Nuevalos to Barcelona

2nd August–11th August - Nuevalos to Barcelona

After getting so far off the beaten track by thinking that Nuevalos was in (or around) Zaragoza and adding 140 extra miles to our journey, we were therefore distinctly nervous as we followed the directions to Nuevalos. Using a map this time, we took the N202 off the motorway and with some trepidation followed the signs to what we hoped would be our destination. We appeared to be in the middle of nowhere – miles of partially cultivated fields, forest, steep hills and tight bends on narrow roads; what were we getting ourselves into? We travelled slowly; it was impossible to go above 30mph and the 7 miles to Nuevalos seemed like it would last forever. I kept wondering how we would manage if we had to do a 3-point turn! However, our fears (or mine) were groundless. Once into the village, the campsite (Lago Park) was clearly signposted, and it was a lovely site with a fabulous view, but on a very steep hillside. We were welcomed by Patricia in reception, a lovely girlie who was incredibly helpful and spoke excellent English. Graham wanted to adopt her but I said No! We’ve already got Emily and that’s enough for anyone!


We were quickly settled on our corner, with a shaded pitch and just a few yards from the spotless loos, showers, etc. But to reach them there was an incredibly steep incline; we looked a bit like those comic postcards (normally from Wales) of people bent over almost horizontal as they battle the wind and rain! Toledo was fairly hectic and this site was really just a stop-over on our way to Barcelona, so we chilled out for a couple of days (too hilly to cycle; well for us anyway and I’m not sure that “chilled out” is appropriate!).

The village of Nuevalos had little to offer but we were anxious to buy some provisions – not a supermarcado in sight! However, we found a couple of little “corner” shops and were served “over the counter”. We wanted six eggs and the shop keeper was not amused as he had to cut a box for a dozen in half. Oh well.... we eventually found a supermarket in a town 16 miles away in Calatayud. It was worth it though, because we found a reasonably priced white wine called “Yela”, which was delicious.
As usual, Graham prowled the site until he found someone he could talk to. I then found myself being introduced to Udo and Renate Olberts from Wuppertal, Germany, who were touring in a large campervan. They were lovely company and experienced campers, and gave us some good tips. We spent a very pleasant evening with them drinking their Pastis and our wine... see photo.

We chose Camping Lago Park because we knew it was only a few kilometres from the Monasterio de Piedra, “The Stone Monastery”. The monastic buildings, once part of a grand Cistercian complex, are a ruin but they stand amid park-like gardens which seem all the more verdant in the otherwise harsh, dry landscape. (History: November 1194, 13 monks from the Convent of Poblet came to the old castle of Piedra Vieja at the request of Alfonso II of Aragon And his wife Dona Sancha in order to found, in the ruins of the castle, the Monasterio de Piedra dedicated to “Nuestra Sra. De Piedra” (Holy Virgin of the Stone). The cloisters, the chapter house, the Baroque altar, the Abbey, the Crypt, the converts’ passageway, the monks’ kitchen (the first place in Europe where chocolate was made; 1535) were all in good condition, sadly it was the chapel which was in a state of ruin.

After our visit to the Monasterio we followed the sign-posted routes around the park (hadn’t realised at the beginning that the route was around 3 miles long, up and down, steep hillsides, etc). The park is part of a network of protected natural areas of Aragon and designated since 1945 as an Area of Natural Beauty. The waters of the River Piedra have shaped the landscape into lakes, grottos and waterfalls – absolutely spectacular and wonderfully cool as we relished the spray from the waterfalls. Apparently the park also has displays of falconry and other birds of prey. The nearest we saw was a poor old caged vulture, with his beak almost touching the ground in a very dejected pose. (As I type this Graham has gone on another walkabout to find friends; he’s had a gin & tonic and, to be honest, he’s not a drinker, so I hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble)

We were exhausted the next day and did very little; we took a dip in the pool but it was icy. It was necessary to swim very quickly to keep warm and as Linda and Chris know only too well, I’m not a great swimmer! Around 3ish decided to eat and as I couldn’t be bothered to cook we decided to go back towards the Monastery to a rather nice hotel and restaurant, the Hotel Las Truchas. We had the most delicious menu-del-dia and a decent bottle of wine in very civilised surroundings. In the end it was a bit of a let down having to go back to Lago Park and get packed up for our onward journey to Barcelona.

