Our trip to France and Spain in February 2018. Great excitement as we head off for the first time.
Monday –Tuesday January 29th-30th –
The Prelude
Not officially part of the trip, but having a bearing on
what was to follow.
I had been feeling a little mouth pain for a couple of weeks
(which I had been trying to convince myself was sinus related). Ali had
repeatedly advised me to arrange a dental appointment before we set off ‘In case it’s an abscess which will only get
worse causing you to be in pain and grumpy and eventually having to find a
French/Spanish dentist who will charge a lot of money and result in the holiday
being ruined’: or words to that effect.
Anyway… I eventually give in and fix up an appointment for
after work on Tuesday. In I go and dentist has a poke about, bangs each tooth
with the end of her mirror and takes an X Ray. While we’re waiting for the
result, we chat about holidays and campervans and she says all the signs point
to it being sinus pain – I start to relax! The nurse returns with the X Ray and the two of them peer at it.
At this moment I am convinced I hear the phrase ‘all clear’
– I relax further!
Dentist turns to me and says ‘Clearly shows an abscess under
the top back tooth’ – I start to un-relax!‘Are you happy for me to take it out now’ she continues – I un-relax further!
‘What are my options? I enquire.
‘Take it out now or it will only get worse causing you to be in pain and grumpy and eventually having to find a French/Spanish dentist who will charge a lot of money and result in the holiday being ruined’: or words to that effect.
Some teeth are easy to get out apparently. Others are more
difficult and require much pulling, wiggling, cutting and drilling.
Have a wild guess what sort this one was.Wednesday 31st January – The Journey Starts
 |
| We arrive at check in too early! |
About 3 hours later we are one of only 3 vehicles still waiting to board. First the ferry fills with a never ending stream of huge lorries, then all the cars and finally the ‘special ones’: ourselves, one other motorhome and a group of four sporty open toppers (identified by Ali as Frazer Nashes) occupied by gents wearing goggles and flying helmets. We speed up the ramp, execute a U turn and the doors close behind us – or actually in front of us now.
The Etretat is a strange vessel. All the cars seem to be on an open deck at the top of the boat and, for the first time, Daffy is not allowed to remain in the vehicle for the crossing. Instead we have booked, and are escorted to, a special ‘Pet Friendly’ cabin, where he has to remain for the voyage. A small deck area is provided for ‘exercise’ and a ‘doggy’ bag of treats, a toy and a collapsible water bowl are waiting from him! He is so delighted that he agrees to wait in the cabin whilst we visit the bar for a nightcap. Luckily, due to the slightly late departure of the boat, it’s after midnight before my pint of 1664 is poured and so I don’t break the dentist’s ‘no alcohol for the next two days’ decree and am spared the danger of ‘Dry Socket’
 |
| Pet Friendly Cabin on board the Etretat. No pets on the bed please. |
As we return to the cabin we hear the Daff yelling and the poor chap is quite stressed by the whole business. In our haste to leave the car deck we have forgotten his bed and the cabin floor is hard and slippy. After I turn in, he jumps up next to me and gradually his panting dies down, his breathing becomes soft and, as the ferry gently rocks its way into the Channel, we both fall into a deep sleep and dream of chasing rabbits.
Thursday /Friday–Into France
We awoke as the Etretat made its approach to Le Harve. Just
time for a couple of Brittany Ferries ‘Full Englishes’ and a shower before we
assemble on the pet exercise deck to be guided back to our vehicle.
 |
| Backing into Le Harve |
 |
| Waiting for the big door to open |
In this case, last on meant first off. The four sporty cars
are first down the ramp, with ear flaps flapping, before we follow, ahead of
all the other cars and lorries. A brief pause at passport control where,
despite our passports not being blue, we are allowed to ‘pass freely without
let or hindrance’ as ‘her Britannic majesty’s secretary of state requests and requires’. We are in
France!
Out route takes us to the west of Rouen and generally
southwards towards out first overnight stop. We follow the advice of other
motorhome owners and try to strike a balance between speed and ‘toll free’
roads. Weather is fine and we make good
progress with stops to re-fuel and take luncheon ( Aldi Ham in a bun).
Surprised and disappointed to find diesel more expensive than the UK – so only
got enough for the rest of the day, hoping for cheaper later.
Arrive at about 4pm at our first overnight south of
Poitiers. Camping Le Rejallant in Ruffec.
