7th–11th July – Seville

9.00 a.m. and we’re packed up and ready to leave a bright but chilly Nazare. Our neighbour Joxe-Mari, who always seems to be so happy - he sings most of the time – was up early as well and was there to wish us a safe journey. Gradually the landscape turned from green to yellow as we drove the 350 miles south to the Algarve and then east to Seville, with the temperature rising rapidly from a relatively chilly 20°C in Nazare to a blissful 28°C as we circumnavigated Seville in the search for Camping Villsom. Jane (the satnav) seemed to go to sleep as we came off the motorway, and started to guide us round some very confusing ring roads. After three attempts to find the right road (and by this time curious onlookers had gathered at the roundabouts to see us back again) I was full of trepidation as we drove towards what seemed to be the industrial zone. My fears were unfounded however, as we eventually found the camp site; a fabulous oasis in the middle of parched countryside near to a little town, Dos Hermanos. The site was tiny - only 160 placements. The pool was perfect!

After a lovely BBQ and a good night’s sleep, we took the local bus into Seville the following day. It was utterly confusing despite the fact that I’d spent hours reading the Rough Guide. We took an open-topped tourist bus on an excursion of the city just to get a feel for the place. It didn’t help much so we decided to explore the historic part of the city, i.e., the Cathedral, Giralda Tower, the Alcazar and the Barrio Santa Cruz - the medieval Jewish quarter - next day. The “Catedral” was conceived in 1402 as an unrivalled monument to Christian glory (says the Rough Guide) and is the largest Gothic church in the world. It was absolutely spectacular; the altar piece “Gothic retablo” is composed of 45 carved scenes from the Life of Christ; the largest and richest altarpiece in the world and one of the finest examples of Gothic woodcarving. Our guide provided staggering statistics on the amount of gold involved. Although there were a lot more sites to see we couldn’t cope with the heat; temperature was now in the high 30s.

We had booked into a small hotel in the Santa Cruz quarter, Hotel Murillo, which I would highly recommend for an overnight stop in Seville, with its carved wooden ceilings and suits of armour dotted around the place. It’s a bit kitsch but quite elegant. One of the main reasons I wanted to visit Seville was to watch “real” flamenco, which traditionally doesn’t start until well after 11pm and we would have missed the last bus back to our campsite. Anyway, a proper bed and a BATH (heaven) made a change.

We found a rather fabulous (and very expensive) restaurant in close proximity to “Los Gallos” - our Flamenco venue. Although the best flamenco is impromptu and (should) take place in bars all over Seville, the performances aren’t scripted or scheduled. As we were there for just one night and we wanted to be sure of seeing some “real” flamenco, we booked seats at a tiny, intimate nightclub which was recommended in the Rough Guide as well as by the hotel, who told us they had professional dancers. The show lasted for two hours (from 10.30 to 12.30) and Graham was in absolute awe of the guitarists, who made playing classic flamenco guitar seem so easy. The singers were gravelly voiced, rotund men who poured their hearts and souls into the music (and it’s always at this point I’m desperate to know what they are singing about). The three principal dancers were extraordinarily skilful; I’ve tried flamenco lessons and, believe me, it is very, very difficult. It was a brilliant evening.

Saturday we were packed up early and set off to our next destination; holiday time on the Costa del Sol - a 225-mile journey across country via Rhonda, a small town in the mountains north of the coast. We were a bit apprehensive to start with, bearing in mind our adventures through the mountains in northern Spain, but in the end it wasn’t too bad, especially as Graham was sensible with the gears. It was a normal single carriage road, but wide and reasonably straight. Apparently some of the climbs got the engine temperature reaching for the red line on the car’s temperature gauge, but thankfully Graham didn’t tell me until later so I spent the journey in blissful ignorance. Once we got past Rhonda the road twisted and turned through some spectacular scenery; but it was downhill so that was alright!

(Graham: It wasn’t long before we found the Marbella Playa campsite and after the usual rigmarole of deciding where to pitch, we set up (we’re becoming quite expert at it now). The site has about 440 plots and when we arrived the man at reception told us there were about 40 places left and to have a walk round, choose one, and then go back and let him know. The site is a labyrinth of little roads and the place was packed with tents, caravans and campervans all mixed together cheek-by-jowl, seemingly in no particular order. Anyway, after a wander round the site and bit of humming and hawing, with one or two revisits to get a fresh perspective (I lost the will to live after half an hour) Sue decided on a corner plot near to the washing and toilet facilities and not far from the entrance to the beach.

The Spanish don’t do quiet! The place is full of families with hordes of kids running round, riding their bikes or roller skating. It’s quite nice actually, with a really buzzy atmosphere. Some of the families seem to have been here for some time, as their plots have a permanent look about them with windbreak partitions and huge canopies or awnings covering everything – even their cars. A bloke opposite us has a garden, with pot plants and a water feature surrounding his satellite dish!

The first night had a touch of déjà vu about it as, just like Vale Paraiso at Nazare, a disco was blasting out at full volume by the swimming pool. Fortunately we were quite some distance away, so it wasn’t too bad and we actually managed to get to sleep. It didn’t last long though! At about 1.30 in the morning our slumber was shattered by a firework display that seemed to herald the start of world war three. Ah, the joys of camping in Spain. But not to worry, since then (it’s Tuesday now) things have quietened down to a dull roar.

As a point of interest and for those who don't know, if you click on any of the photos you'll get a full sized version that'll provide more detail.

Cheers! G)