Mike and Carla are Globetrotting...

Gibraltar...Why Not?

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 10:11:00 GMT

Again, we knew nothing about this tiny country, except that somehow it is part of Great Britain, and were plagued by the same questions as Andorra. What is there to see? What language do they speak? Does Mike need a visa? These were pretty quickly discounted as unimportant (we knew he wouldn't need a visa), but one that stuck...Which side of the road do they drive on? Haha. (It turns out they drive on the right, I guess it's just easier that way) Also, they speak English (and Spanish, but all the signs are English).

After stopping just after the border to buy a map, we politely thanked the guy who answered our questions about what to see, and promptly ignored his suggestion to park the van and hire a taxi to drive around the island. Mike was having none of that! So we took Ruby on a lap ourselves. There was a lot of these along the way... Apes?

Following parking signs right up to the top of the hill, we all of a sudden ended up here.

There was no parking, just this. We don't know what it was, some random fort/lookout or something, but it was kind of creepy, especially right now, at dusk.

It was cool to look out over the water, though, and see the coast of Africa. The reality of Morocco was so close!

Heading back down the other side of the Rock, we would really like to have seen the apes, but it was getting late and we resigned ourselves to leaving it for another time. We were trying to work out if it was a zoo, or just an enclosure or what, when we rounded a bend and saw a statue of one sitting on the wall, as if checking out the view. Then it moved, and all of a sudden we were looking at a real ape, doing what the hell he liked. He didn't have a lot of interest in us, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately!).

As we left Gibraltar via the only road to the border control, we crossed the runway for the Gibraltar airport. This was what Mike had heard about, and wanted to see. Of course, once I realised, I really wanted to see it in action too. However, it appeared flights are only scheduled for certain periods in the day, so as to leave the border accessible for public vehicles. So, next time.

We continued along the coast towards Tarifa, the closest port to Morocco, and where we would be leaving from in 2 days. Trying to find the campground we had looked at was unsuccessful, and we pulled into a one-star highway hostal (budget hotel), El Levante, on the outskirts of Tarifa. This turned out to be quite pleasant, we could park right next to the lawn outside our room which was handy for the next day when we would be clearing out the van in preparation for Morocco.

The first order of business the next day in Tarifa was to buy our ferry ticket. This was a bit more expensive than we expected...a whopping €220 return for us and the car (now you know in advance, should you wish to go). We coughed it up and went in search of parking so as to have a look around Tarifa's old town. We managed to hit it right in the middle of siesta, very common for us, so it was really quiet. We found it interesting that when they shut shop for siesta, they don't lock everything up, rather they will close grills across doors and windows and that's it.

We had a lovely lunch outside a café, again with a good sangria, and really good food.

The Lonely Planet suggested that road maps of Morocco are easier to find on this side of the Strait, rather than in Morocco. We took this advice and bought the last map on the rack. The next day we were so glad we did, as it was hard enough finding our way out of Tangier, let alone a map in the process!

I finally managed to convince Mike we needed to buy acrate for our food, and we managed to condense four disorganised shopping bags into something very tidy :)

Returning to El Levante, we drove on a little bit past the hostal to visit the beach across the road and happened upon last night's elusive campground...two campgrounds, actually. The beach was very fresh (cold!) but it didn't stop one Spanish family, a teenager and his oldish parents, from swimming. I wish we had timed our visit differently as we were subjected to their loud family argument while the papa was naked, everything flapping in the breeze. Ugh!

We tried to do our washing that afternoon, not wanting to have to find laundromats in Morocco. The hostal had no washing facilities on site, but suggested we visit the lavandería in town. We turned up there with two big loads, ready to get started, only to find it closed for the day. But the owner was there and insisted that it was ok, “I am Swiss, I'm not Spanish, and the Swiss take the work when the work is there”. But it wasn't self-service and so it would cost us €24 for our two loads of wash, dry, iron and fold. He was a nice guy, and we felt guilty taking the work away from him, but we would rather take our chances and find somewhere cheaper (a lot cheaper!).

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting Ruby ready and sorted for Morocco, via the first morning ferry from Tarifa.