Well, here’s a surprise (I’m being sarcastic), we weren’t camped near Barcelona but a huge site with 1,600 placements just outside the resort of Sitges on the Costa Dorada.

The site was perfect; clean facilities, excellent shaded pitch but not what we had been used to or liked. It was huge! When we arrived at reception we had to wait for someone to jump into a van to guide us to our pitch. Although the pitches were gravel, someone raked them each day; Spanish women spent their days with mops and bleach cleaning the facilities... it was all spotless and I have no complaints apart from the size (and getting lost several times). We had worries about accessing drinking water. Reception had forgotten to mention that for a deposit of 60 Euros we had our own private tap which we could use! So from the free and easy sites we had been used to, this all came as a bit of a shock. We had exceedingly nice Dutch neighbours who, of course, spoke English beautifully. They also had some good advice about what to see in the area.

On our second day we drove into Sitges. Although my friend Kay had said it was a lovely seaside resort I was sceptical. BUT she was right; we loved Sitges (and she was right about Parga too). We had a very pleasant few hours walking along the promenade and then through the back streets as thirst drove us to find a pleasant pavement cafe. We sat for a good hour with a beer, people watching.

I was dreading going to Barcelona. I knew it would be hot and that it would be a BIG city. We did our research the night before. The Rough Guide came up trumps with a park-and-ride facility just outside the city. Graham and Jane (the satnav) are pretty good now at finding places so it was a great disappointment to be told by the “park-and-ride facility” that it no longer operated. Faced with a roundabout with 8 exits we took the easy (but expensive option) and parked in an underground facility. We were directed to the metro by the car park attendant who turned out to be extremely helpful.

Although the metro at first seemed complicated it didn’t take us too long to get to Cataluyna, which is at the top of the Ramblas (where we wanted to be). Didn’t really know what to expect but the Ramblas is a wonderfully pedestrianised, kilometre-long tree-lined avenue that splits the old town in two, Barri Gotic to its east and El Raval to the west. The Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter) is the medieval nucleus of the city – around five hundred square metres of narrow streets, mansions, museums and historic buildings; perfect for wandering. The Ramblas has wonderful shops, bars and restaurants but, even better, loads of pavement artists; crazy people doing crazy things and such fun to watch. I had wanted to visit the Picasso Museum, so we drifted away from the Ramblas into La Ribera, the home of the Picasso Museum. There was a huge queue as it’s reckoned to be the most important collection of Picasso’s work (well, in his early years). I’m sorry to say that I still fail to “get” Picasso’s cubism, although I realise he’s a gifted artist, but we’d had enough after a couple of hours and lacking enlightenment (as well as muttering, “the emperor’s coat) so we decided to move on to our next destination (by metro) to Gaudi’s great Temple Expiatiori de la Sagrada Familia.

DISASTER – as we were entering the metro, I pulled the car park ticket from my purse (please remember even with contact lens my vision isn’t too good close up) and tried to feed it into the metro turnstile. A guard wagged his finger at me as I tried to put the ticket in the machine again. Eventually I found the proper ticket. NOW, I don’t remember whether I left my purse on the turn-style. We were two stops along in the train when I looked into my bag and found my purse missing; credit cards, 200 Euros. YIKES! Despair and panic! We hopped off the train and reversed our journey, but predictably the purse had gone... or had it been lifted from my bag on the metro? The purse was always too big for the bag (or was the bag too small for the purse – not sure). We (I) felt devastated, not so much at the loss, but at how stupid I’d been and how careless. Graham was a brick, said not to worry and took charge! (He’s excellent in a crisis). We found a bar and spent the next hour phoning banks and credit card companies, getting my cards cancelled. We’d had the foresight to withdraw 600 Euros before getting the debit cards cancelled, so at least we had some money!

Rather dejectedly we decided to continue to our next destination; Gaudi’s famous Sagrada Familia. As we reached the metro exit I turned my head and was amazed at my first glimpse of the Church – it’s strikingly different and huge. It was begun in 1881 by public subscription and was originally intended as a modest, expiatory building that would atone for the city’s increasingly revolutionary ideas. When Gaudi took charge, he changed the direction and scale of the project almost immediately. Gaudi’s original plan was to build a church capable of seating over 10,000 people! In particular, twelve extraordinary spires rise to over 100 metres. They have been likened to everything from perforated cigars to celestial billiard cues (Rough Guide). Anyway, it was awesome and I’m glad we made the effort to continue our journey.

