11th–25th July – Marbella and the Costa del Sol

I can’t do better than Graham’s description of the site in the last entry, but I would add “he” is the one who is getting expert at setting up and unhitching Freda. I help push and pull when needed.
I've been looking forward to this part of our trip, regarding it as a holiday within a holiday. We’ve been to most of the white hill villages in the surrounding sierras and local towns, eaten at what are some very nice restaurants that are still here, and shopped at most of the markets. The nice thing about “here” is we don’t have to do anything. No guide books, no research, no need to interpret maps which seem meaningless when arriving at a new city. It’s so hot and we’ve become so lethargic... Graham asks, “What are we going to do today?” and the answer is usually, “Nothing”. He replies, “Great!”

Whilst browsing the wine selection in the campsite’s Supermarcado we struck up a conversation with an English couple (Lisa and Barry) about the merits of Spanish wine. They were really nice people and one thing led to another and before long an arrangement was made to have dinner together at a rather nice restaurant just a few minutes from their time-share apartment and our campsite. Le Papillon has a fantastic location, being virtually on the beach – fine dining Spanish style, with the sound of surf crashing onto the beach. We hope to catch up with Lisa and Barry again when we return to the UK.

We had a near disaster when Graham decided to get an MP3 connection kit for the car and arranged for a Jaguar dealer in San Pedro to fit it last Thursday, with us planning to spend the time at San Pedro market – a really good one - and enjoying a “menu del dia”. San Pedro is about 15 miles west on the A7, which hugs the coast and should have taken us about half an hour. BUT it seems they are digging up San Pedro! After many diversions around and through horrendous road works, Jane gave up, but we found the garage; we parked up nicely alongside Jags, Aston Martins and Masseratis (no kidding). Graham then remembered he’d left his bag (yes, at last he looks European; he has a bag rather than pockets bulging with bits of string and all those things boys carry around) on our table in the awning outside Freda in full view of everyone – thank God he didn’t have the passports; bad enough that he’d left his wallet (credit cards) and video camera in it. We hurtled back as fast as we could to Camping Marbella but were delayed by the road works, reaching the site an hour later. Much to our relief it was still there (I’d resigned myself to spending two days trying to find the “right” police station to report the loss). Now this is very strange; if you dare leave your washing-up liquid, Ariel or plug in the communal wash-up area, they are gone within minutes! Work that one out! But the bag was still there! We arranged to take the car in the following Thursday.

Usually our trips to Gibraltar are prompted by the need for some electrical gadget and to stock up on spirits at rock bottom prices. A litre of Larios gin was just under £7. There were vast changes since we visited Gibraltar some four years ago. The whole approach to the “Frontierer” has changed – a shopping mall, shaded walkways and green areas were all being developed, which was very confusing. Eventually we located the frontier and caught the bus across the airport runway to the centre of the town. I’m afraid to say that although the high street and the road up to the cable car had been tided up, the top of the rock is a mucky, dirty place (not because of the monkeys either - it’s the visitors who are the problem; litter everywhere). Nevertheless we enjoyed the ride in the cable car which was spectacular but stomach churning.

Posters warned us to try and avoid two rather clever Macaques who were extremely light fingered and expert at stealing food. One sits at the top of the staircase leading into the bar/restaurant and the other waits for new visitors to vacate the lift. One sniff of anything tasty and they nose dive into your bag. Scary...

By the time we’d reached the top it was amazingly hot. The views were fantastic though, and worth the trip. I’m finding my new camera a joy, in fact, idiot proof. I guess I’ve taken in excess of 400 photographs so far (many deleted) but that is the joy of digital cameras; thanks Royal Wanstead, great retirement pressie.

Graham’s described the campsite and how noisy it all is, but it’s also absolutely charming too and just 50 yards to the beach. We're beginning to understand (obvious really), that with day time temperatures of around 95 degrees the Spaniards need to siesta in the afternoon (or keep cool in the pool) and then come out to play at around 6.00pm when the temperatures are bearable. At this time children from as young as 3 become mobile; riding squeaky bikes with stabilizers, pedal cars (and one electric car), and babies barely out of nappies follow the older children; parents seem quite unconcerned. The children are extraordinarily well behaved. I love the way groups of them head towards the shower blocks in their brightly coloured hooded bathrobes before bed time. We seem to have attracted the attention of one little five-year old, Eduardo. He likes to stop and stare at Graham, who tries to engage him in conversation. It’s always the same: “Hola Eduardo, que tal? Bien?” (Hello, how are you? Well?) which invariably ends with little Eduardo shaking his head and riding off into the sunset.