A few metres from the site is the Charente River. Very beautiful in the evening light, but by
this time freezing cold so we retire early.
 |
| Misty River Morning -Brrrrrrrrrr. |
 |
| Charente River - Very Pretty. |
Friday begins with a first! We use the motorhome shower for
the first time. Very nice it was too, with plenty of scalding water pouring
from the wonderful shower head. A quick walk down to the river again (even more
lovely in the frosty morning mist), a wastewater dump; and we are off!
Ten yards down the lane I pull in to allow a car to pass and
we are briefly bogged down in the soft verge! Luckily the slight slope means we
can roll back out of trouble and Ali does not have to push.
Stops again for (cheaper ) fuel and lunch and a good drive
with the weather sunny at times between foggy bits. Arrive once again about 4pm
at Camping Le Larroulleta , near St Jean De Luz.
We spot a Le Clerc supermarket
a little way off and decide to walk there to buy a bath mat. As we set off we
notice black clouds starting to replace the sunny afternoon sky, but decide it
will be fine to carry on. Unfortunately, although the shop is less than 1km
away, there is no footpath alongside the busy main road, with cars whizzing
close by as people return home from work. Worse still, when we are inside, the
heavens open with a huge hail storm and by the time we set off for the return
it is dark, cold, raining, slippery underfoot and just as busy on the road.
Not what we were expecting from the South of France!
 |
| Off to Le Clerc. Little did we know...... |
Not what we were expecting from the South of France!
Saturday/Sunday – Into Spain.
It poured with rain all Friday night and, although it was a
little brighter in the morning, the forecast was for rain and snow for the
weekend – which is exactly what happened.
On setting up the satnav, Ali discovered that our next stop
over was only just two hours away so, having crossed the border into Spain, we
decide to stop for lunch in Pamplona. As we climb away from the coast, the rain
turns to snow and we enter a world of white. The roads are clear, but the low
cloud ensures it’s all a bit gloomy. A stop on the outskirts of Pamplona to
visit Decathalon, for some new Ali trainers, then we head for the centre and
end up parking just opposite the new Aire (10 euros overnight) which is about
15 minutes walk from the city centre.
Pamplona is certainly beautiful and enlivened by a few groups
of musicians/singers, who, our waiter informs us, have come in from a nearby
town as part of their festival. Not sure why they would do this, but they make
a nice noise. I take a wild risk and choose ‘Bacon, Cheese, Fries’ from the
Spanish menu.
Although the snow has stopped and turned to drizzle, it is bitterly cold so, after a couple of hours we return to the warmth of the motorhome and head onwards.
 |
| No Ali! Wrong. |
 |
| Cheese bacon Fries - My first foray into Spanish cuisine. |
 |
| Pamplona is beautiful..... but cold |
Although the snow has stopped and turned to drizzle, it is bitterly cold so, after a couple of hours we return to the warmth of the motorhome and head onwards.
 |
| Have we had our tea yet? |
It’s dry by the time we arrive at Trujae Artajo, our overnight home. It turns out to be lovely. Ten minutes off the main road along a gravel track to the free stopover at an olive farm. The trees are pretty, there’s a small lake (or big pond) and the olive processing buildings with a shop that sells – olive oil-are just up the driveway. One other van there and the staff, who seem to be having a meal together when we arrive, drive off at about 6pm leaving us to look after the place. Next to the pressing/bottling building there’s a place to dump waste and fill up with water: which we do in the morning before continuing towards the sun!
 |
| Dusk at the Olive Farm |
 |
| More dusk at the olive farm |
 |
| Inspecting the irrigation system! |
 |
| Water fill up. Wrong size connector? |
We had a little chat about which route to take to our final
destination – Peniscola – on the coast. The shortest route looked a bit wiggly
and, as the threat of snow is still present, the other option involving
(longer) motorway towards Valencia, seemed safer. We are relieved an hour or
two later when, having taken the longer option, the snow stars to fall and
continues until we drop down towards the coast, in the afternoon! Once again,
we are in a ‘winter wonderland’, but the road is clear and snowploughs wait,
engines running, at every junction, ready to swing into action. A fuel stop
involves me having to put my ‘big coat’ on to venture outside and having to
wait in the queue to pay behind a gentleman who seems to be buying two
hairdryers. Every so often there are signs by the roadside saying ‘1000metres’
and one says 1200metres (presumably the highest point). The road is fairly flat
and we hadn’t realised we were so high up. No wonder it was so flippin cold!
