On Tuesday we got an email from Brittany Ferries explaining that due to mechanical problems with the ferry our return destination had been changed to Plymouth instead of Portsmouth. This turned out to be a bit of a mixed blessing as, given that we’d already just about done everything and been everywhere that we’d planned, it gave us the opportunity to bring forward our return by a few days. So, unexpectedly we found ourselves on the last couple of days of our holiday.
Leaving the Picos we headed north towards the narrow coastal plain and the small town of Comillas which boasts the ‘Capricho’, one of the few houses outside Catalonia to have been designed by Antoni Gaudi, some of whose work we’d seen when visiting Barcelona a number of years ago. We spent a pleasant hour or so wandering around the villa which, as well as being architecturally unique (and not a bit whacky), contains some beautifully made art nouveau furniture – fantastic to look at, but wholly impractical to live with. We stayed that night at a camperstop just to the south of Santander near Cabárceno on the edge of the Nature Park, which turned out to be a large naturalised space reclaimed from a former open cast mine. According to the website: “The natural park is home to a hundred animal species from five continents living in semi-free conditions, which are distributed in large enclosures where one or more species coexist. Except for food provided to them, the rest of the animal’s activities are marked by their almost total freedom. Almost all of them trigger fights and mating season struggles for control of females.” Sounds just like parts of the Cotswolds!
On Thursday morning the weather had improved a little, which made for a pleasant and fairly simple two-hour drive along the coast to Bilbao’s port from where we’d started our holiday some four weeks earlier. This time we’d been given a four birth cabin which meant that Denise didn’t have to sleep on the upper bunk with her nose pressed against the ceiling. Once again the Bay of Biscay was almost a flat calm and to her immense excitement, and making a perfect end to the holiday, Denise was convinced that she saw a whale – I knew that buying her that glass on wine was a mistake!
Tuesday’s weather was a touch disappointing with frequent rain showers and not much sunshine – as a result we stayed close to the van for much of the day, though we did manage to take an afternoon walk into Las Arenas which, in common with most small Spanish towns at that time of day, was shut. Where the Spanish go in the afternoon must be one of the world’s great mysteries – surely they can’t all be taking siestas?
In the evening we strolled down to a local bar for a quick local sideria. The local custom seems to be that cider is poured in such a way as to create a head of froth, which we assume must improve the taste somehow. In some restaurants waiters hold the bottle aloft and make a show of tipping the bottle from a great height, taking pride in their ability to catch the stream of liquid without spilling a drop. As we were in an especially classy establishment, however, our hostess went one better and provided us with a two foot tall wooden model of a waiter which, on the push of a button, squirted the contents of our bottle of cider across the table, filling our glasses with unerring accuracy. You just can’t beat style!
This morning we drove the 6km up to Poncebos and took the funicular up to the tiny hamlet of Bulnes which sits high in the mountains at the foot of the 2,519m Naranjo de Bulnes, one of the highest peaks in the Picos. The funicular is a remarkable bit of engineering as it runs entirely inside the mountain for some 2,200m, lifting visitors and provisions some 450m up to Bulnes . The hamlet looks as though it hasn’t changed much in the last few hundred years – apart, that is, from the bars and Coca Cola adverts. Unfortunately the clouds refused to allow us a clear view of the mountains which was a tad frustrating after forking out for what I suspect must be Spain’s most expensive 16 minute return railway journey.
We stayed a couple of nights at Playa Penarronda and would probably have stayed for longer if the weather had held out, but as the forecast for Sunday was wet we decided that it was better to be motoring than to be sat cooped-up in the van all day. This time we opted to follow the motorway, partly because the weather was rubbish for sightseeing but mainly because there’s no toll on that particular stretch and it’s really the only decent road along that bit of Costa Verde coastline. Around Aviles we started to run into areas of heavy industry, which came as a bit of a surprise after the very rural areas we’d been travelling through, but the coast around the Cabo de Peñas is mercifully unspoiled and the views from around the lighthouse there are to die for. On Sunday evening we sat in on a concert for local kids in the church at San Jorge de Hevas, which was a relatively short route-march from our campsite at Bañugues. Not quite the equivalent of ‘Spain’s Got Talent’ but probably all the more enjoyable for that.
Yesterday (Monday) we carried on heading east, cutting inland towards the Picos de Europa which rise to more than 2600m and provide an impressive backdrop to the coastal strip. We had lunch at Cangas de Onis, with its impressive Roman bridge, before eventually finding last night’s campsite at Las Arenas. Unfortunately the weather today is pants – the only minor consolation being that we’re in a relatively (despite my recent modifications) weathertight van whilst some of our fellow campsite residents are under canvas. This is my new definition of schadenfreude.
