be the best they’d been to – funnily enough this was something we’d heard from the “regulars” we’d met at the Las Negras campsite too. They did know a lot about the area and we picked their brains. They told us that back in the 50’s the mayor of nearby Mojacar had encouraged the English to move to this area by offering plots of bare land for free if they were to build a house. Because of this initiative there are lot of English people in this area. We heard plenty of English accents when we biked through the nearby resort area of Puerto Rey and in the restaurants we lunched at in Garrucha.

I had noticed a lot of motorhomes and cars had a sticker with a stickman symbol, including our neighbours. I asked him what it was, and he explained the story of the Indalo Man. It is an ancient symbol found on the walls of a cave the province of Almeria over 100 years ago, it has now been adopted as the symbol of Almeria and is seen as lucky. In this part of Spain it is customary to paint the Indalo symbol on the front of houses and businesses to protect them from evil. You aren’t supposed to buy an Indalo Man yourself but instead be gifted it, so we found an Indalo Man fridge magnet and Andrew bought it for me.

We did a lot of biking over the week, mostly along the coast, but also a day trip inland to the village of Cuevas del Almanzora. It really was desert-like once we left the coast, and the lettuces made way for oranges and more olives.

Finally, we had to pull ourselves away from Camping Cuevas Mar, leave the province of Almeria and head further down the coast to the town of Motril. Motril is in the province of Granada, only 64km from the mountain city of Granada, capital of the region, and 32km from our next house-sit. It is on the aptly named Costa Tropical and is a lush green oasis, quite different from the arid surrounding areas. This is because it sits at the mouth of a valley bordered by snow-capped mountains that generate a higher rainfall for part of the year. The tropical climate was perfect for growing sugar and that is what made Motril rich in past times. Sugar has now given way to a fruit bowl of produce grown here, with cherry tomatoes being the most popular crop. During the five days we spent in Motril we biked along tracks between lush fields filled with food, and past networks of concrete aqueducts moving precious water across the countryside.

On an extremely windy day we biked to nearby Salobreña, a pretty, white-washed village on a hill that claims a history stretching back 6,000 years. There are two parts to this picturesque village – the historic town plopped on the hilltop like cream, with its castle clinging to a rock ledge, and the modern beachfront resort with apartments, condos and tapas bars. Mr Love was quite taken by this place. It was the full package; beach, mountains and history. He decided, if he were to choose one, this would be his place in the sun.

Pinos Del Valle & Granada

So here we are at our fourth and final house-sit in Spain. A beautiful country home built by Englishman Laurie and his Canadian wife Annie on the outskirts of the tiny village of Pinos Del Valle. We are looking after Nuria and Lucia, two lovely rescue dogs, and Simba the ginger cat. Laurie and Annie grow olives and sell their organic oil to friends and family back in the UK. Their property is immaculate. Oranges and lemons grow in abundance here. Not those bitter Seville oranges planted in the streets of Andalusian towns, these are sweet and succulent. We have had freshly squeezed juice every morning and are planning to pick a box or two before we leave.

The house overlooks a dam, built by Franco to bring water from the north to the south. Franco was big on moving water where it was needed – something good he did. Water is a hot topic in Spain, there are arguments between regions, north and south, and plenty of politics about how best to use it, who should get it, and how.

We took a day trip to Granada to visit the Alhambra palace and fortress, Spain’s most visited tourist attraction. Back in Periana Midi had asked us if we had been and we told her it was on our agenda. She warned us to book in advance. We were lucky to be given this advice, it was almost fully booked five weeks out, and this is the low season.

Granada is beside the Sierra Nevada mountain range, home to the famous Spanish ski fields. These mountains provide a stunning backdrop to the majestic Alhambra that stands guard on the hill above Granada. Visiting La Alhambra is to take a journey back when the Moors ruled Andalusia. This extensive complex started as a fortress in 1238 and grew over the centuries along with the strength of the Islamic rulers who lived behind it’s warm red walls. After the Moors were pushed out it became a Christian court in 1492, later falling into disrepair and temporarily abandoned in the 18^th century. It has now been restored to its former glory and is a truly incredible place to experience. The Nasrid palace at the heart of the complex is exquisite, filled with beautiful columns and arcades, quiet reflecting pools, gently running fountains, ornately painted tiles decorating its many walls, and intricately carved horseshoe archways. The expansive geometric gardens mirror the mosaics and are perfectly ordered and manicured. You can’t rush around La Alhambra, time is needed to absorb its magnificence and its history. We took all afternoon.

Apart from the day trip to Granada we’ve spent the week close to home, taking the dogs for long walks beside the dam, through the olive groves, past almond trees bursting with pink and white blossoms, and for a hike to the tiny white chapel of Saint Cristo Del Zapato, high above Pinos Del Valle on the top of a pine covered peak.

The last couple of days have been cold and this morning we woke to snow covering the hills and the chapel on the peak. More is expected today. The locals say it’s the lowest they’ve seen the snow. It’s been a cold winter in Europe and even the southernmost part can’t escape its icy reach.

Tomorrow we start on the road to Barcelona. In two weeks we catch a ferry to Sardinia.

We left San Pedro de Alcantara and travelled inland towards the mountaintop city of Ronda. The road climbed steeply and the views back over the Costa de Sol were stunning, lavish houses were nestled in the hills. The higher we got the cloudier it became, and we were soon driving through thick fog and drizzle. Ronda is only 60km from the coast, but the temperatures are 10 degrees cooler. We knew this would be the case so had only planned to stay one night as Mr Love hates the cold, but with the weather as it was we thought our day of sight-seeing may need to be postponed and we’d have to stay an extra night.  The vivacious French receptionist at the campsite tried very hard to persuade us to stay a week, offering us discounted rates. We could see why as we were one of only two vans there. The weather didn’t seem to be getting any worse and our weather App promised clearer skies were only a couple of hours away, so we took a chance and biked into Ronda.  It drizzled a little on the ride in, but had stopped when we got there, and a thick mist hung over the city. I was feeling a bit disappointed as Ronda is one of the most famous Pueblos Blancos (White Villages) of Andalusia and has been on my must-see list for a long while. All the photos I had seen were in brilliant sunshine and I didn’t want our experience to be lessened by the weather. I made Andrew promise that if I didn’t get the view of Ronda that I had hoped for we would brave the cold, stay another night and try again.

