We arrived in Italy last night to snow and ice, and sub-zero temperatures – not quite what we had been expecting. The cold blast from the north that is currently hitting the UK has also got as far as Rome. Whilst logged into the WiFi on the ferry, I caught an article on the BBC news saying that significant snow had fallen in Rome overnight, the worst for 17 years, and that they were playing snowballs in the Vatican City. The article came with a photo of the Colosseum covered in the white stuff.
So as we drove off the ferry in Civitavecchia, we were relieved that we were booked into a Bed and Breakfast near the port for the night, since by now it was dark, and there was significant snow piled up at the sides of the road. After finding our accommodation, we walked, or rather slid the two hundred yards down the road to the nearest restaurant – very simple, but tasty food, with a charming chef who came out to talk to us. No doubt he was bored, as we were the only ones who had ventured out to eat in his Trattoria in the snow. Walking back to our B & B, the temperature was minus ten degrees, and despite being wrapped up in more clothes than we had worn on the NC500, we were absolutely frozen. As a result, we had a quick change of plan. Originally, we had booked to spend tonight and tomorrow night in a campsite on the outskirts of Rome, and catch a bus into the city. But even Howard declared that it was much too cold to camp, so we gave in and booked a hotel instead.
The only problem with this plan, of course, is that we now had to drive into Rome this morning. The one good thing about roads leading to Rome is that they are very straight. But that is their only positive feature. The drive in was terrifying! At one point I found myself whimpering, and looking down into my lap, unable to bear to look at the road anymore. Poor Howard managed to keep his cool, but by the time we eventually arrived at the hotel, both of us were completely frazzled. To say that the Romans are aggressive drivers would be an understatement. They take no prisoners at all! It’s every man for himself and there is not an ounce of courtesy. They make Dundee drivers look like forgiving nuns!
Having regained our composition and checked in – we set off to explore the city. The sun was still shining this morning, despite still being bitterly cold, but we were aware that the weather forecast for the next few days was poor, so thought we should grab the opportunity to see as much as we could. We caught a city bus, and alighted by the Colosseum – what an amazing sight! Howard had been to Rome before on business, but this was my first time, and I was duly impressed. Our plan had been to grab a coffee, but seeing long queues, we thought it prudent to check out tickets first, and then have some refreshment. The queues were indeed long, about two hours long to be exact – but we were approached by a tour guide who offered to get us in straight away, for a very modest commission. So that is how we ended up following a very eccentric and funny Italian called Roberto around the Colosseum, along with a small group of other Brits. It is something which usually we would have avoided at all costs, but in fact, it worked out incredibly well – and we thoroughly enjoyed his commentary. What we hadn’t really clocked though, was that there was a second part to the tour, to the Palatine Hill and the Forum. By now, my attention span was fading, and to be frank, my bladder fit to burst – so it was with some relief (literally) that the tour came to an end, and we were left to our own devices, and take in the rest of the site on our own. It was quite amazing walking around on the very slabs that the Romans had walked all those centuries before, and almost too much to take in on such a short visit. We had seen the best of the weather, and once the sun went in, there was a real bite to the wind. We grabbed a quick coffee to warm up, and then headed back to our warm hotel. I was gob-smacked how many people you can fit on a bus in Rome – it was sardines all the way home!
My first impressions of Rome are mixed. I am in awe of the wonderful Roman remains we have seen, but slightly disappointed in the city itself. It is busy and a bit grimy, with lots of graffiti in evidence, and seems to lack the civic pride I have seen previously in other Italian cities such as Florence and Venice. But tomorrow is another day, and we plan to visit the Vatican City. Maybe my opinion of the eternal city will change once I have had a good night’s sleep, and recovered from the trauma of the drive in this morning!

So, it proved to be an interesting night on board our ferry. We were joined for our 20 hour journey by the company of what seems like an entire 6th form college of Italian students. Noisy would be an understatement. Last night, the testosterone levels were at an all time high. Groups of teenagers marauded around the boat, many in couples, nominally under the supervision of a gaggle of rather new-age looking female staff members, who appeared to be as apprehensive of these youths as we were. At one point, a huge argument broke out between two of the lads, it appears over one of the women. Passions were high as the two young men faced up to each other like bulls about to engage in combat, and were only deterred from doing so (by presumably) the girl whom they were arguing over. Whilst all this was going on, the teachers slunk in a corner, discussing how to deal with the conflict. Crew staff members hovered, waiting to intervene if a fight did actually break out. It was all quite entertaining – much more so than the poor Italian musician, singling and playing corny Italian love songs on his electronic keyboard, to an audience who were paying no attention to him at all, but rather the real life drama that was unfolding a few yards away. All good fun. This morning, there is a frosty calm between the youths – clearly the dispute is not yet resolved.