Andalucia

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 05:24:00 GMT

We have fallen in love with Andalucia. We made a deliberate decision to skip the motorway in favour of the longer, but more scenic mountain roads as we headed south. We had certainly had our own pre-conceived ideas of Spain and what we thought it would look like. This was what we wanted Spain to look like.

Instead of flat, dry and dusty landscapes, there were mountains and valleys, trees, lakes and tiny white-washed, picturesque villages perched high on sunny peaks.

We stopped to take a photo of the rolling hills of olive groves. Mike got a little too close to some canines' private space, and got out of there in a big hurry. I almost rolled down the hill from laughing.

Stopping again, to take photos of a village called Zahara, we were surrounded by rural haciendas, eucalyptus trees (strangely), a dam, lots of prickly-pear cactus and...sewage ponds. Nice. But the vista was spectacular.

We made sure we stopped at one of these villages, Ronda. 'The book' has pictured this place straddling a ravine. We didn't see this view, sadly (next time!), but visiting the town was nice. We stopped for lunch at the one café that didn't have an employee trying to entice us in, and Mike got the full picture of how much I really just don't like tomatoes.

Ronda has a fully preserved bullring, one of the oldest in Spain, which they have made into a museum on horse travel, guns and bullfighting. We saw duelling pistols on display with descriptions such as “used in the fatal duel between...” one guy and another. It was a little strange to be looking at a gun that killed someone. The bullring itself was very impressive. It kind of got under the skin, you could imagine what it would be like full of cheering people with banners and flags. It certainly made an impact on Mike, who started pawing at the ground, charged me in the belly and again threw me over his shoulder, running around in circles. Clearly this behaviour was contagious, as the family group also in the ring started doing the same.

Back in the parking area, Ruby also caught a bit of the bullheadedness, and the starter motor clicked, the engine wouldn't turn. At all. Out came the shifter/crescent, and a few good hits got it going again. This had been an ongoing problem since the first time in France. Most of the time, however, Mike's stubborn and continuous key-turning would kick it into action. Since Ronda, on only one other occasion has physical force with the shifter/crescent been required. All those (many) other times that the starter has been a bit dodgy, just the threat of me reaching for the heavy tool in the glove box has been enough to get her moving again. Mike insists that Ruby is not stubborn, just a little tired in her old age :) (Softie!)

As we left Ronda, we took a route that wouldn't allow us a view of the village from the bottom of the ravine, but the rest of the mountainous drive was stunning. Mike (and I, for that matter) discovered I have an amazing skill for taking photos on the go, and catching a tree, a pole, a sign or a truck, somewhere in the frame. It's almost uncanny, and very frustrating! There have been more than a couple of u-turns in order to go back and catch the non-obstructed shot.

The winding drive out of the mountains was, of course, stunning, punctuated with more perfect-looking white-washed villages. I tried to share Mike's excitement when a Bugatti Veyron flew by us in the opposite direction, but I was only fast enough to catch the camera crew tailing it.

As we rounded the corner, I was much better prepared to snap the second one. No, it's not necessary to point out that it is stationary :P

As mentioned previously, Mike rarely puts something on the list that he really wants to see. So when he does, I wholeheartedly agree to it (within reason). In this case, there was something about Gibraltar that had captured his fancy. This was the direction we were heading and we were making much better time than expected. Long before we reached the coast, we could see the ocean from the mountains, and very soon after that, the Rock of Gibraltar.

First, we had to reach the coast. We got close, passing through a very posh suburb, with beautiful grand houses. Then, I don't know how, we ended up in the maze-like bendy quiet streets of a golf resort estate. Oh, geez. We drove for ages parallel to the coast, knowing we just had to head left, and couldn't, anywhere.

Eventually, we scared the life out of an elderly lady by stopping to ask for directions. Blessedly, she spoke English but only helped us get a little bit further. After that, we could see where we wanted to be, and we couldn't help but laugh as we tried to find some way over the barrier separating us from the motorway.

We finally made it and very soon, Gibraltar loomed above us...