The next day we chilled out, found a “Roski” supermarket (Auchan really) where I could buy the really nice Yela wine and stock up generally. I love Spanish supermarkets (albeit French owned) fresh fruit and vegetables in abundance, with fish counters full of the sort of fish which is too expensive to buy in the UK... monk fish, every crustacean and, of course, the ubiquitous sardine. (Reminders of Spanish campsites; sardines being barbequed, campers hammering pegs into ground, airbeds being pumped up and everywhere the distinctive sound of holiday-makers in flip-flops).

Despite my/our losses we just had to go back into Barcelona. We were persuaded by our Dutch neighbours to take the bus and train rather than the car. What they didn’t tell us is how long it would take; almost 50 minutes to get to the station and once there we had no idea which train to catch. Sign language does help, as I pointed down the platform and muttered “por favor Barcelona?” to a bemused Spaniard. Another 50 minutes in a double-decker train took us to Barcelona, but we had no idea which of the stations in the city we would end up in. Luck was with us as “our station” was linked to the metro. Five stops on the metro and we had reached our destination: “La Boqueria” just off the Ramblas - allegedly the most famous food market in Spain. I could believe it; fabulous fresh fruit, vegetables, dried hams, sausages, chorizo, fish, obscene piles of cherries, apricots, melons... delicious and, interestingly, the skin of half a pig’s head??? Seeing all that food made us hungry (well, me actually, as Graham doesn’t seem too bothered about food). We had been recommended to eat in the market and found a bar serving huge platters of fish (with wine of course) at 37€ for two. The platter was mountainous; grilled langoustines, prawns, squid fried in olive oil, small plaice (dabs), mussels and razor clams, the latter of which I’d never eaten before – absolutely delicious and simply grilled. Rick Stein is always raving about razor clams and now I see why.

Stuffed full, we wandered up the Ramblas to the metro, Cataluyna station, to visit Gaudi’s famous park, Palau Guell. (The park was intended to be developed for housing for the very wealthy within a prime site, on the highest point in Barcelona, with wonderful views over the city; Gaudi was commissioned as the architect and completed two houses before the project became uneconomical. Later, the remaining site was landscaped and became a public park. The road to the entrance to the park appeared vertical! However, there were escalators to help us up two thirds of the way and in temperatures of around 38°C we struggled up the remaining incline! Exhausting (you would think I would be losing weight!!).

We weren’t surprised at the design of the houses, having seen Gaudi’s villa in northern Spain at El Capricho in Comillas. These two were equally bizarre – one like an elaborate child’s birthday cake; and the other I couldn’t adequately describe – see photos! High up above these houses was a huge round empty plaza (apart from a million people) supported by 20+ massive carved pillars which provided shade for the buskers. In the plaza we listened to a group of guitarists playing classical music; a perfect end to our day.

We spent that evening packing Freda and the Jag ready for an early start to the border and into France - Argeles sur Mer. Just a short hop – only 160 miles!

NEXT MORNING – another disaster (although not as disastrous as the lost purse)! Graham is never too bright in the morning; I’m the lark and he’s the owl). Rather than wait for me to help guide Freda off our pitch he decided to go it alone. He didn’t even shriek (as I would have done) or wonder why the car wouldn’t pull forward. His bike had got entangled with a tree... seriously ouch! Back wheel bent like a sausage. And as Graham cynically remarked, it had to be the expensive wheel with all the gear cogs. Ironic, I thought, our next destination is flat, easy cycling at last!!! Oh well.

Arrived at Camping Dauphin and joy oh joy, in reception was a young Englishman, Philip, who not only guided us to a very nice pitch but recommended a bike repairer... It cost 50€, but a new wheel later Graham was mobile!

25th July–2nd August – Santa Elena to Toledo

There was a slight hiccup when leaving Camping Marbella Playa; we were packed up and ready to go by 9.00am and had ensured an early get-a-way by settling our bill the night before. I’m afraid nothing much works to plan in Spain. We were held up waiting for someone to disconnect us from the electricity supply. A young chap came dawdling along an hour later, having initially disconnected the wrong plot!

We had a relatively short drive from the coast up to our next location at Jaen. Sat-nav was programmed and we were confident of an easy drive. And so it was - until we reached Jaen. Miles and miles of olive groves, slightly undulating roads and an occasional mountain - and Freda took it all in her stride (what about the Jag? It's the car that does the work!) The temperature climbed ominously from 28°C (Marbella) to 30, 34, 38, 40.....really hot! The terrain was absolutely spectacular. Apparently there are 160 million olive trees in this part of central Spain. Awesome! They say the Mediterranean diet is the best; I can believe it, olive oil and red wine at affordable prices, tomatoes and every other vegetable/fruit available cheaply and in abundance.