Today, we are at sea most of the day, and don’t land until evening, so I thought I might spend the time to reflect on our travels to date.
It was with huge intrepidation and apprehension that I set off on this journey. Having initially embraced Howard’s idea of travelling around Europe in Oscar with enthusiasm, as the time of departure grew nearer, I became more and more scared. This puzzled me, as I am well travelled, and love seeing new and interesting places. But I think it was the mode of travel that was bothering me most, along with the length of time we planned to be away. Never had we spend so much time together, in such small a space. The lack of sanitary facilities was also causing me to fret considerably.
As it has turned out, the issues that I thought would be a problem, have not been. We have stayed in a mixture of campsites and hotels, mostly the former. On all the campsites, so far, the facilities have been good to excellent, with hot showers, and clean toilets. During the day, needing a pee is a perfect excuse to stop for a coffee, and in most towns or cities there are public restrooms as well. The restricted space, at times, has been difficult, but this has generally been dealt with by me sending Howard outside for a walk or a run, while I tidy up and put things away in cupboards. We have developed a well oiled routine now. To start with, everything was a little chaotic and muddled. But now we have a system, and each their own roles. Howard generally does the van things – driving, putting the covers on at night, topping up the AdBlue, changing the gas. I do more of the organising, most of the navigating and writing the blog. In the evenings, whilst I type up the blog, Howard will often cook tea, The only difficulty that arises is when tea is ready, and we have to limbo dance around each other to sit at the table to eat – quite a feat.
So the things that had really troubled me before we left have not been an issue. Unexpected things, however, have really bothered me. The day we used up all our data allowance, and had no WiFi left, upset me most of all. It turns out that being able to contact family and friends has been really important for both of us on this trip, and something that still continues to frustrate us. I have really valued the little emails and What’s Apps I have received from my buddies – it can sometimes really brighten a tedious drive or rainy day. Our long awaited dongle is still trying to catch up with us, and is currently far behind us in Cordoba.
The really positive aspects of the trip so far are many. Howard is considerably more relaxed than we was before we left, and is endeavouring to stay fit. On days when we are driving, more effort is needed to maintain some daily exercise, and those days, we will always try to walk either before or after a long spell in Oscar. So far, we haven’t fallen out, bar the odd dispute on whether to turn left or right. My map reading skills are improving, largely due to complete ineptness of our two Satnav systems.
It has been an absolute joy to discover new parts of Europe which had previously been unknown to both of us. We have both been stunned by the beauty of the Picos de Europa in northern Spain, the Sierra da Estrela in Portugal, and by the Sierra Nevada in the southern Spain – perhaps our love of mountains due to the fact we have lived in Scotland for twenty years now. Some of the rugged coastal areas in Asturia and Galicia in the north, and on the Western Algarve and around Moraira have been just beautiful. Our discovery of new cities has also been a delight – San Sebastian, Santiago de Compostela, Porto, Lisbon, Seville and Cordoba, and re-discovering Barcelona has also been a pleasure. Stumbling across little towns for our morning coffee breaks has also been enlightening, many completely off the normal tourist route, and all the better for it.
Most of all though, to date, we have been struck by the kindness and hospitality of the people we have met – the small campsite owners, people in bars and restaurants, old friends, fellow campers (particularly VW owners!), and even the riot policeman in Barcelona, who stopped to direct to our hotel. I think we have been lucky and blessed to have had such a wonderful experience in Spain and Portugal.
For the next phase of our trip Italy beckons. I’ve promised Howard that I won’t judge an entire nation on the behaviour of their youth on the boat. But I have learnt one thing about Italy already – vigorous arm movements and gesticulations are a must in order to communicate!

So last night we were lulled to sleep by the sounds of police sirens, helicopters whirring overhead and a cacophony of saucepan lids begin banged together very loudly. This morning all was calm. There was not one sign of the commotion that had gone on just yards from our hotel entrance. Even most of the independence banners had been pulled off the balconies – it was as if we had imagined the whole episode!