Craziness in Cordoba

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Sun, 7 Nov 2010 04:40:00 GMT

We needed to head south and had already decided to go via Cordoba, but at the last minute we included two tiny towns called Ubeda and Baeza, recommended by 'the book' for their medieval buildings. This was probably our first real glimpse of Spanish village life. I tried really hard to get a photo of the beautiful tiny side streets, but in the van I just kept missing them. Mike already thought he was driving slow, the idea of going any slower just didn't compute. And to be fair, there was usually a local, inches away from the back bumper, urging us on.

We ended up driving down some of these lanes, really quaint and really narrow. I admit to holding my breath a couple of times. But the buildings were beautiful and we're glad we detoured.

On our way out we stopped in Baeza to get some lunch. All the way along so far, we had been seeing heaps of whole cured pork legs (trotter still attached) for sale in shops, including standard supermarkets. At this place, we saw it in action.

You can buy a bracket which clamps this leg in place, and the chef/wife or whoever just removes the skin and fat, and slices off the cured pork, a lot like proscuitto, a lot of proscuitto! It gave a whole new meaning to the expression 'a leg of ham'. We had it with cheese in a baguette, and it was a little bit chewy, but full of flavour.

Cordoba was, in short, a nightmare. The only map we had to go by was the very basic one in the Lonely Planet, which focussed only on the old town (which we ended up in the middle of), and catered for pedestrians. Plus, as one nice hostal owner told us, in Spanish, the police had 'changed the roads around' the day before! There were barriers up, possibly for an event in the town, we're not sure. But between those, and permanent no entry signs, we got ourselves into a circle of a small part of the old town that we couldn't get out of. Oh...my...God. This was our first super-tense moment. Custody papers for Ruby went on the dash for imminent discussion. With the help of a nice police officer, we did get out, tried a few hotels that were too expensive or didn't offer parking, and ended up going with one from 'the book', in the old town anyway, right across the road from the mezquita, the building Cordoba is famous for.

It was an okay price, and we understood from the guy on the phone that he had parking. He didn't, we had to park under the hotel next door, and pay €14 for the privilege, but it was a bed, and a shower, which by now was an urgent necessity, the hotel had heaps of character, and the location was amazing! It meant that we could see the old town so easily.

We got to the mezquita half an hour before closing time (awesome, otherwise we would have been leaving at 11 the next morning). There are only a couple of times I've been able to say that I've seen something that has truly taken my breath away, and I'm adding this to the list. The rows and rows of red and white arches disappearing into the dim, cavernous interior really have to be seen to be appreciated. There is so much I could say about it, but words just aren't enough.

A walk around the old town found us a touristic but quaint restaurant for dinner, with surprisingly good food (any one who has been disappointed by a promising maître d’ in a tourist precinct knows what I mean). Our waiter was honest about the food offered, which meant Mike got the thick, juicy steak (entrecote) that he wanted, instead of the thin schnitzel-style steak he was about to order.

We continued our trend to get moving slowly in the morning, but once on the road we left Cordoba quick smart. Nice city, and we were thankful for our 3 showers each (making the most of it while it's available!), but we didn't need to spend any more time driving around it.

Madrid, via Valencia

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Sat, 6 Nov 2010 07:29:00 GMT

We skipped Murcia in favour of heading inland to see Madrid, but before leaving the coast we headed south to visit Tarragona as recommended. Interesting Roman ruins, but after only half an hour of driving, we were still way to cold to get out and walk around.

Valencia was another story. We stumbled upon free street parking right next to the old town (only because it was a Sunday) and were almost immediately captivated by the main train station.

Wow. I've always liked old train stations, they have so much character, but this one was truly amazing.

(This is the ticket office!)

We ducked along to the other Lonely Planet-recommended sights. Being a Sunday, the central Mercado was closed, but there was a rambling outdoor market in progress, where I tried to convince Mike to replace his old wallet (you should see it!), but he's holding onto it like a child with a blankie. From there we crossed the road into the 15^th century Lonja, then a Valencian commodity exchange, which (almost) rivalled the wow-factor of the train station, with its halls full of tall twisting columns in and intricate ceilings.