What makes Ronda so special is its setting, dramatically balanced on a cliff-edge above a deep gorge. This gorge, El Tajo, separates the city’s 15^th century new town from its old town, dating to Moorish rule. The historic stone bridge, Puente Nuevo, hangs high over the 100-metre ravine and connects the two parts of Ronda. This spectacular structure and the view across El Tajo is what I had been waiting to see. When we arrived at Puente Nuevo the mist was still swirling around and the view, although stunning, was muted by the grey skies and clouds were covering the Serrania de Ronda mountains in the distance. We would have to wait for the weather to clear further and there was more to see in the meantime. We walked across the bridge and around the cliff tops, past the bullring and through to the town square where we stopped for lunch. After an enjoyable Menu del Dia it was back to the bullring.

Another claim to fame for Ronda is that is the birthplace of modern bullfighting. It was here where legendary bullfighter Pedro Romero broke away from the prevailing horseback bullfighting and instead faced the bull on foot. The bullring, Plaza de Toros, is now an interesting museum showcasing matador costumes through the ages, the stuffed heads of beautiful and brave bulls, and art depicting this bloody sport. Access to the arena itself was included and we stood in the middle imaging the feeling of facing a huge black toro coming through the gate, nostrils flaring, angry and in pain. A group of Koreans were having a great time pretending to be matadors, strutting their stuff and waving their scarves for numerous photos. A museum is the where this sport belongs, but it is still practised widely and in Ronda a bullfighting festival is held once a year. The Spanish defend this brutal sport saying its culturally significant, but its in direct conflict with modern sentiments on animal cruelty and the EU’s stringent guidelines for animal welfare are a cause of friction with Spain.

By this time the clouds were clearing, and we walked back across the bridge and down the track into the gorge. The sun came out, shining directly onto Puente Nuevo, showing it in all its glory and giving me the spectacular views I had wished for.  I was happy and so was Andrew, now he only had to brave one cold night and not two.

Mijas

The next morning it was beautifully sunny, and we set off back to the coast and towards Malaga. We had another well-known Pueblos Blancos to visit on the way, Mijas Pueblo. The white villages of Andalusia are influenced by the architecture of North Africa, the Moors’ native land. A chain of these hilltop villages stretches right through Andalusia like a string of pearls. Mijas is one of the more beautiful. It is tucked into the mountainside only 10km from the coast, and many of the 7,500 residents are foreigners who have chosen this picturesque village as their place in the sun. Mijas is also famous for its donkey taxis. These villages were built in a time when donkeys were the main mode of transport and the narrow streets are not designed for cars, especially not campervans. When we arrived, we realised parking was an issue and we were never going to fit in the one parking building. After driving around a few times we were about to give up when we spotted a policeman talking to a bus driver. We stopped and asked him if there was anywhere a van our size could park. He asked how long we needed, we told him no longer than two hours and he directed us to a loading zone area for goods vehicles. In our experience, nothing is too much trouble for the Spanish. They are laidback, helpful and “yes” is the default answer. The culture of “you can’t do that”, “that’s not regulation” and “I have to check with my boss” doesn’t exist here. It’s refreshing.

Mijas was lovely – whitewashed to perfection and sparkling in the sunshine. The donkeys were all lined up with their colourful saddles and with tassels on their heads, ready to take tourists for rides through the narrow lanes for an exorbitant price. With 13 donkeys in New Zealand that he can ride for free, there was no way Mr Love was going to pay.

We soaked in the view across to the coast, wandered through the picture-perfect streets, admired a Christmas tree made entirely of recycled plastic bottles, bought a ceramic wall-hanging of a whitewashed house, and treated ourselves to some delicious homemade ice-cream. By this time our two hours was almost up and not wanting to break our promise to the policeman we made our way back to the van and resumed our journey to Malaga.

Malaga

I had found a motorhome camping area around the bay from Malaga that looked great online and was only 12 Euros a night. We had four nights to fill in before our next house-sitting stint and thought if the campsite was good we’d stay put for the entire time. It was, and we did. It was a large gravelled area, fully fenced and right beside the beach – walk out the gate and you were in sand. There was a village 100 metres along the boulevard with a few seaside restaurants and 4km further around the bay was the seaside resort town of Rincon de la Victoria. It was the perfect location for walking, biking and, of course, relaxing. To top it off the weather was stunning – no wonder the campsite was full of Germans, Scandinavians and British escaping the cold.

We arrived on Saturday and on Sunday we walked along the boulevard to Rincon de la Victoria. Sundays in Spain are family days and that means extended families. Large groups of all generations fill the streets, playgrounds and restaurants, and its common to see teenagers walking arm in arm with their grandparents or great-grandparents, deep in conversation.

The next day we caught the bus to Malaga. Malaga is the capital of the Costa de Sol, but was not at all what we expected the capital of a glitzy resort area to be like. It is port city and has been a trade hub since the Phoenicians set up a commercial centre here early in the 7^th century BC. This history keeps Malaga grounded and, despite being known for its high-rise hotels and resorts rising from gold-sand beaches, it is incredibly charming and cultured. On the hilltops above the city history keeps watch, with remnants of Moorish rule, the Alcazaba and ruined Gibralfaro, guarding the skyline. In the town centre below the majestic Renaissance cathedral makes its presence felt, nicknamed La Manquita (one-armed lady) because one of its towers was curiously left unbuilt.

We climbed the hill to the alcazaba when it was bathed in afternoon sunlight. The horseshoe archways, crescent shaped windows and intimate courtyards transporting us to a time long ago when the Moors ruled this area of Iberian Peninsula. This alcazaba was built by the Hammudid dynasty in the early 11th century and is considered to be the best-preserved in Spain. Below lies another reminder of the long history of Malaga, the ancient Roman amphitheatre built in the 1st century AD.

Malaga is where Picasso was born so we thought it only appropriate to visit the Picasso Museum. The museum consists of 285 works donated by members of Picasso’s family. Most are not well-known, as Spain’s main collection of Picasso’s art is in the Prado National Museum in Madrid. We were a bit disappointed, not with the art, but with the lack of story. Being his home town, it would have been the perfect opportunity to weave his life story into the exhibition, like what the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam does so well. It felt hollow and lacked humanity. The best part was an adjourning exhibition of female Surrealists – the art was incredible, and their stories were told well.

Not far from the Picasso Museum is the Malaga Cathedral and I once again found myself inside this magnificent building alone, Mr Love is starting to tire of cathedrals. The chapels in Malaga Cathedral were mostly rebuilt after being destroyed in the Spanish Civil War. Parts, including the ornate choir, were saved after being bricked-up to protect them. There is not much evidence of the Spanish Civil War, it’s not openly remembered and recognised like WWI and WWII are in the rest of Europe. It seems a culture of “leave the past be” has been cultivated. Malaga was hard hit during the war as it was staunchly Republican, and Franco saw it as a prize. Around 20,000 citizens of Malaga were shot by the Nationalists and buried in mass graves in the city’s cemetery. Similar events happened across the country and continued under Franco’s rule, well after the war was over.