As we approached Jaen I was full of trepidation. It looked awful, although Jane (the sat-nav) was not directing us to the industrial zone for a change. Graham had programmed in Avenida del Andalucía (having programmed the site’s address, Camping Los Desperannos, on the basis it was in Jaen). I thought it was odd that the Avenida del Andalucía that Jane had found only 100 houses. In Jaen it must have been more like 1000! Graham was happy to ride up and down the main thoroughfare for hours (why is it men don’t like to ask?). At an appropriate moment I escaped from the car and asked a passer-by. After a few minutes I’d gathered a crowd of five Spaniards, all being very helpful; one telling us that our campsite was in the opposite direction by around 50 miles and the others pointed vaguely towards Madrid. Yup, we were in trouble! At this stage I re-read the address of the campsite and realised Graham had inputted the wrong address, Jaen instead of Santa Elena (I wasn’t too horrible about this).
[G. – look, I’m a bloke and I take things at face value. If someone tells me we’re going to Jaen and the campsite’s address is Avenida del Andalucía, then that’s what I put in the sat-nav. No-one said anything about a Santa Elena - and unfortunately Jaen and Santa Elena both have an Avenida del Andalucía. It’s like Epsom and Farnham both having a Surrey Avenue. Basically it’s called sods law!]

Anyway, we had another fifty miles of driving towards the centre of Spain, still travelling through olive groves, plains and an occasional mountain. The terrain was spectacularly coloured; dark green olive trees, bleached harvested corn fields and areas of desert. The temperature was rising...
I had been nervous at the description of the site – “reached by a steep hillside”. However, finding the site was the least of our problems so far (it’s amazing how easy it is when you put in the correct destination). Santa Elena is a tiny village on the edge of the Desperannos National Park (mountainous and very spectacular). The campsite was one of the best so far. Fab facilities, good swimming pool and, joy oh joy, it was wonderfully quiet. Our pitch overlooked miles of olive groves and we were shaded by tall pine trees.

We’d parked up and settled down within half an hour or so of arriving (getting quite expert by now). It was about 3.00pm and terribly hot, around 43°C [109°F] (taken from the car’s thermometer) but mercifully a very strong wind sprang up and howled until around 7.00pm and then it dropped as quickly as it had started. This was the pattern of the weather for the next four days.

When it’s so hot lethargy settles in, but we were determined to see a couple of local towns (50 miles away), Ubeda and Baeza; both had their origins back in Roman times. I preferred Baeza. Its origins date back to the Bronze Age but an established town was built in the Roman period, including a castle and a walled enclosure. The Moors settled there and under their rule the town experienced substantial development because of its fertile land and strategic situation (quoting here from the local guide). The period of greatest splendour for Baeza was during the 15th and 17th centuries when its economy prospered thanks to its agriculture and the university. Baeza (and Ubeda) is known as the cradle of Spanish renaissance. It’s also a UNESCO World Heritage Site (so many places in Spain are; I assume they are funded by other than the Spanish Government. Have we any UNESCO sites in the UK? Info please!).

Our campsite, Camping Los Desperannos, only had Wi-Fi in the area of the bar (I wonder why?), so we spent a few productive hours (overlooking the lovely pool) sending emails and getting the blog up to date with a nice drink or two. We’d been worried about the fires in Rioja and this area. It’s easy to understand how quickly the fires would spread. The wind can be ferocious and everything’s as dry as a tinderbox. I wondered once or twice whether one would be able to outrun a fire under those conditions. Anyway, enough of these gloomy thoughts... By the way, supermarkets are rubbish here... but we’ve managed. Also had one or two terrific menu del dias!

We were sorry to leave Santa Elena, but leave we had to. Next stop Toledo – wasn’t looking forward to this part of our journey. It’s still going to be terribly hot and it’s another city to try and familiarise ourselves with. I understand it’s quite cold in the UK (hee, hee, hee) although it’s too hot here.