We returned down the street we had walked up, and went back past a confusing throng of what seemed to be boys and dads.

This second time, we realised it was a card swap-meet. We hadn't seen anything like it before. There didn't seem to be any money changing hands, but these people looked serious! From there we ducked around the corner to see the cathedral, but decided we had seen enough of those, so we set off, 3 hours later, Madrid bound.

Want to hear about more circles? Services were almost non-existent, so we left the motorway just before Madrid in the hope of finding a campsite in Arganda, just out of the city.. Pffft. Circles... Discounted hotel possiblities.... More circles, around Madrid. Burger King for dinner (ugh) in a dodgy part of town and more circles. We finally found a services on a toll road, parked between two trucks to block out the light, and spent the night. And froze. The sleeping bag went on top, but even then...

In spite of promising ourselves we would get up early the next morning and hit Madrid, it was way too cold to even think about getting up before the sun. Sunrise is so late here, we just stayed huddled in bed until the warm golden glow promised us a bit of comfort. Time in Madrid was ticking away, but what can you do? When we finally did venture out, we flicked back around on the motorway and drove straight into the city.

Now, I'm not sure if it's become apparent yet, but we're doing this the old-fashioned way...with maps, printed on paper (a sat-nav just wouldn't suit Ruby). The European road atlas I carry for work has basic maps for some of Europe's major cities, 2 cities squeezed onto an A4 page. So this is often what we were using to find our way. Hence the circles.

No circles on this morning in Madrid, however. We found our way straight to the underground public parking in the city centre, right under the Plaza Mayor (and this time we had an acceptable height clearance). We nabbed the last parking spot on our height clearance level (I'm trying to decide if the close call with the pillar was a fluke or Mike's 'supreme skill').

Our first stop was, of course, McDonald's. We're finding the free wifi (pron: weefee) here invaluable, but noticed anyway throughout the day that all the tobacco/news-stands had free wifi too, so you could just sit in a square with one of these stands, and you're in cyberspace!

We were trying to find accommodation for that night, but having a car is like caring for a baby, you have to consider it all the time, and you can't just leave it anywhere. So when booking a hotel, we're looking for a good price and parking. But, that was all too hard in Madrid, so we figured we could try and see what we could of the city today, and think about tonight when it came. See? Winging it.

Our 'bible', the Lonely Planet, suggested we start at Plaza Mayor, so it was back in that direction we went. We passed through Plaza Mayor stopping to admire the frescoes of the 17^th century royal bakery.

Interestingly, and a bit disturbingly, this was one of the sites that saw the Spanish Inquisition in progress. Exiting the square, our next priority was breakfast. We turned a corner and the Mercado was right in front of us. Barcelona's market was great for breakfast so we gave this one a try. Hmmm. If we wanted wine for brekky, this was the place to come. Wine and olives were everywhere. We found a tiny stall in the middle selling small savoury pastries. We went for these, and they ended up costing us about €13, then she shortchanged us €2. Well, she shortchanged Mike €2, I was off fighting everyone else for a couple of stools (with the help of two funny old ladies) while holding onto the empty table I already had.

As we left, I tried an olive, which cost Mike a euro (it was a big olive!), and we followed 'the book' to another square, Plaza de la Villa. We took the obligatory photos, but weren't very impressed (except for all the cops milling around!). Probably the biggest thing to see in Madrid is the Palacio Real. We saw it, through the wrought iron gates.

Any thoughts we entertained of going in were squashed by the '10km long' queue.

We did go into the Catedral next door, which was amazing. I've never seen one with so much colour!

We walked around the palace's Japanese gardens (not so Japanese, methinks). In this peaceful, serene setting Mike thought I needed brightening up, so he threw me over his shoulder and ran around in circles.

I don't know if the people watching laughed because they thought it was funny or out of a nervous kind of fear. It worked on me though. On our way to the next place to see, we were stopped in our tracks by a “You kids speak any English?”.

We had a split second to consider not answering, but took the plunge. Ha!