I joined Andrew again and we continued on our way.  We had planned out day around seeing the Christmas lights. The Malaga Christmas lights are renowned as some of the best in Spain, if not Europe. The show was set to start at 6:30 and as we’d stumbled on a Guinness pub and as we had half an hour to fill it seemed a shame not to stop for a pint. Thirst quenched and darkness falling we walked to Plaza de la Constitucion and joined the crowds. The lights did not disappoint. They were designed to create a cathedral-like effect arching across the main street of Calle Marques de Larios. Hundreds of thousands of lights shimmying in time to the music, and it wouldn’t be a light show in Spain without Boney M’s Feliz Navidad playing at top volume and everyone shouting along to the chorus.

Clear skies and sunshine greeted us again when we woke the next morning. It was our last day before heading to our next house-sitting assignment in the countryside, so we decided to treat ourselves to lunch beside the sea in Rincon de la Victoria. All along the beaches, in front of the restaurants, are big open BBQ’s in which a Malaga speciality of espetos of sardines are cooked. Espetar means to spear and it’s not just sardines, all types of fish and meat are prepared on these open fires. I was keen to try espetos of sardines, so we picked a restaurant right on the sand with a BBQ fired up. I ordered sardines for entrée and an assortment of seafood for main. Andrew stayed with the one dish, a BBQed pork and vege skewer. The sardines were divine, but I ate too many. Andrew wouldn’t help me because he doesn’t eat things with their eyes still in. A dish of rich fried seafood to follow didn’t help matters and I spent the rest of the day feeling quite ill, and without any sympathy from Mr Love.

We enjoyed our four days by the beach and loved Malaga. But duty called, and the next day we packed up and headed into the hills to the small village of Periana where a menagerie was waiting for us.

As we drove south from Caceres into Andalusia we noticed the villages change from warm sandstone brown to the whitewashed houses typical to this part of Spain. Seville, the capital of Andalusia, was to be our first stop in what will be a long stay in this part of Spain.

Our campsite was 15km outside of Seville in Dos Hermanas, a city in its own right connected to Seville by urban sprawl. We had arrived late afternoon and took a walk through Dos Hermanas. The houses had a familiar feel, perhaps from our exposure to similar houses on TV programmes like a Place in the Sun. It was warmer too. The winter bite of Caceres had gone, and the sun had strength to it. Andrew was excited to see orange trees laden with fruit lining the town square and urged me to take photos. We laughed the next day when we saw just how many orange trees line the streets of Seville, and every Andalusian town after.

The next morning, we caught the bus to Seville. Our immediate impression was of a city dipped in sunshine and a somewhat Californian feel, with wide open boulevards, lots of oranges and palm trees. However, it’s more that California has an Andalusian feel as this was where the discovery of the Americas was launched from and where the resulting trade route was centred.

Andalusia was ruled by the Moors from the 8^th – 15^th centuries and Moorish influence is everywhere – 800 years of occupation is a long time.  Most famous is the beautiful Royal Alcazar of Seville. This is the Moorish palace in the heart of Seville that is considered to be one of the most outstanding examples of mudejar art that exists today. The upper levels of the palace are still used by the Royal family but the historic Moorish heart of the Alcazar is UNESCO listed and is open for the public to enjoy. The exquisite mosaics, geometric patterns, ornate horseshoe arches, and elaborate arabesque decoration make this building very special. Courtyards with serene pools seamlessly connect the interior to the outdoors in typical Islamic fashion – the Moors were masters of indoor outdoor flow. Extensive gardens surround the palace filled with water features, gazebos, and of course plenty of those oranges.

From the Alcazar it was a short walk to the cathedral – the largest Gothic cathedral, and third-largest church in the world. Built on the site of the original mosque it is a sprawling complex that took more than a century to complete. Extravagantly ornate both inside and out, this beautiful building stamps its mark on the city. Inside, the tomb of great explorer Christopher Columbus reminds you of the reach and influence of Spanish culture.

The Alcazar and Cathedral are next the upmarket Santa Cruz shopping precinct. After we had explored these vastly different historic sites we wandered through the narrow pedestrian-only streets, all decked out in their Christmas finery, and found a quaint comedor perfect for a cheap lunch of cocidos, traditional Spanish stew.

With full bellies we wandered down to the river Guadalquivir and across the Triana Bridge past the Chapel of El Carme. Built in the 20’s in Moorish revivalist style this small chapel was once threatened with destruction and is an iconic landmark in the colourful suburb of Triana. Triana was traditionally the Gypsy quarter with a large Romani population. It prides itself on being a hub for flamenco and bullfighting, and there are plenty of shops selling traditional Spanish outfits.  We walked past the many tapas bars overflowing with locals enjoying their mid-afternoon bebidas, along the river and then back across to La Torre del Oro, the Gold Tower. Originally built by the Moors it was later added to by Pedro I and is now home to the Naval Museum with some impressive models of Spanish Galleons. There was not a cloud in the sky and from the top of the 36-metre tower the view was beautiful. We looked across to the nearby bullring, over to the cathedral, then back along the turquoise Guadalquivir River to the Maria Luisa Park, a lush green oasis where the Plaza Espana sits within.

As we walked towards the Plaza Espana we passed more orange trees. Andrew was concerned as to why the fruit isn’t picked and used. I suggested they are ornamental only, but he was determined to find out if they were edible and picked one off the ground. They taste just like marmalade – which is what Seville oranges are famous for. I later read they are also a good appetite suppressant.

The Plaza Espana was to be our final stop for the day. This huge red palace-like building was built in 1928 using a mixture of Spanish architectural styles to create a clash of Moorish and Renaissance with a splash of Art Deco. Semi-circular in shape it sits behind a lake of the same shape crossed by arched bridges adorned with blue and white tiled railings. At the base of the building are 48 tiled alcoves with mosaic pictures, each depicting a province of Spain. When we arrived the Plaza Espana was bathed in warm afternoon sun and the alcoves were full of people sitting enjoying the weather. We spent a good hour or so wandering around the building, admiring the mosaics, and sitting in the sunshine, before heading back through the park to find our bus home.

Seville is alluring. Even though we there in winter the sun had an intensity to it and the city reflected this, confident in its golden glow and natural magnetism. This was, after all, home to the legendary Don Juan, who conquered the hearts of women across Europe.