We set off early for the Park Guell, one of Gaudi’s famous pieces of architectural extravagance. We were told that since it was the start of a 4 day Computer Conference in the city, with 60,000 delegates, there would be little chance of getting a taxi, so we caught a bus from Cataluyna Square to right outside the gates. I had visited this site before on my previous trip to Barcelona, but that didn’t take away any of the delight in seeing Gaudi’s wonderful creations again. He has taken on the role of architect combined with landscape gardener in this magical creation which pays homage to natural forms and curves. As you enter, you pass by a stunning mosaic dragon which functions as a fountain. You then climb a grand series of steps up to a pavilion, with a strange bumpy roof, inlaid with circular mosaics. But the most impressive site by far is the central plaza which sits over the pavilion, with it’s multicoloured curvy mosaic benches which sit all around the perimeter of the space, and just shout out the architect’s sense of fun. After a pleasant wander round the park, we headed back towards the city, to what is unanimously considered to be Gaudi’s most magnificent masterpiece, the still unfinished cathedral of Sagrada Familial. For those who have seen it themselves, they will understand how difficult it is to describe. The structure and design is so complex, and so totally unlike any other religious building I have ever encountered, that frankly, it is hard to put into words. But it has all the classic hallmarks of Gaudi – lots of parabolic curves and arches, and the landmark towers have an oddly conical shape, topped by characteristic mosaics, in the form of fruits. Inside, the structure is stunning – huge arches and spectacular stained glass windows, which reflect coloured light onto the sandstone and granite masonry. When I last visited, you could climb up the spiral staircases leading up to the towers, but this seemed no longer permitted. You can still take a lift up, but it transpired that our ticket didn’t have this part of the tour included, a disappointment for Howard, since this was the first time he had seen this amazing structure.
With a last gasp of energy, we set off for another of Gaudi’s triumphs – the apartment / office block, La Pedrera. People still live and work here, in this strange Hobbit-like structure. Again there are curves and arches everywhere, the walls of the lobby painted in pastel hues reminiscent of Monet, and a central atrium open to the sky, which radiates light to all aspects of the building. On the roof are a peculiar series of structures, some mushroom like, some frankly phallic, which seem to serve no purpose other than to enhance the aesthetics of the space. The attic of the building is stunning. It used to serve as the utility / washing area for the building, and consists of a repeating series of red brick parabolic arches, all slightly different heights and curvatures. It is said that as a student Architect, one of Gaudi’s tutors stated as he graduated that he wasn’t sure whether they were witnessing a genius or a madman – I think the former. So now we are exhausted and totally Gaudi’d-out. But at least Howard has gone from someone who knew nothing of the man, to being a total convert.
As I type we are sitting on a ferry in Barcelona docks, waiting to set sail to Ciuitavecchia in Italy, which is somewhere near Rome. Having both driven along to French Riviera before, and also travelled around Tuscany, we have opted to save ourselves a drive of many hundreds of miles, and well over a hundred pounds worth of tolls, and nip across the Med directly to half way down Italy. From here, we plan to visit Rome, Naples and then head down to Sicily.
So no blog tomorrow as we’ll still be at sea. In the meantime, though, you’ll be amused to hear that Howard has given his cork hat a name – ‘My Precious One’ – I suspect just to irritate me!

We spent last night in a campsite close to, and under the flight path for Barcelona airport. Needless to say, it was quite noisy. Situated between a busy road and the beach, we went to sleep listening to the sound of traffic, waves and aircraft overhead. Then at some unspecified time during the night, I awoke thinking that I could hear the sound of go-karts. The go-kart noises continued for at least an hour before I eventually got back to sleep. In the morning Howard informed me that it was people leaving for the airport, trundling along behind them wheelie suitcases that I had heard. ‘Ah – that explains the go-karts!’, I said.
The next morning, we hit Barcelona. I had previously warned Howard that this could be a little edgy. I think it should have alerted us of a taste of things to come when we couldn’t drive down the road to our hotel because of a demonstration on Sunday morning. We eventually found a space to park Oscar in a car park near to the Gothic Cathedral, and walked the short distance to our hotel. As we passed the Cathedral Square, we just caught the end of the Sunday morning ritual of Catalonia women dancing around their handbags. This happens every Sunday morning at noon apparently, and they do it to raise money for charity. Sure enough, there was a huge pile of handbags in the centre where they had been dancing – an interesting take on women dancing around their handbags at discos! We found our hotel in the Gothic quarter of Barcelona, and the girl at the desk seemed very sweet, and booked us a tour of the Sagrada Familia for the next day, along with a city bus tour.