We learnt about the old man's home in Indianapolis, and how long ago he came back from the Vietnam war and how he's seen all the parks in “this here city” (he hadn't seen the biggest one though, we had to give him directions to it). My favourite part was when he told Mike he looks about the age of his kids. Mike, bless him, asked how old they were. 44 years old is the oldest, blah blah, and the youngest is 35. I did my best to keep a straight face. We sent him off to the Catedral (he was determined it was the palace and almost wouldn't go when we told him it was an optional €1 donation) and we got out of there in a hurry.

We went back through the Plaza del Sol to the Parque del Buen Retiro (the big park we told the old man about) and chilled out on the lawn for a while. Mike doesn't normally put something out there that he really wants to see, happy to go with the flow, but he read in 'the book' that somewhere in this park there is a statue of the fallen angel, Lucifer, so that moved up to the next spot on our list. Apparently there are only a few statues of the Devil in the world, so this was a must-see.

It was getting late, but we had almost seen everything on our list. It was a short walk to my last place, the Caixa Forum, which was a disappointing anti-climax, and we turned back to the Latin Quarter for some tapas.

At one point, we rounded a corner and found ourselves in yet another square. I was captivated by this hotel (loved the purple lights!)...

...while behind me, Mike was admiring this...

Once in the Latin Quarter, we stopped for a drink at a really cool bar, Lamiak (on Cava Baja if anyone wants to go) with heaps of atmosphere.

The American-accented bartender directed us to his favourite tapas place 10 minutes away. We found it, a non-descript sort of place that didn't really invite in the tourist looking for “authentic”, but we really enjoyed it, plus the jug of free sangria that came with our food :)

From there it was straight back to Ruby (via a bit of magical street theatre), manoeuvre out of the bay (€26 parking fee) and drive, drive, drive.

After a couple of hours we pulled into a picnic bay shielded from the road by trees and such. There were a few cars there already, but we pulled over and turned out the lights. What a strange night. It was like it was straight out of a movie. There were shenanigans and strange goings-on, which we watched from our bed. One car would move up or down the bay, pull over and turn off the lights. 10 minutes later he would do it again, and park near some other car. And again. It was really weird, and really freaky. I had been to the bathroom as soon as we stopped, and when I got back to the bay, this guy was just standing there, near our car, in the shadows. Mike had just seen him too, and I made him promise he was coming with me next time. We almost moved on, but it was really late, and they took off after a while anyway. It left us pretty uneasy. However, we woke to sunshine (albeit cold), everything was as it should be, and we continued on our way. Direction: Cordoba.

(What was supposed to be) A Day of Rest...

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Fri, 5 Nov 2010 06:01:00 GMT

Departure day from Barcelona dawned orange and cold. I couldn't get out of bed. But Mike left the back door open so I didn't get much choice.

It was worth it though, to eat my cornflakes out the back of the van watching the sun rise.

Next on the list was to ferret out the helpful older German guys I had greased up to the evening before who were going to jump-start us...hopefully. So they came over, annnd...it didn't work. The cables heated up and I think they would have jumped into life before our poor dead battery. So, out of the boot of this little hatchback, they pulled these heavy-duty cables, asking if we bought ours in China. Well, what choice do you have in the middle of Barcelona? Anyway, it worked and we were on our way.

We had been hitting the track pretty hard since London (even in London) so we agreed to find a campground a bit further south and chill for the afternoon and next day. First was a lunch stop. Mmmm. More circles, this time around a seaside town called Vilanova i la Geltrú. There were no cafés around, those we did find had no parking, so we hit the supermarket bakery, had another forgettable meal and carried on.

We stuck to the coast, winding along seaside cliffs one minute and through quiet (read: empty) leafy towns the next. We actually walked on the beach at one stage, which was a bit of a novelty, with its random grove of palms in the middle.

The Costa Dorada coastal drive is gorgeous on a sunny day. It's winding, cliff-hugging and visually stunning...when you can see through the squashed bugs on the windscreen. We had collected quite a few stubborn ones that resisted all wiper efforts of removal, so Ruby was in for a wash.