The capital of Andalusia had impressed us, now to see what the smaller cities were like. Our next stop was Jerez de la Frontera, usually just called Jerez and only an hour and a quarter down the road from Seville. I had found a unique place to camp in Jerez searching online. It was a campervan sale-yard that allowed for half a dozen campervans to park overnight. There was electricity, Wi-Fi, toilets and showers, and to top it off we were welcomed by a very enthusiastic woman who went out of her way to tell us all about her beloved Jerez – the best places to go, what to see, where to eat, and where to experience zambombas, their famous Christmas street music. Once she’d planed the next 12 hours for us she poured us a sherry, because Jerez is the home of Sherry so why not. It was the first time we’d had a sherry at 10am.

We headed off on our bikes into Jerez and were greeted by a lively town filled with crowds of Christmas shoppers and families enjoying a day out. Jerez has a very aristocratic air, with a charming old town and beautiful palm-lined squares. The town dates back to Moorish times and I was keen to visit the Alcazar de Jerez, a Moorish fortress founded in the 11th century. I promised Andrew we wouldn’t be going to a Moorish fortress in every town, but this one was particularly significant and after our visit he agreed it had been worthwhile. It was beautifully restored with old towers and fortifications, and an ancient mosque in excellent condition. Next to the fortress is the Tio Pepe Bodega, one of the world’s most famous sherry brands. We admired it from the outside as we’d only recently visited the Port cellars in Porto and didn’t feel the need to see sherry being made as well – a photo op with the giant Tio Pepe bottle dressed in its famous short red jacket and hat was enough for us.

Back in the bustling town we found a place to have lunch and celebrate six months on the road. A table under a heater in a small plaza, a continuous flow of tapas, a bottle of red wine, and a steady stream of people to watch was a perfect way to spend a winter’s afternoon.

Jerez is famous for Flamenco music and dance and at Christmas time, zambombas. Every December, in the run up to Christmas, zambombas can be heard accompanying carols in streets and bars. A zambomba is an ancient instrument made from a large clay jar with an animal skin fixed tightly to the top, like a drum, but a long stick has been pushed through the skin, and on moving it up and down, it gives off a distinct sound. It is an old tradition in Andalucía, dating back to the 18^th century at least, where leading up to Christmas Eve people join in with the singing and sometimes dancing with a slightly flamenco edge. As we were finishing lunch we could hear the zambombas starting up nearby and once we were done we walked towards the music. In the square a group of musicians were sitting around an open fire playing and singing. Surrounding them was a crowd of people of all ages, clapping along and joining in with the songs. Every so often someone would get up and dance in the circle, strutting their stuff in Flamenco style, and everyone would cheer them on. It was a terrific atmosphere; people were happy and festive, their mood possibly enhanced by the sherry they were all enjoying.

At 6pm the Christmas lights came on and the buzzing town of Jerez was sparkling. As we walked back to our bikes we found the most beautiful life-size nativity scene, lit up in all its glory. Christmas in Spain continues to impress.

The next day we were off again towards the very bottom of Spain, but not before spending the morning in Cadiz, which is only half an hour from Jerez. Cadiz is an ancient port city built on a strip of land surrounded by the sea. Settled by the Phoenicians around 1100 BC, it is the oldest city in western civilisation. The home of the Spanish Navy, the port boomed in the 16th-century as a base for exploration and trade, and was the launching point for the adventures of Christopher Columbus in the New World.

There are only two roads to Cadiz, one is a bridge and the other is along the thin strip of land that connects the point to the mainland. Because of the small area, every bit of land is built on and parking is a premium. Luckily the woman at our campground in Jerez had told us where to park as we would have struggled to fit in regular parking areas. After navigating the narrow roads, we found the parking lot and headed off on foot into the city. Despite the sweeping beaches, bleach-white buildings and palm-lined promenades conjuring up feelings of endless summer, we couldn’t escape the fact that it was bitterly cold with a biting wind.

It is an elegant old town with an imposing gold-topped cathedral, cobbled pedestrian streets, whitewashed town houses trimmed in sunshine yellow or blue, and majestic squares with grand statues. But it feels like it has seen better days, it’s glamourous past long gone. Being a very compact town, only 2km long and 1.8km across at its widest point, it only took us a couple of hours to explore and we were back on the road not long after midday.

Our destination was La Linea de la Concepcion, the Spanish town bordering Gibraltar. After leaving Cadiz we hugged the coastline and wound our way down to the southernmost point of mainland Europe, the small beachside town of Tarifa. The cold of Cadiz was left far behind and the town was teeming with people enjoying the winter sunshine. It was impossible to find a park, so Andrew had to keep circling while I ran down the beach for a photo. In six months on the road we had travelled to the far north of Europe in Norway and now to southernmost point of Europe in Spain. And from the beach I could see Africa.

 

The drive across the border from Portugal through to Salamanca began with barren, rugged wilderness dotted with large boulders and progressed to dry, open farmland with sheep as brown as the dirt and the odd black toro relaxing under one of the many holm oaks that cover the Spanish countryside.

Out of this desolate landscape rose Salamanca, the warm brown sandstone buildings almost camouflaged against the terrain.

We made our way to our campsite on the other side of town and settled in for the night. The cloud cover kept away the frost, but it was still a chilly morning that greeted us.

Waiting for the bus with us were two English couples who were off on a 6-month tour of Spain and Italy in their campervans, and like us were heading south to avoid the bitter European winter. We told them our plans to head to Madrid after Salamanca and they admitted they had never thought of Madrid as a place to visit, we wondered why.

The bus pulled up in the centre of Salamanca and our first impressions were of a clean, stylish and lively city. The modern shopping precinct, with wide pedestrian streets, was packed with people taking advantage of the Black Friday sales. Impressive Christmas lights were strung across the streets and the smart stores were adorned in festive cheer.

We walked through the crowds to Plaza Mayor, the main square overlooked by the town hall clock tower and encircled by many archways leading to various streets and lanes. We stopped at the information bureau and got a better map than the campsite had offered then chose the archway that lead to the historic old city.

Salamanca is a university town and boasts the oldest university in Spain, founded in 1218. This prestigious university is the primary source of income for the city and the UNESCO listed historic university buildings are popular with tourists, the other main source of income for Salamanca.

Our first stop was La Casa de las Conchas, the house of shells, so called because the facade is decorated with hundreds of scallop shells. Not far from La Casa de la Conchas are the two cathedrals of Salamanca. They sit next to one another, but are completely different, being built in different periods. The new cathedral is the more imposing of the two and is one of the biggest buildings in the city. It was built in a mix of baroque and gothic style, while the old cathedral alongside it features Roman and gothic architecture. Both cathedrals are linked internally, so from inside it seems as if there’s only one. With no one around it was an ideal time to climb the 110-metre tower for a view over the city and countryside beyond. It was a great experience, as not only did we get to climb the tower, we had access to the roof, the walkway along the upper interior of the old cathedral overlooking the ornate sanctuary and a view through to the new cathedral, giving us the full experience of these magnificent structures.