Mijas is a charming “white” village/town approximately 17km from Fuengirolla. I first visited Mijas some 20 years ago and there are many changes - some for the better.

We ate at a wonderful Basque restaurant on the terrace overlooking the main town plaza and watched locals making their way to a concert near to the Plaza del Toros. We ordered tiny peppers stuffed with cod for starters; to follow I had spider crab and Graham ordered sole in a cream sauce with prawns. Unfortunately the stuffed peppers came floating in a rather suspicious, mucous like green sauce but after a glass of wine or two we’ll try anything; it was actually quite tasty. Unfortunately we couldn’t join the theatre goers as the performance began at 11.00 p.m. and we had to get back to the campsite before they closed the gates at midnight (we would have had to park outside the site and wouldn’t have been too sure the car would be there in the morning). A wedding had taken place late that afternoon and as we watched from the balcony of the restaurant the bride and groom were driven round the plaza in a nice cabriolet. Tourists and locals alike cheered the couple; the bride looked beautiful.

Other visits included Istan and Benahavis. The drive to Istan is quite spectacular, as the road to the village is mountainous. Down in the valley there’s a vast aquamarine-coloured lake (hydro electric) - spectacular. We then toured the village; walking up and down steep narrow streets, enjoying the colourful balconies bedecked with geraniums. We sat in a small plaza next to the church to catch our breath. Water pours through gullies and special channels throughout the village and there are many modest fountains and troughs where you can cool off.

Our trip to Marbella town was primarily to find a jeweller who could repair my watch strap, as we had visited on previous holidays. As far as I was concerned, it was reason enough to stroll around the Plaza de los Naranjos (Orange Square to you and me) in the old town. This part is hidden from the main road and easy to miss. The original quarter is slowly being bought up and turned into clothes and jewellery boutiques and restaurants, but the process isn’t that far advanced – yet! You can still sit in an ordinary bar in an old small square and look beyond the white-washed alleyways to the mountains of Rhonda. The seriously rich don’t stay in Marbella itself; they secrete themselves away in villas in the surrounding hills or laze around on phenomenally large and luxurious yachts at the marina and casino complex of Porto Banus. We’ve visited Port Banus on many occasions so gave that one a miss this time round.
Whilst wandering around the lanes, much to my delight I found a small bar selling churros – my favourite; long sausage like curls of deep fried batter (much like doughnuts) and sprinkled with sugar. Traditionally they are eaten with a drink of thick hot chocolate, although we decided to stick with our cafe con leche. Yumms...
Fab shops; yes, I was tempted to buy a rather nice designer bag, half price. Managed to resist temptation though...

Really sad to be leaving Camping Marbella despite the terrifying woman who kept “our” toilet and shower block clean. She worked all day bleaching and cleaning and everything was spotless - and woe betide anyone who infringed her rules!

When we first arrived at Camping Marbella it was a complete shock to the system and I was appalled at the noise, but things have quietened down and I love it here. I don’t want to move on but Jaen beckons on our way to Toledo. We’ve just read the description of the campsite at Jaen again “Desperannos” and I wonder why we chose it! They have Turkish style toilets (that’s a posh way of saying “squat” and the site is accessed via a steep hill. Nightmares of our steep hill experience in Santiago persist; Turkish toilets – not looking forward to that either! (See Ems we're using your bags!)

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)

Portugal

27th June to 7th July – Nazare, Portugal.

Graham has already told you about the site and our move from one pitch to another. Amazing isn’t it? As soon as we’d moved on they turned the disco music down. Well it seems whenever we move on we travel in glorious sunshine, get Freda settled and sit with a glass of wine congratulating ourselves on a safe journey and arrival – the next day it either rains or it’s overcast. Not what I’d imagined this far south.

Arrived Saturday and spent the next day looking at other sites and then eventually moved Freda to a quieter location on this one which has around 620 placements and there are distinct areas; upper, middle and lower class! The site is a fairly steep hillside with terraces and placements higher up the slopes for tents and then a centre well which has what we describe as “tent city”, large units permanently placed and some privately owned (like mobile homes except plastic – get the picture?). We’ve named a particularly salubrious area the Woodcote Estate and we are situated between Woodcote and Langley Vale (this will mean nothing to readers except our mates Noelyn and Eric).
Portugal is lovely – very green but not quite as dramatic as Northern Spain.