(He washes my coach when I'm working, and his own car when I'm not :P... )

After a while we had a spark of inspiration (where did that come from?) and dropped into a tourism office in one of these towns, Calafell, which surprisingly was open. The girl there was so nice and helpful, gave us a heap of maps, photocopies of campsite info and facilities and, importantly, directions.

Finally we started seeing campgrounds pop up along the way, most of them backing on to the beach. Perfect. But, campsite after campsite displayed a closed sign ('tis the season). At a roundabout I made a split-second, last-possible-moment decision (I'm good at doing that, poor Mike) to follow signs leaving the main road to “let's just try this one”. It took us down some interesting streets but, I'm proud to say, it paid off. The campground, Torre de la Mora, was nice.

It was really modern, had beach access, and all its sites and cabins were terraced onto the side of a shady tree-covered hill. Gorgeous. The security guard, who was for some reason responsible for allocations, squeezed us into an uneven corner of the campground, next to a chest high wall separating us from a rocky drop to the water on the other side. From this point the sun rose and set over the ocean. We decided if we went straight out to sea we would hit Nice. Great (insert serious note of sarcasm here). East would have been Greece...some fond memories for Mike :)

Dinner that night was tacos. We just need a little more practice for toasting the shells. The second batch was better than the first. And the campground had heaps of washing up sinks! Everywhere! With hot taps! And lights! Geez, the things we get excited about these days! In the morning, I made a failed attempt at French toast. I dunno, too much wind, heat not even enough...but it was disastrous. The next round, egg-in-bread, worked much better. The washing up was not pleasant though.

We actually got to sit (or lie, as you generally need to do in the back of Ruby) and enjoy the sunshine that day. It was a bit too cold for the beach, but to just read a book was like therapy, especially for Mike. Until the battery went flat again. This cost us €5 in a tip to the campsite handyman (with his super heavy-duty cables), and prompted a quick dash into town for a new battery. Mike insists “it shouldn't be going flat that quick, even with running the fridge”. Okay, fine. “But we'll still carry the old one.” Okay, sure. Space isn't already at a premium, no. Apparently, the old one might come in handy one day.

But electricity was becoming a problem in general. It gets hard to rough it in the gadget-packed 21^st century. Mike and I were alternating phone chargers with the iPod transmitter for the front socket, and I couldn't leave my camera and laptop (I know, but if I didn't have it, you wouldn't be reading this!) in any wall sockets long enough to charge properly. So into the basket, along with the new battery, went a cigarette socket expander (you know, multi sockets off one?) and an inverter. Genius. Now we can charge everything in the car. And to date, at the time of going to print, we still haven't had another flat battery.

One thing that caught us by surprise (and it probably shouldn't have) is that it is actually cold in Spain at this time of year. We didn't visit the beach that day, and the night before had been really cold (especially for Mike, I put a sleeping bag under my side of the sheet). So we were also shopping for a doona/duvet to put between the air mattress and the sheet. Well, finding the size you want in the UK is hard enough in English, let alone in Spain in Spanish. We hovered around the bedding aisle for several confused minutes before I asked a fellow shopper, feeling hopeful but resigned, if she spoke English. She spoke English very well, as an Irish-raised Scot resident and was really helpful getting us what we were looking for. So we set off from the shop the excited owners of a warmer bed, and lots of electrical options.

Back at the campsite, Mike cooked dinner, hamburgers. We were really impressed with how varied, however simple, our meals were shaping up to be. All we cooked on these things in high school was 2-minute noodles. And these hamburgers were gooood. :)

Hola! Barcelona!

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Thu, 4 Nov 2010 01:25:00 GMT

Barcelona loomed upon us earlier than we expected, which was a huge bonus as we had discovered by then that our intended campsite was closing for the winter, giving us only one full day to explore the city instead of two. So we made the most of the extra few hours by driving straight into the centre. I swapped an empty dashboard for a steering wheel, Mike swapped foot pedals for a dashboard footrest, and I gave him a driving tour of Barcelona. At peak hour.