Across from the cathedrals is the historic university precinct – a cluster of majestic buildings with richly carved facades, turrets, grand entranceways and courtyards. It is a beautiful area and was so nice to explore in the off-season when tourists are few and far between.

We continued down towards the Tormes River through the narrow-cobbled lanes, all pristinely clean and with not a trace of graffiti. The well preserved Roman bridge that crosses the Tormes was built in the 1^st century BC, although some of the arches were reconstructed in the 16^th century after a flood. Now a pedestrian bridge, it offered lovely views back to Salamanca, glowing golden brown in the fleeting sunshine, and we made the most of the photo opportunity.

The day had got away on us and it was time for a late lunch. We walked back up the hill, stopping at a quaint little shop to buy traditional Christmas biscuits, then past the touristy restaurant area, through to Plaza Mayor, and out another archway to a small square with a few cafes that looked to be frequented by locals. We chose one and settled on the 3-course ‘menu del dia’ (menu of the day) for 10 Euros. Our waiter only spoke Spanish and for some reason assumed I did too as he kept referring everything to me when he couldn’t communicate with Mr Love. We recognised enough of the menu items to make our selection; soup for entrée, chicken for Andrew’s main and for me the Callos Madrilenos that the waiter had assured me was delicious. Well, I have now tried tripe and I do not like it! At least we can’t be accused of not trying the local cuisine. The weather was starting to deteriorate and as I wanted to make the most of the Black Friday sales we headed back to the shopping precinct for a spot of shopping. Stocked up on essentials and with rain bucketing down we called it a day and caught the bus back to the campsite. The next day we were off to Madrid.

Madrid:

We avoided the motorway for the journey inland to Madrid and took our time, with a photo stop in the picturesque walled town of Avila, a picnic lunch in a rest area and some shopping at a Mercadona, our favourite Spanish supermarket. We crossed the Guadarrama Pass and were starting down the mountain range when we saw four high-rise buildings in the distance, far across the plains. This was our first sight of Madrid.

We had no preconceived ideas about Madrid. I had recently read a book about the city during the Spanish Civil war and the following years under Franco’s rule, but that was a bygone era. Most of the Brits that we have met in Spain have said they had never been and never intended too. We assumed it would be industrial and maybe a bit bland compared to colourful Barcelona which we both love so much.

It’s a flat city so it was difficult to see much as we drove around the ring-road to our campsite near the airport. After a chilly night with temperatures dipping into the negatives we awoke to a sparkling winter’s day. The forecast was for a high of 12 degrees. We wrapped up warmly and took the subway into the city centre, popping up beside the Teatro Real opera house, one of the many elegant buildings in Madrid and a brilliant first impression.

Madrid is a big city; in fact, it is the third largest in the EU behind London and Berlin. Because of the size and our limited time, we opted to take a bus tour around the city to get our bearings. The hop-on hop-off bus offered two routes, one through the historic area and the other out to New Madrid. The commentary was excellent and after going for the full circuit of the historic route we had our bearings and knew where we wanted to walk.  It was a great introduction to this captivating city.

After getting off the bus we walked the short distance to Plaza Mayor, one of the famous squares in the heart of Madrid. The Christmas markets were already underway and street performers were entertaining the crowds. We bought a Christmas decoration for our van. Plaza Mayor is fully enclosed by three storey residential buildings with arcades running around the edges and a bronze equestrian statue in the middle. In the arcades and surrounding lanes there is an abundance of restaurants and tapas bars and just off the plaza is the historic wrought iron and glass Mercado de San Miguel filled with a wealth of gourmet food outlets. It was very enticing and was teeming with people, all standing around eating and drinking. We tried to find a spot to eat but gave up and chose a nearby tapas bar instead.

After lunch we walked to the Palacio Real, the imposing Royal Palace of Madrid that rivals any palace in Europe. The nearby Cathedral de la Almudena is just as magnificent and its striking blue-grey exterior quite unique. The cathedral was built on the site of a medieval mosque that was destroyed in 1083, another reminder of Spain’s rich Islamic history.

We were starting to notice the heavy police presence in Madrid. Large police vans and SUV’s blocked vehicle access to every pedestrian area and police stood on most street corners.

We walked along Callen de Bailen past the Plaza de Oriente. Street performers acting as human statues of all kinds lined the square. We saw many of these in Madrid, competition was hot. Maybe there was a law against noisy busking so they’ve all opted to be silent.  Some were better than others.

We walked up to Parque de la Montana where the striking Egyptian Temple of Debod stands in the middle of a pool. Dating from the 2nd century BC, and, after centuries on Egyptian soil, this temple was brought to Spain as a gift from Egypt. The views from the park back to the palace and cathedral were beautiful.

From here we wandered across to Plaza de Espana proudly displaying a monument to famous Spanish novelist, poet and playwright Miguel de Cervantes. The statue of Cervantes overlooks bronze sculptures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, his most well-known characters.

Gran Via starts from Plaza de Espana and is one of the most important and symbolic arteries of downtown Madrid. Lined with shops housing internationally renowned brands, theatres, hotels, restaurants and cafés it is the Oxford Street of Madrid. Most impressive is the stunning architecture, a showcase of early 20^th century styles and all beautifully kept. Madrid is sumptuous and sophisticated.

Then we stumbled upon Primark. Primark is Mr Love’s favourite store and this one was huge – even larger than Oxford Street. Inside the cavernous atrium we looked up at floor after floor of cheap clothing and accessories. We agreed to go our separate ways and meet back in half an hour. I tried to look for jeans, but the crowds were unbearable and the piles of denim all blurred into one, so I went and stood at our meeting place and waited, and waited, and waited. I was starting to get worried. What if he had suffocated under a pile of hoodies? Half an hour later he appeared with his new jeans, jacket, hoody and sweater, smiling from ear to ear.

After that retail therapy it was back to the cultural tour. We continued down Gan Via to Plaza Cibeles where the white wedding-cake-like Cybele Palace, now the City Hall of Madrid, dominates this lively square. A large banner welcoming refugees to Spain was strung across the front of the palace. In the middle of the square is Cibeles Fountain, the symbol of Madrid.

By this time, it was after 4 and we still hadn’t taken the bus tour around New Madrid. If we going to see it in daylight we needed to get cracking. We braved the chilly wind on the top deck and looked forward to seeing what the newer part had to offer. Wow, this city continued to impress. The modern architecture is bold and varied and makes a statement that this is indeed a city of the future as much as it is of the past.