After a very pleasant lunch, we set off to explore the city. First stop was a walk along to the waterfront, and then along La Ramblas. For me, this is my least favourite part of the city, with hoards of tourists, and lots of tourist tat. We walked up to the Plaza de Catalonia, and then onto one of Gaudi’s masterpieces, Casa Batllo. We spend a pleasant hour or so wandering around this spectacular building, although I must say, I found the audio-tour a little challenging – Howard had to keep helping me with the settings – heavens knows how people less IT adept cope!
Next we took the tourist bus tour around the city, eventually ending up at the Park Guell. We hadn’t realsied that we needed tickets in advance for this, so purchased some for the next morning, and grabbed a taxi back to our hotel – or so we hoped. However, as we approached the city centre, we saw increasing numbers of police vehicles, and as we drew closer to our hotel, we realised that our street was actually cordoned off by the police. We got out of our taxi, saying we would walk. Easier said than done. At every turn, we were turned away by police in riot gear. Police helicopters were circling overhead, and police vehicles with blue flashing lights were everywhere. There was a huge demonstration going on, it transpired by the Catalan Separatists, who were objecting that the King of Spain was visiting Barcelona. We ended up taking a very tortuous route back to our hotel. When we asked the previously docile receptionist what was going on, she replied ‘ The King of Spain is here, and we don’t want a King’. No guessing which side she is on then! Two doors up from our hotel there were Catalan flags flying, and a women stood on her balcony banging saucepans in protest. It was all pretty scary, to be honest. After showering, we set off in the opposite direction from the protest to grab some supper, and on the way back Howard checked on Oscar. He had to pass through the police cordon to be allowed in – but they were not allowing anyone to remove their cars from the car park. Hopefully our lad will be alright tonight, but I must say, I am a little concerned for his welfare. Clearly the Catalan Independence movement is very much alive and kicking in this city tonight. Let’s hope tomorrow is a more peaceful day in Barcelona.

This morning we bade a fond farewell to our splendid hosts, and set off on the long drive to Barcelona. We were feeling very refreshed after a couple of relaxing days, with all the home comforts, but this would be our longest drive by far to date, nearly 500 km (or just over 300 miles).
We opted to take the Viaroute del Mediterraneo, which is the toll motorway which runs the whole length of the Mediterranean to Barcelona and beyond. This proved to be a very different experience from our drive from Almeria to up beyond Alicante the few days previously, when we had passed kilometre after kilometre of unsightly plastic poly tunnels. The province of Valencia seems to take much more pride in it’s appearance. This part of the country is well kept, and picturesque. For nearly the first 200km of our drive, the motorway followed the thin coastal plain between the Mediterranean and the mountains. The azure blue sea was in sight on the right the majority of the way, and in most parts, there was only two or three miles width until the mountains started rising on our left. But what a picture! Along this entire stretch of the route are orange groves, all in fruit at this time of year – mile after mile after mile. We couldn’t believe that there was nearly 200km of orange groves – quite extraordinary. Then, as the coastal plain widened a little, we started seeing orchards of almond blossom, and the occasional lemon trees. We started to see strategically places forts on the hilltops overlooking the valleys, and the sporadic look-out post.
As we crossed over into Catalonia, from Valencia, the strangest thing occurred. Within yards, the orange groves stopped, and we now saw miles of olive groves, scattered intermittently with almond blossom. Just like the road surface had changed crossing from Portugal to Spain, so the crops changed in a flash! Further along, we saw more in the way of arable crops – cabbages we thought, maybe as the temperature became more temperate.