After that we still had some daylight to kill, so we took off to find Parc Güell in the north of the city. This was the first casualty of the reduced time frame, so I was stoked to fit it in. I had been here before, but not by car...which provided ME with a genius moment. You would have thought by now I was re-acquainted with a right-hand drive vehicle. Ruby found out the hard way that I was not, quite, when I nearly took off her left wing mirror. Ooops. Mike noticeably hasn't been so quick to suggest I drive again. I blame the truck, he should have tucked his mirror in. It's what they DO in Europe...normally.

So after a few circles we actually managed to find parking close to our destination. Parc Güell is an estate park begun in the early 20^th century for elite residents. What makes it special was that it was designed by Barcelona's (and possibly Spain's) most famous architect, Antoni Gaudí. And the going was good until the park's owner decided it wasn't commercially viable and canned the project. Finally the city took it over and turned what was there into a funky outdoor museum.

A few more circles and we drove our way out of the city to find our campground. This involved driving up and down the coast south of the city until we finally stopped to ask for directions. A nice young man was going past it anyway and we followed him out of the fancy beachside suburb we were cruising around right up to the entrance. The owner (clearly tired out from a season of hosting those Contiki hoodlums) took our registration and told us to just park anywhere. So we did, right in front of the beach. It was dark, so dinner was a sloppy pizza from the campsite bar and a hot shower was definitely in order. (I made Mike use my thongs/jandals – you Kiwis get your minds out of the gutter! – for the public showers, because he forgot his. Who forgets them when you go on a holiday to the coast????)

Something which was helping make the trip a whole lot easier was a refrigerated esky/chilly-bin lent to us by Mike's friends. It's small enough to fit between the back seats and runs off the back-seat cigarette lighter (yes, there is one, awesome, huh?). On this night we decided to leave it running, as it doesn't keep things cold well when it's off. So of course, we woke up the next morning to silence, and a flat battery.

But that couldn't dampen the excitement of being up early enough to catch the sun rising over the ocean, right out of our back door. It did mean trying to find jumper cables in the midst of a bustling Barcelona metropolis that day. Which we did. We also found my friend Tanja, who we only discovered that morning is now living there, and we had a lovely lunch with her.

We did some tourist stuff, too. We had breakfast from Barcelona's biggest Mercado (markets), hot tapas that we ate sitting on a flattened cardboard box in a shady square. We visited Casa Batlló, another mighty flight of fancy from Gaudí.

An amazingly beautiful family home-turned-museum with no straight surfaces and lots of mosaic. There was an audio guide included with the ticket, which we found really informative, until Mike did something to his handset, and it started speaking a language we didn't even recognise. A very nice staff lady helped him out, after we had listened to several stops, twice each time, on mine.

I guess this was almost a Gaudí tour of Barcelona, because after visiting the central Catedral and wandering some alleys in the Gothic Quarter, we set off to see his very famous La Sagrada Família.

By this time, two ragged and tired antipodeans made their way back to their beachside 'home', cooked their butcher-bought sausages and tinned potato bake, and went to bed, leaving Ruby's flat battery until morning.

The Mountainous Andorra

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 10:36:00 GMT

As we approached the imaginary line separating Andorra from France, Mike and I both realised we knew absolutely nothing about Andorra (including any possible visa requirements for Mike...which we discounted quickly based on EU merits). So the benefits of being in the tour industry came into effect and I fired off an sms to Rob, a trip leader colleague... “What can you tell us about Andorra?”.

His reply: “Not much really, they're under French protection but speak Spanish. And there's some good skiing there”.

Awesome. We'll work with that. He didn't need to tell us how beautiful it was, that was immediately apparent. After being waved through the border crossing, we continued to climb into the mountains.

It was an overcast day and we were soon enveloped in fog. For two antipodeans who grew up with sun and beaches, this is still a novel experience. As we clocked up the altitude, we heard a sort of pop behind us somewhere. We both kind of ignored it until we heard it again. This was a genius moment for Mike, “that sounds like we're backfiring...but it can't be, it's a diesel...”. Okay. The 3^rd pop clicked for me...we were climbing so high, our chip packets were bursting with the altitude. That gave us a good laugh, and some extra crunchiness in our sandwiches for lunch :)

The towns in Andorra (both major ones are near the border on each side of the country) are like they've leapt out of a storybook. Very quaint and so clean.