Most impressive is the Plaza de Castilla bisected by paseo de la Castellana, one of the main thoroughfares of the capital. Here two shiny glass towers, each 114 metres high, tilt 15 degrees towards each other, reaching across the road creating the perception of an archway or gate to the city. Close to the towers is Obelisco de Caja Madrid, a golden obelisk built to mark the 300th anniversary of Madrid’s foundation. The sun reflecting on the gold as it reaches towards the sky and the light bouncing off the two towers gives a space age feel.

Not much further along are the four towers we first saw from over 50km away as we drove towards Madrid. All different styles, they represent Madrid’s most modern and futuristic part.

The bus continued past the Estadio Santiago Bernabéu, the home stadium of the Real Madrid football team, one of the most successful teams in the world.

It wasn’t all modern, we were soon driving around the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas, the bullring.  This bullring holds around 23,000 people and is one of the largest in the world. It was built in 1931 and uses a style of Moorish revivalist architecture called Neo-Mudéjar that was very popular in Spain in the early 20^th century and is most distinguishable by the hand-painted tiles and the Islamic-style horseshoe arches. As much as we do not agree with bullfighting, this is a magnificent building.

It was starting to get dark and we were nearing the end of our bus tour. All day I had been looking in awe at the copious amounts of Christmas lights strung across the streets of Madrid, and the steel cone Christmas trees, made almost entirely of lights, that stood in every plaza. My one request for our visit to Madrid was to see the Christmas lights and all day I had been looking forward to 6pm and the switch to be turned on. Not a second late Madrid was twinkling.  The view of the lights from the top deck of the bus was great but we were keen to get amongst the activity in the central pedestrian areas so jumped off near Puerta del Sol where there was a spectacular blue Christmas tree in the centre of the square.  The place was humming. It seemed like everyone in Madrid was out in the streets getting into the festive spirit. What a way to end a fantastic day in a city that took no time to woo us, and what we now consider one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.

Caceres:

The historic city of Caceres is 300km southwest of Madrid and being on our path south I added it to our itinerary.  At our usual meandering pace, it took most of the day to travel there from Madrid and by the time we arrived it was late afternoon. The campsite was fantastic. Each site had its own personal toilet and shower in a cute little outhouse, this won us over immediately. There were plenty of French, English and Swedish campervans there, all using it as a stopover on the way south for winter. We bumped into the two English couples we’d met in Salamanca and told them they missed a treat in Madrid.

Caceres ends abruptly, and farmland begins. The campsite was right on the edge of town, only a few kilometres from the centre but still bordering dry open fields. Rain was forecast, and much needed. We watched as the clouds rolled in and by dark the rain had started. It didn’t stop for 24 hours and we decided not to attempt to see the city in the wet but instead wait it out, we had a day up our sleeve so weren’t too worried.

After barely leaving the van for 24 hours, and my Fitbit recording the least number of steps ever, we were rearing to go when the sun rose on a sparkling crisp day.

Caceres’ small and perfectly preserved historic quarter reflects its history of battles between Moors and Christians with a mixture of architectural styles, from Roman to Islamic, Gothic and Italian Renaissance. Muslim history is everywhere, the Moorish city walls and towers are almost fully intact and the Arco de la Estrella (arch of the stars) with its typical Islamic horseshoe shape makes a dramatic entranceway to the old town. An underground Arab water cistern is beautifully preserved and protected in the basement of the town’s museum.  We wandered through the cobbled lanes, visited the museum and stopped in at the San Francisco Javier church in Plaza de San Jorge, where for 1 Euro we climbed the twin bell towers for a view over the town and out across the brown parched countryside.

The town square beside the city walls was bathed in sunshine and we stopped for a late lunch. The many restaurants in the square all had their tables and chairs out but there was nobody around, the tourist off-season affecting business. Caceres is like two separate towns. The new, modern area was humming with people out shopping and eating, but the historic quarter was eerily quiet with only a handful of tourists about. Judging by the number of restaurants in the square the peak season must make it all worthwhile.

Spain knows how to look after its history and all the historic areas we have visited have been beautifully clean and cared for. Caceres was no exception and our decision to wait for the rain to clear was a good one.

The next day we were on the road again, off to the capital of southern Spain’s Andalusia region – Seville.

Monday: San Sebastian

The rain that welcomed us Sunday night, on arrival from Biarritz, had cleared by morning, but it was still bitterly cold as we set off on our bikes for the 8km ride from the campsite down to San Sebastian. Scarves and jackets are not what comes to mind when thinking of San Sebastian, a resort town and summer playground on the Bay of Biscay in Spain’s mountainous Basque Country. Celebrated for its beaches, Playa de la Concha, Playa de Ondarreta and Playa de Zurriola, and the picturesque promenade along Concha Bay, it’s not known as a winter town.  Despite the biting wind we were determined to enjoy our day and the vista that opened up in front of us as we rounded the bend into the bay promised we would. Concha Bay is lovely, a perfect horseshoe with the small Santa Clara Island in the centre and monument-topped hills on each side of the entrance, protecting the bay from the Atlantic winds and making the golden sandy beaches more attractive, visibly so for the half dozen brave souls who were swimming. Under Mount Urgall at the eastern end of the bay is the cobblestoned old town (Parte Vieja) where the famous pintxos bars line the narrow lanes. Pintxos are Basque specialities and are a bit like tapas. Derived from the verb “to puncture”, pintxos were historically served on a piece of bread and pierced with a toothpick. Nowadays they are increasingly varied and only some are still served with toothpicks. The fun of pintxos is that they are laid out along a bar in all their glory and you fill your own plate, banging on the bar when you’ve finished selecting and are ready to pay. We ogled the many bars as they were laying out their impressive pintxos selections for lunch. How were we going to choose where to eat? The decision wasn’t going to be made straight away, I was adamant we’d climb Mount Urgall first. More like a hill, this mound at the end of the bay was the perfect place to defend your territory from and it is steeped in military history, with cannons and fortifications all over it. From the top, the lay of the land is much clearer; Concha Bay with its two sheltered beaches looks calm and serene, unlike the surf-ravaged third beach, Zurriola, lying to the east and unprotected from those Atlantic swells. The surf on Zurriola was littered with black dots, wet-suited surfers pursuing those waves.

