"We Are Sailing,

..we are sailing, home again, 'cross the sea". And just like on previous trips, it's pretty calm. Not being what you'd call a "keen sailor", Sue is pretty sensitive to any undue Rock'n Roll but slept eventually despite the serenade from the car deck just below us. You'd think that people would have the wit to disable their alarms if the vehicle is going to be moving about a bit after they've locked it and gone to the bar. After a while the noises faded so hopefully a flat battery will teach the lesson. Please forgive the attitude, but we've had so many nights of interrupted slumbers we're both feeling the cumulative effects and have little tolerance left. We'd have been in bed 3 hours earlier but the ship was late coming in, so we spent our hoped for extra "sack time" waiting in the queue at the dockside, with a voucher for a free coffee and chocolate bar.

Sue cooked dinner while Mike chatted Dirty Landrovers with all comers. We considered going to a restaurant in town but were just too tired to bother, and we wouldn't have met so many interesting people there either.

Thinking back over the past few days, our journey through Spain has been largely uneventful. Nothing To Report, we thought, but then had another. Thought, that is, and actually there might be. Nothing very important, admittedly, but worth recording for any grandchildren, perhaps. Maybe they'll smile when, in the years to come, they read of Sue's visit to the bread shop one morning just after she'd cleaned her teeth.

Since neither of us has looked in a mirror for 6 weeks, she wasn't aware of the white ring around her mouth; with the suntan she looked like an extra from the Black and White Minstrel Show (for those who are old enough to remember).  Nobody said anything, not even Mike, the sod!

A very unusual campsite near Caceres provided a parking spot and our own private loo and shower, water supply, lighting, chairs, table and electricity, all in a little hut with our own key.

Noticeable, now, how many visitors are using the sites that just a few weeks ago were either empty or not-yet-open. Large campervans like the one we saw at Midelt are taking over the world! We've talked about the practicalities and advantages of them over our small version of the same...They are undoubtedly luxurious, by comparison, but some are much too large to go where we go and not rough terrain-capable. And a lot of money, especially if they're going to stand in a driveway for most of their lives. Assuming, of course, that you have a driveway big enough to park a 50-foot monster that's 12 feet high. These really aren't "campervans" in the way most people understand the term, more "mobile home" but not in the way most understand. No static caravans, these, but ocean-going gin palaces. Some of them even have a little garage in the back that'll hold a quad bike! So for the moment, and while we still can, we'll continue to climb onto the roof to sleep, shower from a bucket and enjoy the company of camels at breakfast. They do have a lot going for them as things to spend a warm-weather winter in though, so maybe...one day...

Then there was the campsite faff in Tordisillas. Arriving in the early afternoon we thought we'd have beaten the Five o'clock Follies when all the campervans pitch up and block the entrance, but the girl at reception was in deep negotiation with an irate Frenchman who'd clearly expected VIP treatment as he was a regular customer. Not satisfied, he was making a scene which she couldn't handle and had summoned The Management. In the meantime, nothing else was happening. We managed to persuade her to get on with her job while Frustrated Frenchman fumed in the corner. Having left the chaos of the office we found our allocated pitch was too small and lacked the electricity connection we'd just paid for, so we returned to reception and were forced to wait in a now longer queue. Ten minutes later and after much computer searching for vacant places (why? WTF's wrong with a paper map?) we have a new pitch which, when we reach it, is occupied by a large Dutch campervan with attached Smart car - yes, they do drag them around with them. Back to reception, the inevitable longer queue and an obviously unable-to-cope receptionist. She's now completely out of ideas and her depth and invites us to "go away and find somewhere, then come back and tell me". So, you want me to do your job? And join the queue for a fourth time, presumably...not a chance.
So, after 45 minutes of messing about we've found ourselves a nice grassy spot as far away from the loos and noises as possible, without the assistance of those paid to do so, alongside a German couple from Kiel. As usual, Elly is the conversation starter - a bit like having a dog - but before long we're all sharing stories and alcohol.