Arrival at Camping Eden, in Peniscola, at about 5pm where,
guess what, it’s raining.
Monday – Thursday – Peniscola!
Peniscola is quiet! The long strip of hotels and apartments
seem to all be shut up tight for the winter and only a few bars and restaurants
are open. We discovered on the first evening that it takes about 20 minutes to
walk into the town (and have a nice meal) – nothing at all is open closer to
the campsite.
 |
| Ho ho ho. |
 |
| Crowded beach |
 |
| Peniscola |
 |
| Has Ali had her tablets yet? |
Camping Eden is about 80% full (mainly German/Dutch/French couples) and we seem to have arrived about 10 years too early. There is no bar open and the ‘Eden Restaurant’ seems to only open at lunchtimes. Quite surprising really as the campsite is full of people, some of who presumably would like the odd drink, or some food, without the 20 minute hike. I reckon I could have sold a few cold beers, tasty snacks (waffels?) if only I had brought a little shack with me from home. It could be called ‘Peniscola Pete’s Place’. I could even have a ‘signature cocktail’.
 |
| Wetland area just behind Camping Eden |
Camping Eden is about 80% full (mainly German/Dutch/French couples) and we seem to have arrived about 10 years too early. There is no bar open and the ‘Eden Restaurant’ seems to only open at lunchtimes. Quite surprising really as the campsite is full of people, some of who presumably would like the odd drink, or some food, without the 20 minute hike. I reckon I could have sold a few cold beers, tasty snacks (waffels?) if only I had brought a little shack with me from home. It could be called ‘Peniscola Pete’s Place’. I could even have a ‘signature cocktail’.
The campsite does have a large outdoor pool, with fountains
etc. all gushing away when we arrive. However, by next morning it’s been
drained, presumably in case campers foolishly attempt to swim after eating and
drinking to excess.
Peniscola is quiet –and very beautiful! The beach is sandy
and empty, there are views towards snow- capped hills inland and, just behind
the campsite, is a marsh area, with wooden walkways and bird hides. The old
town is joined to the mainland by what
us Geographers call a tombolo and on top of it sits the jewel in the
crown: Peniscola Castle. The castle once belonged to the Knights Templar and
was occupied for a while by Pope Benedict X111 (Papa Luna (not to be confused
with Papa Lazaru)).
As the guide leaflet puts it ‘In both cases, the rugged rocks
and imposing castle walls were to be the final refuge for men whose time ran
out’.
 |
| Looking towards the Castel -just visible through the crowds |
On Monday, the sun appears suddenly, as we are setting out
our table and chairs. Off with jumpers! We stroll into town clad in T Shirts
and sit for a beer at a sunny table. Minutes later the clouds roll over and
it’s back into jumpers, then coats, then inside. We are frozen stiff by the
time we get home.
Tuesday – rain all day. We sit inside and wonder at the folly of mankind. Chasing the elusive dream.
Wednesday – sunny but still a chilly wind from the snow covered hills to the north. Again, in to town and a pleasant lunch sat on a bench (two cans of 26p pilsner and Aldi crisps). We are living the dream.
Thursday February 8th – Into Irta
The forecast was for sun all day with a max temperature of
9, so ideal for an expedition on foot into the Park D’Irta. We set of early, at
11.15 to miss the crowds and, after a brief stop at the helpful Peniscola
Tourist Information Centre, set off at a brisk pace, following the road along
the coast.
The brisk pace lasted for about 200metres before we came
across a café offering hot chocolate and churros for 4.50, requiring us to sit
in the sheltered outdoor area and bask in the sun while we took them up on
their offer. A bowl of water also provided for the Daffs.
 |
| Have we had our hot chocolate yet? |
After this interlude off once more along the coast road,
past shut up for the winter apartments and hotels, before forking off to the
right along the track towards the park. Lots of low cliffs with small pebbly
coves at first. The cliffs are made of some sort of red conglomerate and have
eroded nicely into all sorts of caves and other exciting geographical features.