The walk up Urgall made the pintxos all the more tastier and our selection of which bar to eat at could not have been better. After eating too much, because every pintxo looks amazing and it’s impossible not to pick another, we walked across the Urumea River, where the waves were crashing through the mouth of the river and breaking dramatically underneath the bridge, to the seaside suburb of Gros. The wind didn’t make our walk along Zurriola beach pleasant and we soon scampered back to the shelter of buildings. It’s mostly residential on this side of the river and after admiring the elegant townhouses and apartments we crossed back to the wide shopping streets of Zentroa, and then along the Concha promenade lined with ornate white wrought iron railings from a bygone era. By this time the sky was darkening, and rain looked likely. We found our bikes and headed off into the wind, for the slow uphill ride home.

Tuesday: Bilbao

It’s only a short drive from San Sebastian to Bilbao, an hour and a half down the road. Because of the rugged terrain of the Basque country we decided not to worry about navigating through backroads and instead pay the tolls and take the fast, easy route. We wanted to spend as much of the day as possible in Bilbao, and the 11 euros was money well spent. We arrived at our campsite high on a hill with an incredible panoramic view across Bilbao. We parked up and caught the next bus down into the city.

Bilbao is an industrial port city and doesn’t have a lot going for it apart from its quaint medieval quarter, but nearly every city we visit has one of those, it’s beautiful historic churches, but we’ve seen a lot of those, it’s lovely wide riverside walkways and pedestrian areas, but once again, nearly every city has those, and then there’s the stunning and mesmerising Frank Gehry–designed Guggenheim Museum. No other city has one of those. So influential is this building that it was credited with sparking a revitalisation of the entire city when it opened in 1997. Visitor numbers to the city jumped so much, the eye-watering cost of the building was recouped in just three years and the declining economic fortunes of this city were turned around almost overnight. The museum houses prominent modern and contemporary works, but it’s the curvy, titanium-clad structure, with swooping sheets of metal, glowing bronze and gold in the sunlight, that truly wows. We looked at it from every angle – from the back, the front, from inside with the soaring atrium of glass and steel, from atop the bridge and from across the river. The colours change from silver to steel-grey, back to gold and then bronze – it moves as if it has a life of its own. Walking back along the river away from the Guggenheim I had to stop myself turning around and running back for just one more look, such is its draw. Visiting this building alone makes any visit to Bilbao worthwhile.

That evening we had dinner with a view, sitting in our campervan high above the city, looking out at the lights of Bilbao and the glint of the Guggenheim.

Wednesday: Road Through Rural Spain

Having taken the direct route to Bilbao we decided to take the country roads through to Burgos to see some of rural Spain. Taking the backroads is always more interesting and these roads were in great condition and had barely any traffic.

Before coming to Spain we’d looked for a Spanish regulation reflective panel for the back of our bike carrier and had no luck in France, nor in San Sebastian and Bilbao. We’d heard that Spain is particularly vigilant in policing this law, and every motorhome carrying bikes that we’d seen so far had one. Law-abiding me was starting to get very concerned. What if we had a run-in with the Guardia Civil? I am trying to learn Spanish online as quickly as I can, but “buenos dias” and a smile is unlikely to get us out of a hefty fine. Burgos is about 160km inland from Bilbao and it didn’t take long for us to be driving through remote countryside and with villages becoming less frequent and needing to fill up, we tried our luck at a small rural service station. Eureka! They had two reflective panels in stock. I grabbed one with two hands and joyously waved it in the air for Andrew to see from the forecourt. At 29-euro Mr Love was less jubilant, but at least he now had a much calmer wife.

Nicely compliant and back on the road, we were soon winding our way through the craggy landscape and up a mountain range. We reached a plateau that started as desert-type tundra and scrub and quickly changed to empty fields stretching for miles, all ploughed and ready for crops. The soil was a rich dark red and the dry husks were evidence that this was grain country and the scale was enormous. We passed lots of farmers on their John Deere’s working their fields in preparation for planting. Many looked past the age of retirement, no doubt Spain has the same issues with attracting the young back to the land.

Burgos caught us by surprise. One minute we were driving through the expansive, agricultural landscape and then we were surrounded by industrial buildings and moments later we were driving through central Burgos. With just under 200,000 people it’s not a large city but it holds its own in Spain. The economy is based on agriculture and it is one of the main grain producing areas. Around this there’s a strong agri-food industry, and manufacturing also contributes to the wealth of this city that was sheltered from Spain’s recent financial troubles. Our first impressions were of a clean and prosperous place.

It was early afternoon when we arrived at our campsite and after a late lunch we biked into the city centre for a reconnaissance. The ride was an easy one, only 5km and on flat cycle paths through parks and along the riverside.

The Arco de Santa Maria is the original medieval gate to Burgos and was what we first saw when we crossed the river to the historic city. Beautifully restored and intricately carved, this grand arch of white stone provides a fitting entrance to the magnificence that lies beyond. Walk through the arch and your breathe is stolen by the vast and imposing Gothic masterpiece that is the Burgos Cathedral. We stood in awe. We’ve seen a lot of cathedrals and this one is truly stunning. Tomorrow we would visit it properly.

Back at the campsite, we were surprised that, after being one of only two or three campervans at the last two sites, the campsite had filled up, mostly with Brits. It didn’t take long for us to get chatting and we found out that they were either going south for winter or back to UK for Christmas, and Burgos is a good stopover on the way to the ferry terminal in Santander. The ferry to the UK from Spain takes 24 hours, but as most campsites are already closed in France it’s the best way to get to and from Spain over winter.

Thursday: Burgos

It was minus 3 when we woke, and it wasn’t much warmer in the van. We took a while to get out of bed and face the day and by the time we emerged the campsite was almost empty again. It was a cracker of a day, sparkling blue sky, crisp and calm. At 859 metres above sea level the air in Burgos is noticeably thinner, and dry.

In Spain everything starts late and finishes late, with a long siesta in the middle to recharge, so there is no point rushing off early as nothing is happening. Given this, I spent a couple of hours catching up on my blog and Andrew did what he loves doing most – odd jobs. In this case it was polishing the van, a stock-take of supplies in the boot and cooking me my favourite bunch, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

After a late brunch we biked back into town and once again were wowed by the spectacular Burgos Cathedral. It was time to see if the interior matched the exterior. We have visited a lot of cathedrals and this is one of the best we have ever stepped inside. Chapel after chapel of opulence and glory, cavernous naves in alabaster marble and the beautiful central dome, understated and elegant. The entire history of Gothic art is summed up in its superb architecture and its unique collection of works of art, including paintings, carvings, choir stalls, alters, tombs and stained-glass windows. It was almost enough to turn an atheist religious.