Hans is a former Sea King pilot so he and Mike were swapping stories in minutes, leaving Sue and Frauke to talk about interesting things, like Oona - the Bear Dog. A lovely gentle creature, but you wouldn't want her on your lap!
The following day we're unable to open the barrier with our exit code. The reason turns out to be that our exit has been "disabled" because we've chosen to camp in "a better place" than we'd paid for. It had a special hole in the ground for us to discharge our waste water, apparently. Oh, and grass. Grass is extra, it would seem. There followed a stand-off with The Deputy Management, she demanding another 8 Euros, we explaining how we'd come to park in this apparently Deluxe spot in the first place. Phone calls to The Boss, unintelligible rapid conversation in Spanish, more demands for money. We refuse. In the end she punches some numbers into The Computer, which is obviously the real boss around here, and we're ungraciously "allowed" to depart. We say "thank you, have a nice day", she scowls, says something in Spanish that wasn't friendly; probably "...and don't come back".

Later the same day...we've stopped for lunch a few yards up a farm track. Mike is doing his usual tour of inspection, kicking tyres, peering underneath and looking for leaks. Sue hears a groan..."We've had a bit of a disaster." We now have 50% of a tent ladder, the rest being somewhere other than the roof, where it's supposed be neatly secured under the tent cover. That morning, Mike packed the tent on his own - not the usual routine - and as a result didn't do up all the straps. The muted "thud" we'd both heard during the late-morning travel up the motorway raised an eyebrow or two but nothing seemed amiss so it was ignored. How many times do we need to relearn that lesson? Anyway, half of our ladder is now due for replacement, and I bet it won't be cheap (actually, just over £90...). Hopefully it's done no damage to anyone else; luckily there's little traffic on Spanish motorways around midday, so fingers crossed that no-one will suffer as result of our carelessness.

Choice of route. With a day in hand we didn't need to rush and decided to take a more scenic drive further to the west, through the eastern Picos de Europa, using the R625 to Riano and then 621. Well scenic it was, put the comma where you like! It was also probably a great route for a biker, full as it was with hundreds of twists and turns just metres apart, and more hairpins than Vidal Sassoon. For the driver of a heavy Landrover, however, it was bloody hard work with constant gear changes, craning our necks to see over the spare wheel and into the bends - a good workout for the core muscles! An unexpected diversion added over an hour of even more tortuous driving. Difficult to really appreciate the scenery, too, as most of it was above the top of the windscreen. So, if you're in a hurry to get anywhere it's a route worth avoiding but if you're driving something a bit more agile than we are, a Big Grin of a ride, we think.

Waiting for the ferry in Santander - a nice spot for lunch.

Our last night in Spain was spent at a clifftop site near Santander, another fine bedroom view.

The site is dug into the side of the cliff and thus heavily engineered with terraces and steep drops, so probably not ideal for small kids. A lot of the pitches are only accessible on foot as there's no room for a road. This is a very unusual site and worth a visit, especially for 2-wheelers or those on 2 feet, since the motor traffic is limited to fewer areas. The pitches you can drive into need care,though.

The sloping ground means there's a bit of a ramp at the entrance to each one which is invisible from the "road" side as one bit of grass merges nicely with the bit a little below it. The numerous gouges and broken bits of concrete are witness to those who've dropped the up-to-12-inch difference, probably with an expensive noise from somewhere underneath.

With the Brittany coast slipping past the window - no portholes on the Pont Aven - and the sun shining, we should be getting into Plymouth about 5 this afternoon. A little later than planned, so a late arrival at our nightstop in Radstock, then onwards to Scotland tomorrow. Sue's spent the morning writing up the Ship's Log and finishing her on-the-go scrapbook. A better minute-by-minute diary than this blog, so one day, when we write That Book, we'll have all the material we need to make us rich. Maybe.

Scottish border, and only 5 hours more to go.

Home. After 6700 road miles, plus the ferries....

After hosing everything down and taking the vacuum cleaner to the inside, a quick inspection showed nothing damaged or worn beyond limits, so the annual MoT test (TUV in Germany) which is due within 10 days shouldn't be an issue. Sue is busy making a list of the Things We Took And Didn't Use. Mike is thinking about the next instalment to this diary....back soon!

.