(As if anyone could be interested in that!) Gradually the last of Peniscola
peters out until, after a rough walk over rocks and up a dried up stream bed,
we enter the Park itself.
 |
| Into the Irta park |
 |
| Maquis vegetation. |
 |
| Peniscola 6 |
The track climbs steeply from then and, in the distance, we
spot the Bodum Tower; which we decide will be our destination for the walk. The
track continues upwards between slopes coated in Mediterranean scrub (Maquis)
before it levels out and we reach the tower. Apparently these towers were built
as lookouts to warn of impending raids by Berber pirates! There doesn’t seem to
be any door or other way in, so either the lookouts were never able to take up
their posts, or they are still inside, wondering where the pirates have all
gone.
Lunch in the shelter of the tower (Aldi corned beef
specially brought from the UK) and then about turn for the homeward journey. We
mainly retraced our steps, but stuck to the road more, to avoid the rocky bits.
 |
| Lunch stop by the tower |
As we near Peniscola again we spot the fishing fleet
returning. All the boats seem to be heading for the harbour at the same time
and at 4pm a hooter goes off. Do they all have to be home by then or face a
telling off? Only one ‘rebel’ boat is heading in the opposite direction!
 |
| Home just before the storm |
It is now officially ‘Beer O’clock’ so, after spotting our first interesting bird of the day (long bill, on the beach, maybe a Snipe?) we stop at the first bar we see, for a ‘swifty’. Turns out to be the ‘locals’ bar, populated mainly by gents of an elderly persuasion smoking, drinking coffees and chatting about whatever. Much hilarity as Gloria Gaynor comes on the radio and the ‘Patron’ pumps up the volume. The old geezers sway their bodies gently to ‘I Will Survive’.
From there home via the Consum for sweeties and sugar
followed by an evening of cocktails, snacks and Breaking Bad episode 3.
We had walked 16 Km and, once we left the town, had met
about 6 other people on the path.
Friday – similar to Wednesday.
Saturday – similar to Friday.
Sunday – Walked the other way today and cooked Pie-ella for
tea. Bought amusing fridge magnet (for a friend) and a key ring (for the
motorhome) in a shop called ‘Penismar’ (which I thought was called something
else, as we approached from a distance). Otherwise, similar to Saturday, but
warmer! In fact this is the first of what could be described as a warm evening.
We sit out for a while and stroll to the beach. The palms sway softly in the
warm breeze and we hear the gentle murmur of TV sets from the other motorhomes.
Not a soul stirs.
'Pete’s Place’ would be jumping by now.
We stroll into town fairly early so as not to miss the
bargains. Peniscola Monday market is nice, but unsurprising. A mix of local
people and tourists browse the usual stalls selling cheap clothing and trinkets. The fruit and veg looks nice and, eventually we find the inevitable stall for
huge underwear. No continental market is complete without a display of pants so
large that a troup of boy-scouts could make overnight camp therein.
 |
| A very big strawberry. |
 |
| Hmmm. Where are the giant pants? |
Tuesday –is disappointingly chilly, despite the forecast.
Wednesday –is vet day!
An early start to the vets for Daffy’s Pet Passport check, prior to returning to the
UK. It needs a vet to stamp his passport to say that he has been given a
worming treatment – and this needs to take place between 120 hours and 24 hours
before the ferry docks (in Plymouth in
this case). It all takes about 20 minutes and is handled by Eurovet in
Peniscola. The receptionist is lovely and speaks perfect English and the vet
(who is French) is equally lovely and speaks perfect English, Spanish, German
(and presumably French as well). Daffy, as always, loves the whole thing.
(Sorry Daffs,if you’re reading this. As you know that is a complete lie. You
are scared the whole time and hate every second. Sorry. But it’s better than
being left in kennels. Isn’t it?)
After the trauma, we stroll into the old town and take turns
to visit the castel, whilst the other one sits with Daffy in the sun and drinks
beer. It’s all very pleasant and the warmest day so far. Lunch and dinner are
both taken in restaurants. Ali has a cuttlefish for lunch, whilst I have Ham,
Eggs and Chips, which come with a ‘surprise sausage’ that wasn’t in the
menu picture. Only one winner there then.
 |
| Peniscola from the Templar fortress |
 |
| Looking down on the modern resort |
 |
| Door in the fortress |
At dinner, Ali has to run outside suddenly, with Fido, who
has started to throw up. A memorable treat for the Valentine’s Day diners, who
get to watch a vomiting dog whilst pledging their undying love for one another.