Not wishing to spend the entire day in the van, 100km from Barcelona we diverted off route to the town of Tarragona. I had read in one of my books that it is the second most important Roman site in Spain, and we were not disappointed. As we approached the waterfront we spied what we had come to see – a magnificent Roman amphitheatre, looking out over the Med. It was built in 2 AD by the Romans, who had been in the town since 1 BC. It was quite amazing to think that all those centuries ago, gladiators were fighting lions on this spot. We were also in luck, since apparently it was a public holiday, so the entrance fee had been waived for the day. Apparently there were several other Roman remains in the town, including a two-tiered aquaduct, but time was pressing on, so we continued on our journey to the outskirts of Barcelona. We arrived at our campsite on the beach just as the sun was setting, so took a quick walk along the shore to stretch our legs before putting Oscar to bed for the night. Tomorrow we plan to explore Barcelona, a city I have visited before with my god-daughter, but it will be a first for Howard. I think he will have no problem completing his step count after a day seeing the sights. Let’s hope he like Gaudi! Also, before anyone comments,

apologies for the selfie!

Have spend a splendid day with our friends in Benitachell. After a leisurely breakfast, we set off to explore the local town of Moraira. Friday is market day, so first stop was a wander round the market, before heading down to the beach and marina. Howard amused himself by playing on the ‘adult gym’ by the beach – he did look pretty ridiculous doing the front crawl on a metal bar with paddles at the end, but who am I to comment?!
Next we wandered around the marina, before stopping for coffee at a very pleasant bar. By now, the sun was burning down, and seeing as he had left his favourite cork hat at home, he resorted to sitting drinking his beer with a fleece on his head – I suspect by now the locals were beginning to wonder!
We stopped off on the way back at an Internet systems shop, and purchased another MiFi, which can be used in other countries (hopefully), since the dongle we ordered is still somewhere in the Spanish postal system, heading for a hotel in Cordoba which we vacated three days ago!
Next we headed off to the local cove for a walk along the beautiful cliff path. This part of the coast is completely unspoilt, with no development at all, and the coastal scenery was just gorgeous. We stuck our heads in a sea cave, and then climbed up the cliffs to lookout along the coast, and admire the strange rock formations and turquoise blue sea. Three of us, by now, were ready for a drink back at base, but not so Howard. He decided he would add to his daily step count by walking back uphill from the beach. So we left him walking, and the rest of us headed home via the supermarket to purchase some refreshments – Hendricks and Fever Tree to be exact. Driving back, we thought it was strange that we hadn’t passed Howard. Needless to say half an hour later, we receive a phone call to say he is lost! Typical!
Guided home by Liz, he has now appeared, and we are about to enjoy our pre-dinner drinks on their gorgeous patio, looking out over the mountains in the distance, as the sun sinks low. Not a bad way to spend a Friday. I do suspect, however, that Liz and Alan will heave a sigh of relief once this jigging madman says ‘Au Revoir’ in the morning!

The campsite where we stayed last night was set in a National Park, near the coast at San Jose. Despite the ominous drive-in through miles of plastic polytunnels, once we got there it was a pleasant enough site, if a little large for our liking. The couple in the caravan /tent arrangement in the pitch next to us have been there every year for the past ten years, and have even had the same pitch in that time! They seemed perturbed that we were only staying one night and then moving on – we didn’t dare tell them that we were travelling for a year all over Europe – it might have brought them out in hives.
It rained heavily overnight, with some thunder and lightning, but the sun was shining when we woke up. Howard went for a run, whilst I had a strange dream that I was a maharena living in a grand palace, but then woke up and found myself upstairs in Oscar! Something Freudian there, no doubt.
After drying out the topper and showering, we set off the short distance to the coast at Isleta de Moro, a charming little fishing village in the National Park. The scenery driving the few miles was quite dramatic, with volcanic mountains rising from the dry scrubland of the coast. Ridiculously, Boris our satnav tried to send us half a mile out to sea – apparently it was only going to take us 14 minutes, so I guess he had a boat in mind, rather than swimming! We both shouted at him simultaneously, and turned him off rather abruptly. We had our late breakfast in a cafe by the shore, listening to the waves breaking on the beach, which was very pleasant. We then walked up to the Mirador, or viewpoint, that looked back along the coast. The sun was glistening on the water, and the Med was looking very appealing this morning. Reluctantly, we dragged ourselves away, and set off on our long journey east, past Murcia and Alicante, to meet up with our old friend Liz and her husband, who own a holiday apartment here in Spain.
I have known Liz since we were three years old, since we went to Mrs. Heinneman’s Nursery School together all that that time ago. It must have been 1961. Even more bizarrely, Howard went to the same nursery school, but I can honestly say that neither of us remember him there – I guess he had probably left before we started there. We then went on to primary school together, and were the only two girls from our primary to go on to Sutton High, our secondary school. So every morning, we caught the 213A bus and took the 40 minute bus journey to Sutton together. In our teenage years, Liz was a huge Marc Bolan fan, whereas my affections were more directed towards David Cassidy, which is testament to her superior taste. We have stayed in touch over the years, and she was one of the witnesses at our wedding.