Nazare is a charming seaside town; not too big. The Rough Guide hasn’t a lot to say except that it is a lively holiday destination. There is a fabulous bay with acres of white sand stretching to a jagged headland. On top of the headland is the old “Sitio” (reached by a funicular railway) with a fine church (dating back to the 15th century), square, chapel and buildings decorated with the famous Azulejos tiles (brought to Portugal by the Moors in the 14th century). The tiles are not just for decoration but provide insulation whilst offering excellent protection against dampness, heat and noise, and make the walls last longer. Rollers coming in from the Atlantic make the beach, in places, dangerous and to hear the surf is to understand just how treacherous this coast can be. I’m struck by just how many old ladies wear the national dress – rather strange headgear best described by looking at the photograph and black gathered skirts with a fancy black apron over the top tied at the back with an elaborate bow. There is a lot of poverty here and the women look old beyond their years. It seems there’s no middle-aged stage between the youthful and pretty adolescent and the elderly.
We had hoped to visit Porto (Oporto) but realised we are just too far south – it would take us three hours from here. Porto has to be another time. We are now concentrating on the lovely bays and towns within an 80-mile radius.

Thursday we visited Aveiro, famous for its canals and described by residents as the Venice of Portugal (I can tell you it isn’t a patch on the real thing). However, it is very attractive and we spent a pleasant hour on a traditional boat being taken around the canals – all three of them! Aveiro is famous for harvesting salt and kelp. The kelp is an essential crop, enriching the poor soil.

We then went on to Costa Nova, famous for its striped fisherman’s cottages. Very, very pretty. However, the tiny resort reminded me of that resort in Jaws (we all remember that one don’t we – Rod Steiger and Co – what was that resort called?). Anyway, it was an interesting day. Unfortunately Jane (the satnav) gets very confused. There are so many new roundabouts, roads and motorways being built, and although our satnav is the 2008/2009 version we have found ourselves in some interesting places!

We visited the historic town of Peniche – the largest port for fisherman bringing in their catches – it had an interesting old fort dating back to the 15th century but that was about it. It is the people that make this journey so interesting. Although generally we’ve not found the Portuguese to be overly friendly the youngsters are very keen to try out their English and be helpful. The cost of living is very cheap!

Well somehow this week we’ve lost a day – how does that happen? Were we drugged or what? We thought Friday was Thursday. It was only through talking to our Basque neighbours who were off to the market, which we knew was on a Friday, that we realised we’d (dare I say) cocked up big time; we’d reserved a table at a Fado bar for Thursday night. We were so looking forward to the evening (Fado is Portugal’s songs of fate) similar to Flamenco (although I’m sure the Portuguese would vehemently deny this); the instrument on which they play is a cross between a zither introduced to Portugal in the 16th century and the English 12-string guitar. The instrument produces a slightly metallic and vibrating sound. Anyway, utterly disappointed, missed it completely! It may be we can find something on Saturday. Everything is a learning curve – must keep track of the days – time is not so important anymore.

Market day in Nazare - the noisiest market I’ve ever been to, with stallholders shouting to catch shoppers’ attention. Oddly, babies plonked amongst the goods on show. I asked someone, “How much for the baby?” He looked at me as though I meant it and we hurried on! Another stallholder was holding a baby about 10 months old and being very affectionate; all very nice but then he would bellow in the loudest voice, his mouth only inches away from the child’s ear. She’ll be as deaf as a post when she grows up!

What I have noticed out here is just how tactile parents are with their very well behaved children. Always touching and caressing them, so nice to see. Our Basque neighbours, Joxe Mari and Agunyzaue) charming, have two delightful little girls and they are here for three weeks. Daddy (Joxe Mari) plays his guitar and sings to the girls (Anne and Catherina – the spelling might be wrong) who listen with rapt attention, joining in from time to time... really nice people!
Next, our task was to find the post office. Well, I was distracted by the tourist train; you’ve all seen them in tourist spots; a little engine with around five carriages that give you a tour around the area. Without so much as a “shall we go on the little train Graham” I dragged him into a carriage. However, it was really worthwhile, as it took us to an urbanisation high on the cliffs which we hadn’t known existed; really pretty and worthwhile. However, although the sun shone brightly in a perfect blue sky the wind was straight from the North Pole. So cold when we got off had difficulty getting our limbs to move (particularly at our age). Coffee was essential to get the blood flowing. We found the post office closed; it’s only open one half day a week on a Monday! Another visit to the Tourismo confirmed that Nazare is closed for tourism until 18th July when everything happens! Fiestas, Fado, you name it, we could have seen it. But there you are – don’t visit this region if you want a little excitement, well, not until the 18th.