My expectation was that Toledo would be situated in a large industrial area producing the famous Toledo steel and we would be surrounded by chimneys belching out industrial waste. Surprise, surprise! I can do no better than use the Rough Guide’s description: “Set in a landscape of abrasive desolation, Toledo sits on a rocky mound where every available centimetre has been built upon: churches, synagogues, mosques and houses are heaped upon one another in a haphazard, cobblestoned spiral. Toledo’s city’s status is of a National Monument and UNESCO Patrimony of Mankind and is in an incomparable setting” NOT A FACTORY IN SITE! In fact, there was nothing but parched fields and olive groves all the way to the horizon. Our first glimpse of the city was spectacular, perhaps the most beautiful and spectacular on this trip.

The campsite was first class, Camping El Greco, situated on a hillside overlooking the Rio Tajo, wide and deep providing a natural moat around the city. Two ancient, arched bridges spanned the river leading to ancient gateways into the city. I hadn’t expected that the view from the campsite’s restaurant and pool would have the city as a backdrop high on its rocky mound. Once we saw the view of the city from the terrace of the campsite’s first class restaurant we knew we had to splash out and reserved a table for dinner. Later we sat with a decent glass of white wine and watched the city change colour with the setting sun; gold, then pink until the light faded altogether. The city lights then came on highlighting the extraordinary skyline with its spires and domes – absolutely spectacular.

The next day, having taken advice from the helpful receptionist, we took the number 72 bus which dropped us in the heart of the city. (One bus an hour from the edge of the campsite arriving at Plaza del Zoldcover). As usual we found it confusing to orientate ourselves but we made for the Catedral and spent 3 hours staring with wonder at its interior. The audio guides we hired were excellently produced with organ recitals from many periods. It was truly the most magnificent Catedral we’ve been in (including Santiago del Compostello) so far. Could there be anything to top it? The Rough Guide describes the Catedral as “A robust Gothic construction that took over 250 years (1227-1493) to complete. It has a richness of internal decoration in almost every conceivable style with masterpieces of the Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque periods”. I would have loved to show you some photos, but we weren’t allowed to take any. Graham surreptitiously took some video, avoiding the gimlet eyes of the security guards and the CCTV cameras.
(G – You pay 10€ each for the privilege of walking round the place and wearing yourself out, so sod ‘em! I’m hardly likely to sell the footage to Sky TV am I?)
A bit of history: Toledo was known to the Romans, who captured it in 193 BC. Taken by the Visigoths, who made it their capital, it was already an important cultural and trading centre by the time the Moors arrived in 712. The period that followed, with Moors, Jews and Mozarabes (Christians subject to Moorish rule) living together in relative equality, was one of rapid growth and prosperity and Toledo became the most important northern output of the Muslim emirates.

Despite the heat we managed to keep (relatively) cool in the narrow winding streets ending up at a perfect Spanish restaurant where we had to wait for 20 minutes to get a table. Menu del dia – 10€. Three courses, a “jar” (nothing as posh as a carafe) of red wine and coffee – all delicious! Where could you get something like that at that price in London?

We rather overdid our first visit to Toledo and felt exhausted the next day so we took it easy, stocked up at a supermarcado (found some delicious white wine at last) and took a trip late in the evening to Consuegra, famous for its ancient castle (which was once the headquarters of the Order of St John in the 12th century) and eleven windmills high on a hillside overlooking a vast plain, partly cultivated. The colours were spectacular: squares and triangles of bleached, pale yellow fields, dark green irrigated fields and areas dotted with olive groves; and in the distance, mountains.
Next day we (sorry, I) was drawn back to Toledo. I couldn’t get enough of the city... so we spent a pleasant day visiting the Convento de Santa Isabel, Sinagoga de Santa Maria la Blanca and various other religious institutions. Unfortunately El Alcazar and one or two other buildings were closed for renovation – hey ho, another time perhaps. On reflection we had been pretty lucky. The Rough Guide says that the city is normally so packed it can spoil “the experience” but not for us .......”we will be back”!
We have packing-up down to a fine art and after a nice meal at the campsite restaurant again, Freda was ready to go.

Coming up on our next blog is Zaragoza (for those following the itinerary) but our campsite wasn’t actually there – we’d programmed the sat-nav incorrectly (again) and found we’d travelled 70 miles beyond our destination, which was a tiny village called Nuevalos, and added three hours to our journey – arrived exhausted but delighted to find a super campsite, again set on a steep hillside overlooking a huge reservoir, stunning scenery; mostly wild, desert-like and just a little bit cooler than Toledo at 36°C. But that's for next time...

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!)