I can honestly say that Liz is partially responsible for our current trip. At primary school, when I was taken off on holidays with my parents to Margate or Folkestone in our grey Wolesey, Liz was leading a much more exotic lifestyle. Her parents owned a bright pink  Camper van, and every summer holidays, since her parents were both teachers, they packed their van up and headed off around Europe. I was dead jealous – so much more exciting than my dull trips to the South Coast! So, in some way, I think that planted a seed in my mind, and is the reason I have always lusted after a camper van.
I never really expected to find myself nearly sixty years later travelling around Europe with Howard, but here we are. And today, the Three Amigos from Mrs. Heinneman’s will be meeting up again!
I finish with a sunset view from Liz’s balcony.

A friend helpfully pointed out that I had blogged two day 29s, so we are now on day 42.
This morning it felt like we were waking up in a different world. The spot where we camped last night was gorgeous, high up in the Sierra Nevada near Trevelez. We could see snow on the mountains from our pitch, and there was only one other German couple staying in a camper van on our site.
Once packed up, we set off to explore the area known as Alpujarras, sat high in the Sierra Nevada. Many of the these isolated communities in the mountains retain a strong Muslim influence, left from the days when the Moors inhabited this part of the world. First stop was the village of Trevelez itself, just half a mile from our campsite. Trevelez is the second highest village in Spain, and because of it’s clean, dry, rarified air it has become the Cured Ham centre of Spain, if not the universe. It is quite extraordinary, that in this tiny village, miles from any substantial habitation, and certainly hours away from any good transport links, that this village has become the premier place for ham curing. There is even a tiny museum telling the history of ham curing in the region. You peer through the door of shops, and all you can see are large legs of ham, hanging up to dry. Ham curing appears to be the only source of income in this isolated place, and as far as we could tell, it seems to be big business. The hams sell for around a hundred euros, although some more select varieties were selling for 280 euros a piece. Whilst we were there, one couple from Germany came in the shop and bought two! Who would have known it? Howard and I were really taken with this charming industrious village, and after coffee, spent quite some time just wandering around and enjoying the place.
Next we set off to explore a series of tiny white washed villages known as Barranco de Poqueira, which sit hugging the hillsides in a precarious manner. Our guidebook said that from a distance they look like a scattering of white paint flicked against a grey background, something like a Jackson Pollock painting, and it was right. The three villages are Capileira, the highest at 1436 metres, Bubion, and Pampaneira, and what a delight they were. The scenery in this area is just breathtaking, and all three villages were just stunningly beautiful. All the houses are white-washed, many with very distinctive chimneys, and they cling to the mountainside and connect to each other in a very similar way to the Favelas in Rio. All three villages have a strong Artisan culture, and many of the shops were selling textile rugs, and locally made jams, honey and cheeses. There was even a small chocolate making concern in the last village of Pampaneira. We had such a wonderful afternoon pottering around, climbing up and down the steep narrow streets and taking in the spectacular vistas beyond. We reflected that if all had gone to our original plans, we would have been spending the day walking around the Alhambra with 6,000 odd others. But up here, high in the Sierra, there was barely another tourist in sight – just our sort of place.
Very reluctantly, we left this delightful part of Spain, and headed back towards the coast. We would have spent longer there, but we are staying with old friends near Alicante for the next two nights, and needed to start moving eastwards. As we came down off the Sierra and hit the coast near Motril, we couldn’t believe what we were seeing – mile after mile of polytunnels, hundreds, probably thousands of them. They were huge, industrial sized, and were a complete blot on the landscape, as far as the eye could see. We drove nearly fifty miles to Almeria, and still we were seeing them, filling the entire coastal plain between the Mediterranean and the mountains. Acres and acres of white plastic. This sea of plastic was a complete contrast to the stunning beauty of the Sierra Nevada we had just left. Howard commented that this was like a dystopian future, with the ground covered in plastic. It certainly wasn’t what either of us had expected, and although I realise that the fresh produce grown here is undoubtedly good for the Spanish economy, I couldn’t help feel that they had gone a step too far, and completely wrecked the natural environment along this part of the coast. Interestingly, when I tried to find our campsite for the night on Google maps, I had thought originally that it was beyond a large town, but then I realised that it was in fact polytunnels that I was seeing on the satellite picture – quite horrible.