Back outside, we found the Camino de Santiago path that goes straight through the historical centre of Burgos. What is the Camino de Santiago? I didn’t know the answer to this until a few years ago when my mother and Aunt Helen said they were off to walk it – all 791 kilometres. For over a thousand years people from all over Europe have made the pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in north-western Spain, the place where the remains of the apostle Saint James the Great are buried. In recent times the Camino has become increasingly popular, not just as religious pilgrimage, but as a rite of passage for young Spaniards and a great adventure walk for everyone else, encompassing Spanish culture and history. To give you an idea of just how popular this walk is, in 2016 nearly 300,000 Compostela certificates were issued to people who had completed the pilgrimage. There are many Camino trails that lead to Santiago de Compostela, but the most well-worn track, attracting more than 65% of all pilgrims, is the French Way that goes right through Burgos, and this is the track Mum and Helen walked. Burgos is 273km from where they started, not even halfway.

The path through the historic town centre is clearly marked with the distinctive yellow scallop shell on a blue background, and the shops and restaurants that line the path have special pilgrim deals and hotels offer pilgrim rates. The Camino de Santiago is great for the economy. We walked back along the path to where it entered the town, then turned and walked back through and out the other side.  Being November, it wasn’t peak pilgrim time, so Andrew’s hopes of seeing a pilgrim coming into town were dashed. Perhaps we’d have better luck on the road tomorrow.

 

Friday: Camino de Santiago

We left Burgos and headed off towards Ponferrada with the Camino de Santiago running alongside the road. We hadn’t seen any pilgrims in Burgos, but it didn’t take long to see some out on the track. A bunch of young Japanese, looking the part in their swish walking gear, were sitting in the sun taking a coffee break, their packs beside them, and from their smiles and laughter they were having the time of their lives. A couple of kilometres further on we passed a guy walking on his own, not looking as happy as the earlier group, but still getting along at a cracking pace. We were so excited to see someone actually walking the Camino. We tooted the horn and waved encouragingly. He smiled and waved back. Hopefully we gave him a little pick-me-up. After that we saw another few more, all walking alone, before the road we were taking left the Camino for a while.

We re-joined the track in Astorga and decided to take a small country road that followed right beside the Camino for the 77km through to Ponferrada. As we were leaving Astorga we passed a guy swinging his pack off his back. He stuck out his thumb at the last moment, a feeble attempt to hitchhike. We smiled, gestured questioningly and drove on. A hundred metres ahead was a young woman striding along purposefully, a heavy pack on her back. Perhaps he had decided the Camino wasn’t his thing and left her to do it alone? Or maybe it was a case of bad blisters, or a temporary moment of exhaustion? The further we got down the road the more walkers we passed, of all ages and nationalities and many taking on the challenge alone.

77km is not far in a vehicle, even when it’s a narrow windy road, but for these walkers this stretch alone will take 3 days. Along the way are albergues (pilgrim’s hostels) providing accommodation and little restaurants serving pilgrims meals. Although it’s rough and remote countryside you are never far from a place of refuge.

As we got closer to Ponferrada we passed an older man carrying a pack almost as big as him and walking in a woollen pullover and baggy jeans. He was about 6km out of Ponferreda and we almost wanted to stop and ask if could help with the pack, it looked so bulky and he didn’t look the fittest or best equipped we’d seen. We saw him again as we were leaving Ponferreda after visiting the beautiful old castle that makes this town famous. He was walking into the town centre, not looking any worse for wear and still with a spring in his step.

It was a neat experience to see some of the Camino path that Mum and Helen had walked, the type of terrain they’d covered and some of the villages they passed through. I think Mum was quite chuffed too when we told her what we’d done.

Arriving at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela at the end of this epic walk must be an emotional experience, regardless of whether you are religious or not. We had planned to drive on to Santiago de Compostela after Ponferrada, but as we left Burgos I said to Andrew, “let’s change route, we won’t go to Santiago de Compostela on this trip”. I want to do that journey on foot.

Saturday: Las Medulas

Friday night we stayed at a campsite about 18km out of Ponferreda and we were the only ones in the campsite. Nothing like having the whole shower block to yourselves! There was a heavy frost on the ground when we woke on Saturday morning, but the sun was doing its best to warm us. Moles are obviously not deterred by the cold as a fresh mole hill was right beside our door, so new the dirt was untouched by frost.

Ponferreda had been added to our itinerary for three reasons; it was on the Camino de Santiago, it has a lovely castle, and it is very near Las Medulas which I was keen to visit. Las Medulas is a fantastic landscape created from the gold exploitation by the Romans. In the 1st century A.D. the Romans began to exploit the gold deposits of this region in north-west Spain, using a technique based on hydraulic power, where large quantities of water were used to undermine the mountains. This process was aptly called Ruina Montiam (wrecking of mountains). After two centuries of working the deposits, the Romans withdrew, leaving a devastated but spectacular landscape. What was left were caves, tunnels and grottos, pinnacles and canyons, all a reddish sunset colour, converting the area into a magically mysterious piece of landscape. Now a listed UNESCO World Heritage Site, tourists flock here to explore the area through the many walkways. We spent a couple of hours discovering Las Medulas, climbing through tunnels and caves, and taking plenty of photos of this dramatic man-made landscape.

After leaving Las Medulas we travelled 160km further south to the small town of Allariz outside the city of Ourense. We had intended to stop in Ourense but after driving through it didn’t captivate us and we decided push on to Allariz, sometimes we have to remind ourselves that we can’t see everything.

Sunday: Allariz

We fell in love with Allariz. It is charming little town of 6,000 people sitting on the river Arnoia in the autonomous Galicia region of Spain. Typically mediaeval, the narrow streets surround a church and a fort sits on a hillock above the town. Sunday was beautifully fine, and we walked from the campsite along the river, through the botanic gardens, to the town centre, then up to the fort for a view over the countryside. We couldn’t help but compare this immaculate town with the French village where we had been house-sitting. There is no dog poop in the streets of Allariz and the historic buildings are all lovingly cared for and in pristine condition, in fact Spain is much cleaner than we’d ever expected.

Like in most of Europe, Sunday’s in Spain are family days and everyone in Allariz seemed to be out for lunch in big family groups. We had planned to have lunch in town too, and as it was gloriously sunny wanted a table outside. We tried three restaurants, all of which were fully booked, before finally finding a lovely riverside place with one spare table, a table for two in the sun. There was a Sunday Lunch set menu on offer promising three courses of traditional Galician cuisine. Why not do as the Spanish do and linger over a long lunch? Our waiter was charming and funny and spoke great English, explaining the regional delicacies and giving us insight into this beautiful part of Spain. The food was delicious, and with full stomachs and sedated from a glass of vino tinto, we sauntered slowly back to the campsite for a late afternoon siesta.

Tomorrow we head to Portugal.