Santiago de Compostela was unfortunately a bit of a washout. We knew from early in the day that the weather for our visit was going to be ‘poor’, but that turned out to be a bit of an understatement. Virtually from the moment we arrived the clouds opened and as we walked through the heart of the city and approached the cathedral the rain literally cascaded down the streets and poured off the rooftops. Timing, as they say, is everything and our other disappointment came as we entered the cathedral expecting to experience its glorious baroque interior only to find that we’d timed our visit to coincide with a major refurbishment which effectively screened off virtually everything of interest. Now, if we were disappointed just imagine how you’d feel if you arrived in Santiago soaked to the skin and very footsore from your several hundred mile pilgrimage only to find that the builders were in! Still, that’s faith for you.
After a spot of essential drying-out we drove the 60 or so miles to Lugo which boasts the most complete and impressive Roman city wall in Spain. Built in the 3rd Century AD, at 15-20m high and nearly 3km long it provides an excellent footpath around the heart of the city though, as our Rough Guide pointed out, unfortunately the views of, and from the wall are a bit disappointing.
This morning (Friday), after a brief exploration of Lugo and a perambulation around its walls, we drove up to Spain’s northern coast and were fortunate to find a lovely little campsite at Playa Penarronda which is just to the east of Ribadeo. Once again we’re camped/parked within yards of the beach and able to enjoy the fabulous scenery and impressive breakers as they storm their way up the beach.
We’d originally considered staying an extra day near Cangas but as the weather forecast wasn’t brilliant we decided to make best use of the day and move a little further up the coast. We included a brief visit to Pontevedra, where one of Columbus’s ships is supposed to have sailed from, and where some people think he may have originated. The old part of town is pleasant with some interesting lanes and buildings, and once again we found ourselves on a Camino with the ‘Way’ marked by brass scallop shells set into the pavements, though this time there were fewer pilgrims in evidence.
We exhausted our first gas bottle quite early in the holiday and have been a bit nervous about running out of gas altogether as there’s apparently no way to refill our Calor bottles in Spain or Portugal; so for the last few stops we’ve tended to look for sites that provide electricity so that we don’t have to run the fridge on our remaining gas. Fortunately the tiny site we’ve found at Pragueira near Sanxenxo has electricity – no toilets, showers or anything else, but it does at least provide electricity. Our van is parked about 10 metres from the beach with absolutely stunning views of the surrounding coastline and the Isla de Ons which dominates the entrance to the Ria de Pontevedra. Whilst the days are still mainly sunny the westerly wind has had a bit of a bite to it for the last couple of days and the temperature has dropped to the mid to high teens – in fact, just like any English summer. Hopefully we’ll get a bit more warmth shortly, though frankly we’re more than happy with what we’ve got.
This morning we took a walk along the beach looking into the hundreds of the rock pools created as the tide receded, then sat on the beach while Denise produced a nice little watercolour of the bay and the hills opposite.
Sunday morning in Madelena started with a touch of sea fog but this soon burned off as we drove north, once again shunning the motorways as we wove our way out of Porto. We stopped at a local Lidl for some supplies – apart from Portuguese prices being perhaps just a little lower most items on the shelves were identical to those we get in UK and even the ‘boy’s toys’ in the central aisle were the same. I debated buying a new compressor or arc welder but decided that space in the van was just a bit too limited.
I’ve started to notice the huge number of car sales lots along the roadsides. In the rural areas every possible bit of free space seems to be given over to vines or olives but in this part of the world you can’t turn an urban corner without coming across a used car dealer. Portugal and Spain have a high percentage of older cars still on the road, including a number of models that have long since disappeared from the UK and which British enthusiasts are starting to describe as ‘modern classics’. Perhaps there’s an opportunity there ……or perhaps not.
We spent Sunday evening in comfortable but rather lonely isolation in Paredes de Coura as the only occupants of a 50 space automated motorhome site. Looking for signs of life we walked into the town to find that we’d stumbled on the Festa da Truta – sadly the only entertainments on offer were a demonstration of ‘101 ways to stuff a trout’ or the local accordion band who unfortunately seemed only to know the one tune. We’d missed a Pink Floyd tribute band by two days. Bugger!
The following morning was a touch grey and drizzly so we stopped only briefly to visit the impressive fort at Valenca. As it happens we were in the company of the Paraedes branch of the Derby and Joan Club – what seemed like thousands of Portuguese pensioners let out for the day, all wearing blue peaked caps as identification, presumably to ease the task of their minders when it came to rounding-up time.