So a day of two contrasts. An unexpected paradise in the Sierra, and a complete eyesore down on the coast. Let’s hope tomorrow’s drive along the Mediterranean coast has something better to offer.

Last night we resorted to being tourists, and whilst looking for somewhere to eat for supper, came across a restaurant offering a free Flamenco show. The Spanish host ushered us into his establishment, and we were hooked. The meal was underwhelming, but worth every penny for what was to follow. We had been expecting female Flamenco dancers, but no. Instead three guys – one guitarist, with looks similar to Craig David and an excellent musician. No problem with him. A male Flamenco dancer, tall, dark and swarthy, but undoubtedly an accomplished dancer, if a little dramatic. But the third, the singer, an older male, pot-bellied, resembllng John Prescott, was a concern! Granted he could sing, but the second the show started, and he started clapping along to the music, he broke out into a profuse sweat. Howard and I both looked alarmed – and both thought the same thing simultaneously – that my CPR skills were going to be needed. It was an uncomfortable hour, as this guy became redder and sweatier, as he show gained more and more energy. Towards the end, I could barely watch. The climax was extraordinary, a frenetic display, as the fat unfit guy started dancing on stage with the lithe toned dancer. Please stop, I cried to myself, before you do yourself an injury. Plus I’m no longer registered to do CPR. Eventually it finished. The Spanish gave a standing ovation, and the Brits slid quietly out the door. We recovered from our experience back at the hotel with a lovely ‘five notes of love’ dessert and a drink!

Today was our last morning in Cordoba, and I must say, I have a very warm feeling towards the place. The old part of the city within the confines of the Mezquita walls permeates history, and I was taken by the fact that the old Jewish quarter sits side by side by the Muslim quarter. A fine example of multi-faith tolerance from a millennium ago if ever there was one.
After a wild goose chase for a dongle that is lost somewhere in the depths of the Spanish postal service (Royal Mail did their part, and had it at Heathrow within 12 hours!), we turned south east towards Granada. Originally we had hoped to spend a couple of days there, and explore the Alhambra, but the vagaries of the ticket booking service had conspired to defeat us. The Alhambra is the premier tourist attraction in Spain, and so it is advisable to book tickets at least two weeks in advance. Not knowing this, we had only tried last weekend, when actually there were still some available. However, the online booking failed to accept our passport numbers as ID, and the phone line was closed at weekends and on Mondays. So by the time we were able to ask for assistance, they had all sold out. We were also starting to feel a bit tired of cities, and so in the end, changed our campsite booking to the heart of the Sierra Nevada.
En route, we had to drive through Granada, so we decided to hang a left and check it out. We did manage to walk inside the free bit of the Alhambra, and Howard spent a little time in the museum. I’m quite sure it is stunning inside the main complex, but the streams of coach parties, school parties and large groups of people following guides with flags on sticks did rather put me off. Apparently they take 6,600 visitors every day, and every day is sold out. It is so much more commercial and larger than either the Mezquita in Cordoba, or the Alcazar in Seville, that I’m sure to do it justice, you need to spend a whole day there, and arrive early before the hoards.
The views of the Sierra Nevada mountains from Granada, however, are stunning. The snow clad mountains dominated the city, and seem totally incongruous in the blazing heat. We took a wrong turn on the way out of the Alhambra, and found ourselves on a track leading up to a nature reserve above the city, with even more spectacular views of the mountains.
We spent the rest of the afternoon winding our way up through the Sierra to our white Andalucian hill village of Trevelez. The drive was stunning, if a little scary in places. Mile after mile of steep hairpins, getting higher and higher into the mountains. A couple of times we stopped to admire the views, and to look at whole mountainsides terraced with almond trees, the pink and white blossom painting wonderful patterns on the hillside. It was gone six by the time we arrived at the campsite and the sun was just sinking below the mountains, leaving a pink glow in the scarce clouds. As we leapt out of Oscar to check in at reception the temperature difference was palpable – we had left searing heat in Granada, and now we were looking at snow on the hilltops around us. Our campsite sits at 1,515 metres. It will be a cold night!