After lunch (delicious local hams and cheeses) we drove to Obidos. Jane (the sat-nav) had a nervous breakdown and without the back-up of a map we were stuffed! Having travelled ten miles in the wrong direction we reprogrammed before giving up. Bingo – Jane had come to her senses and we finally reached our destination. I quote from our Baedeker guide – “the whole of the particularly picturesque town of Obidos has been declared a national monument thanks to its pretty, well-tended appearance”. The old town centre is surrounded by a 43ft high wall, crowned with battlements and fortified with towers. It is possible to walk the circumference of the wall BUT the path was uneven and only 3 ft wide with no handrail. We watched as tourists grappled with each other as they met going in opposite directions; scary and not for the faint-hearted. I was pleased to see even Graham was put off. Obidos was the prettiest place we’ve visited so far and stands on top of a large escarpment visible for miles around. As usual I am drawn to the food and wine on offer. We sampled some of the local Ginjinha, a delicious kirsch liqueur packed with whole cherries, served in a tiny edible chocolate cup; yes, diet is officially over. Having missed our Fado evening decided to buy a CD by the renowned Fado artist Amalia Rodrigues (and recommended by Baedeker) to finally hear Fado.

Lisbon is around a two hour drive from here and we were going to visit today (Sunday) but we will be travelling to Seville on Tuesday, spending four days touring the city, so we decided to give Lisbon a miss and visit one or two places nearer to home (did I say home; must be getting too used to this travelling life-style). We learned that Fado can be heard in abundance in Lisbon but doesn’t get going until 11.00 p.m. when we are usually in bed!

As an aside, we are having terrible problems receiving and sending emails via our web provider Virgin. It’s a dreadful service and has been a great disappointment, as we were relying on email to keep in touch. Last night Graham successfully set up a hotmail “Live” account only to find this morning that we have been blocked due to Graham trying to send 55 notifications to you all and Hotmail assuming it was spam!! Oh the trials of the internet! ONE DAY ON (not sure which one mind you) and our block on Hotmail has been removed. Thank you God! (Or is that Bill Gates – hard to tell the difference...) Until we get back home, would you all mind changing your contact details to sugram@live.co.uk – thanks.

What a good decision not to have gone to Lisbon. Our neighbour recommended Batahala just a 30-minute drive inland. What a brilliant destination! The guide says “Batalha is in a fertile basin of the Lena, is a simple rural town known throughout the world for its Dominican abbey. One of the largest and most significant monastery complexes in Portugal, the abbey has been under UNESCO protection as a World Cultural Heritage Site since 1983”. The size of the abbey is totally unexpected – it is huge, intricately carved and was founded in 1388. The abbey was built to commemorate Joao I’s vow on the onset of battle that if victory was his, even though his troops were outnumbered by the Spanish, he would build the Mosteiro De Santa Maria Da Vitoria. The outcome of the battle ensured Portugal’s independence from Spain. There is also a gigantic statute of Joao riding into battle on his horse. It seems very odd that this amazing complex and gigantic square should be in such a pretty but modest village. Our guide book recommended readers to eat in the Pousada du Mestre – wow, it was very special after plastic tables and paper table cloths; beautiful linen tablecloths, glassware and professional waiters – nice to be posh occasionally; had the most amazing set menu - “Hen’s” broth (delicious) followed by monk fish and langoustine kebabs (so much of it) with nouveau cuisine vegetables (creamed potato, green beans and tiny sweet green peppers) dessert of crème caramel (with attitude) for Graham, and I had poached pear in a local liqueur, wine and coffee for the total cost of 32€. I’ve been truly surprised at just how cheap even the classiest meals can be in this region.

Whilst we were paying the bill a coach load of very strange people arrived. We thought initially they were Amish or some rather strange religious set, but they turned out to be classical folk dancers for the festival that evening. Their costumes were from different periods of Portugal’s history and were stunning. The quality of the clothes was astounding. I was helped to understand more by a Canadian woman who’d lived in Portugal until the age of 11. She told me the dancers were not state funded but they had performed around the world. They made their money from the home-made food and crafts they sold at the festivals and that most of their costumes were hand made - see photographs. A large crowd sat in the square (mostly under the few trees) eating freshly made bread from pizza ovens, sausage, hams, cheeses and drinking the local wines and liqueurs. It was a super day and we dragged ourselves away before the square was cleared for the locals to continue dancing and drinking into the evening.

Today, Monday 6th July, is our last day here. We’ve decided to have a “domestic” day clearing up in readiness for onward travel tomorrow. Watch out Seville, here we come! (360 miles, but mostly motorway and hopefully not mountainous!)