Thursday – is hot!
So it’s no surprise that it’s the day we have to pack up and
head back to the UK. Our departure from ‘Camping Eden’ is enhanced by a telling
off from a Gentleman with a silly moustache, who spots Daffy having an
illegal wee on a vacant pitch and threatens to report us ‘to reception’. I
assume he was Swiss. Anyway, it
upset me unreasonably so, but I now feel better having insulted his face hair (twice) Ha ha.
We climb up from the coastal plain, past row upon row of
orange trees, which later give way to olives, towards the walled town of
Morella. A few hairpins on the way are –hairy, but we arrive safe and sound and
enjoy a pleasant hour or two wondering around the streets leading up to the
castel, perched on top of the hill. Daffy finds a small patch of snow, left
over from last week, and enjoys digging in it and rolling about, before
throwing up once more. The views are
spectacular and we enjoy a pic-nic in the motorhome . As a bonus, I am able to
look down on it, from above, for the first time, and see how the roof vents
etc. are arranged. Very interesting.
 |
| Morella |
 |
| More -ella |
 |
| Yet More -Ella |
 |
| Interesting |
From Morella, the road climbs a little more, before starting the decent into Aragon and onwards to Zaragoza. The landscape changes from mountain to dry, rolling hills, with little plateaux standing above the irrigated fields. Our overnight stop is once more at the Artajo Olive Farm, near Tudela. This time the shop is open, so we buy a bottle to take home. We are the only van on site so, once the last staff member has gone home, locking the gate behind, we are alone for the night!
 |
| Aragon |
 |
| Sunset amongst the olives |
Friday –Back into France.
Leaving the Olive farm, we travelled on motorways via
Pamplona and onwards to the French border. The traffic was light and the
mountain scenery beyond Pamplona was spectacular. The lorries got a bit too
close and scary as we approached France, but then a quick adios to Espagna and
a clear run from there on to Bordeaux,
across the flat forests of the Landes De Gascony. Heavy traffic greeted us on
the Bordeaux Rocade, but we made our next stop, in Blaye, before dark and
stayed the night with the Marquis De Vauban, on his vineyard. Very nice, free,
with electricity as well! Who says the aristocracy are mean?
A pleasant walk into Blaye, after tea, and a chance for us
to disagree about having been there before to catch a ferry across the Gironde.
(We were and did –Ali is wrong.)
 |
| Van Noir |
 |
| Get orff my land. |
Saturday –Sunday – Towards Home.
Despite the lack of a water supply at Chateau Vauban, we
still had enough for showers and were able to resume our northerly trek,
refreshed. Lack of time (and
thriftiness)) meant we did not take up the offer of wine tasting and the rest
of the day was spent ‘autorouting’.
The only excitement was crossing the Loire, at Nantes, on
the very high bridge, closely followed by a sudden slowing as Gendarmes
attempted to allow a gaggle of bikers to join the highway without loss of life.
I suspect a 3700kg motorhome travelling at 60 might have made the guys think
twice about trying to cut in, but- ‘born to be wild’ eh?
A late change of plan, and an absolute masterstroke by Ali,
took us to the Aire at Port Louis, for our last night in France. A sea view,
with a beach for Daffy to run about on, then a nice walk into town past the
huge fortress, built to protect the approaches to Lorient. Views across the
water to the German built submarine complex and then back to town to a lovely
little bar/pub and some excellent Coreff IPA, brewed nearby. Back home for a
lovely sausage based meal. (the meal of kings, if you ask me.) Daffy ran up and
down on the beach like the happiest creature on the planet. Watching on, we
felt the same.
 |
| Yet another sunset. Port Louis this time |
 |
| Tres bien IPA |
 |
| The view from our bedroom. If you look closely you can see the toilet we walked to. |
Sunday
A rainy morning and rainy drive up to Roscoff for the ferry home. We arrived in good time and checked Daffy in at the terminal. It's always a favourite spot to reminisce about our 'ill fated' 2010 French trip and the moment we were 'saved by Jonny Magic in the Brittany Ferries Terminal In Roscoff'. (Please ask if you are remotely interested)
The return crossing always seems to take longer than you want it too and the Entrecote Steak and Frites always seems to both dearer and tougher than you remember, but all in all not a bad trip and a safe return to the compound!
No comments:
Post a Comment