Today, for me, started with an adventure. Having been on the move since the beginning of January, I decided that my hair was starting to take on a slightly wild look. Howard agreed! Also, for those of you who know me well, know that I am a person of habit, and as such, have gone to the same hairdresser for the past twenty years. It’s much easier that way – you don’t have to say anything, you just turn up and Wendy does it. So the thought of having my hair cut by someone new was scary – but even more scary in a different country. Howard duly dropped me off at the hairdressers we had been recommended. I asked the girl if she spoke English, and she replied no. Good start. Forearmed though, on advice from my brother-in-law who had suggested we use Google translate for our tapas dilemma, I had prepared a few sentences on my phone. She looked, and seemed to understand. It all started well, she seemed to understand the bit about getting rid of my grey bits (!) and the wash and cut seemed straight forward enough. Then, right at the end, in a flash, she seemed to do something extraordinary with the styling. I had a strange Harry Styles type sweep over, and curly bits at the back. She finished just as Howard arrived to pick me up. He smiled. He smiled the same smile that I had smiled at him when he bought that ridiculous cork hat.
Trying to make me feel better, Howard took me off for a coffee in the sunshine. It was then that I knew something was amiss. I went to open my iPhone, and it didn’t recognise me! That is correct – my face recognition no longer worked. I silently screamed inside, as Howard continued to pretend it looked OK. So that was my start to the day – I’ve had better.
The rest of the day improved considerably. We set off for the star of Cordoba, the Mezquita. This extraordinary building is a fusion of different religions over the centuries, and is testament to their co-existence. Today, it is the cathedral of Cordoba. But it was originally built more than a millennium ago as a mosque, when Cordoba was the capital of Muslim Spain. As such, it is one of the world’s greatest Muslim buildings, and it’s beauty is outstanding. The whole complex sits behind huge red sandstone walls, and outside the main Mosque complex lies a labyrinth of narrow streets and passageways, interspersed with patios, or courtyards, each decorated with verdant plants and brightly coloured pots. As you enter the main most area, you walk into the most spectacularly beautiful Patio De Los Naranjos – a stunning courtyard with orange, palm and cypress trees. It was formerly the site of the ritual ablutions when the building functioned as a mosque.
The first thing we did was climb the Bell Tower, formerly the Minaret of the Mosque. It is a 54 metre bell tower that now dominates the surrounding area, and was originally built in 951, and walking up the 107 steps you can see evidence of the original Muslim elements. From the top the views over the Mezquita and old town are wonderful.
By now we were getting thirsty and peckish, so we decided on a break for lunch. At lunch we played the ‘pot-luck’ tapas game again, this time much more sucessfully. Howard ended up with the Cordoban speciality, a sort of cold soup called Salmorejo made from blended tomatoes, garlic, bread, lemon, vinegar and olive oil, garnished with hard-boiled egg and ham. Also appearing were a sort of aubergine chips – very tasty, something resembling ratatouille, and a potato tortilla. We deemed it a success.
After lunch, we returned to the Mesquita, and this time looked around the cathedral itself. Words cannot express the stunning interior of this building. For the main part it maintains it’s mosque-like structure with it’s impressive double arches repeated throughout, striped in red brick and white stone, and the typical simplicity of geometric Islamic patterns. From the ceiling hang lanterns, and the smell of incense pervades the building. The scale is awesome. The whole place has an atomsphere that makes you catch your breath in wonder. But then, there’s the twist. Dotted in various places around the periphery, and taking centre stage in the middle of the structure, sits the gaudy, elaborate, over-stated symbolism of Roman Catholicism, with it’s ornately carved choir stalls, religious statues and central altar, which to my mind, jarred dramatically with the simple beauty of the mosque. I read that, even after the building changed from mosque to cathedral, the structure had remained unaltered for three centuries. Then King Carlos 1 gave permission for the centre of the Mezquita to be ripped out for the alter and choir stalls. However, when he saw the result he apparently declared. ‘You have destroyed something that was unique in the world’. And I must say that I agree with him. But that said, it is still the most incredible building, and I would encourage anyone to take the time to appreciate it.
After our dose of culture, we returned to the hotel, and I duly washed my hair, so removing my strange quiff that had afflicted me all day. Result – my iPhone now speaks to me again!
Tomorrow we are planning on heading towards Granada, but for now, a night out in Cordoba beckons.