Monday night’s stopover was at a nice little campsite near Cangas, just to the west of Vigo, with great views out to the Islas Cies which were apparently noted as having some of the world’s best beaches in a recent survey.
Having been on the move for most of the last fortnight we decided to stay near Porto for three nights for some R&R; fortunately the site we picked more or less at random out of the camperstop book turned out to be an excellent choice. We’re at Madelena on the coast about five miles from Vila Nova de Gaia which sits on the opposite bank of the Douro to Porto. The campsite is about 500 metres from the beach among a mix of pines and eucalyptus which provide welcome shade in the 30o+ temperatures that we’ve experienced for the past few days. As it’s early in the holiday season the campsite is quiet and relatively empty, though I suspect it gets absolutely heaving during the height of the summer. On Sunday evening we cycled down to the beach but our good intentions of going in for a swim were downgraded to a quick paddle when we dipped our toes in the chilly Atlantic which has yet to warm-up to a respectable level.
Yesterday we took the local bus into Porto and discovered why there are no Portuguese racing drivers – they’re all driving buses at high speeds through the incredibly narrow backstreets of Porto. Given our experience in Amarante I spent the entire journey in a muck sweat- perhaps not the most relaxing of ways to start your birthday!
Porto is a lovely city built on the banks and rising cliffs of the Douro where it’s spanned by numerous impressive bridges of varying ages. Sparing no expense we took an enjoyable ‘six bridge’ boat trip, which would have been perfect for taking photos of the city if it hadn’t been so crowded that you dare not stand up to take a photo for fear of someone nicking your seat.
Following a lunch of sardines (her) and prawns (me) we splashed out (did I mention that it’s my birthday?) on a visit to the Calem Port ‘lodge’ which provided an interesting insight into how the wine is made – with the added attraction of three complementary glasses of port at the end of the tour. At one point I thought that Denise was about to start dancing on the tables – I offered to drink hers for her, but my generous offer was politely declined.
Leaving Sao Joaõ da Pesqueira the following morning we returned to the Douro valley to follow the river valley west towards Peso da Regua. Along the way we passed the massive lock which lifts/drops river-going vessels about 100 feet enabling them to navigate the river from Porto at its mouth up as far as Pinhao. We watched one of the large river cruisers pass through the lock and got some childish amusement from watching passengers sunbathing on the top deck dive for cover as the boat passed under the vertical lock gate and water cascaded down on them from above.
We stopped for lunch at Peso da Regua before moving on to Amarante where we had an unfortunate coming together with the walls of a lane which turned out to be just about a centimetre narrower than the van. It ended up in one of those situations where no matter whether you go forwards or backwards you know that it’s going to be expensive. Bugger!
The campsite we’d intended to use in Amarante turned out to be closed until mid-June so we ended up parking on a market site alongside the River Tamega which turned out to be a good base for exploring the town. An evening meal in a local bar watching the first half of a very indifferent Europa Cup Final between Chelsea and Arsenal in Baku helped to restore a certain amount of soporific calm after the day’s frustrations. We weren’t entirely sure whether FARTURAS was a comment on the day’s frustrations, a summary of the football match or a local delicacy, but eventually decided that it was probably all three.
From Braganza we moved on to Chaves and were lucky to find a quiet campsite next to the river and only a short cycle ride from the centre of the old town which has kept much of its original architecture and charm. We spent a couple of nights there before heading south across the Sierra da Padrela which is the high ground that sits to the east of Villa Real and leads down into the upper Douro valley. The descent into the valley itself is spectacular with great views of the extensive terracing that’s been created over hundreds of years in order to make use of every inch of available space for the growing of grapes. The soil, what little there is of it, is already baked rock hard this early in the year and it’s difficult to see how anything can grow here – let alone produce some of the world’s best known wine. Apparently the vine roots can go down seven metres and the soil (or schist as it’s known) contains mica which helps to keep the roots cool and contributes to the sweetness of the grapes.
We crossed the Douro at Pinhao which is the collecting centre for the fermented grape juice before it’s shipped down the river to Porto in January or February each year. It’s also the destination for the large river cruise ships which bring tourists up the river in what looks to be considerable comfort to enjoy the scenery and no doubt to sample the wine.
We spent the Tuesday night on a quiet camperstop just outside Sao Joaõ da Pesqueira, which is just to the south of the Douro valley. Our cycle the mile or so into the village was rewarded by a beer in a local bar, where I don’t think they can see too many visitors, and on our return to the van a French couple (the only other residents of the site) presented us with a bowlful of fresh cherries which they’d just ‘scrumped’ from a nearby orchard.
….holiday blogs, motoring obsessions and an occasional account of goings-on in the Ewbank household