In between them we passed closed ski lifts shrouded in mist, crested the mountains in the middle,

avoided the cow on the road while coming down the other side, and stopped for lunch overlooking the second main town, Sant Julia de Loria. I thought this was perfectly picturesque, until I belatedly realised we were seated at a picnic table on fake turf. Ugh. Apart from that, it was a gorgeous experience. Crunchy cheese sandwiches and all.

Leaving Andorra, Spanish border guards were requesting every vehicle open their boots for inspection. I held back a groan. If they wanted to go through everything WE had in the back, we might as well camp there.

The border guard provided another genius moment for Mike... “Where are you going today?”

“Oh, uh, Spain.” Ahem. Perfect :) He managed to redeem himself by following it up very quickly with a hasty “Barcelona”.

A long winding drive out of the mountain ranges followed, punctuated by glimpses of rural Spanish life. I had always thought Spain to be a dry, dusty country but we drove through forests, alongside streams and rivers and passed lakes and dams.

Barcelona loomed upon us earlier than we expected, we'll let you know why that was so good next...

Shooting Through France

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 07:51:00 GMT

We crossed the Channel with Seafrance,

and I was back in familiar territory...Calais docks on the right side of the road. This was a 'pinch-yourself moment', we were actually doing this!

We headed straight down the west side of France, sticking with the motorways for now, and detoured at the end of the day to find a campsite near Le Havre for the night. We really just wanted to hit the coast. Well, what a joke. There ARE no campsites in or near Le Havre, apparently. We had driven into the town to the tourist office, which was closed, so went to the shop across the road, we still needed to get metho. Undercover parking, cool. Not so cool when your vehicle misses the ramp roof by a centimetre! Mike's opinion of this? “Sa-weet!” Pffft! :) (I did get a photo of this, but it's mysteriously disappeared)

Next, hit the free wifi at Mcdonald's to look for accomodation. In the middle of a series of hits-and-misses while searching for a hotel suggested by a Mcd's staff member, we found ourselves in a town looking quite cute from the outside, until we hit the main street. Whoa... There was a cafe-looking place open ahead, which I quickly pointed out as a possible food stop. Then we went past it, and it reminded me of some of the scariest-looking dero pubs in country towns back home. Uh-uh. We kept driving. We couldn't find said hotel, but turned up at another one in the same chain. It was reasonable, we had a forgettable dinner in a travel restaurant and that was our first night.

The next day we had the feeling of “let's just get out of France!”. A last minute decision, made with the we-should-while-we're-here philosophy saw us leaving the motorway to put our map-pin in at Cognac.

We're glad we went, Cognac is a beautiful town, very quaint.

It was in Cognac, while standing on the picturesque main bridge, that I told Mike his van needed a name.

He was open to it (or maybe I should say tolerant!) but balked a bit when I said it would be a middle-aged name. I pointed out that she felt female, but her age precluded a lot of trendier options.

However, I added that she was quite plush, and the 'Royal Lounge' badge added a distinguished air. I needed a bit more time to come up with the perfect name.

We tried a glass of Cognac in nearby Pons...a glass of good and a glass of bad, according to the bartender. Well, we didn't like either of them. Ugh. So on we went.

A fuel stop...was this where things would start going wrong? Mike slid out of the van and dropped something out of his lap. His iphone. OK? No, it's cracked the screen. Oh no. But, hey, the touch screen still works. Getting back into the van...tick-tick-tick...ha, starter motor. I tell you what...if Mike wasn't a mechanic, there is no WAY I'd be doing a trip like this! But a few more ticks and she fired into life. Hmmmm...

It took a little while to get back to the motorway, but I have to say that while slower, the drive is a lot nicer on the minor roads. The motorways bypass all the little towns, which are the essence of a foreigner experiencing a different culture. But currently, time was our essence, so that night saw us sleeping in the back of the van for the first time of many. At a services near Toulouse.

This wasn't as bad as it might sound. French motorway services have picnic areas away from the fuel station, a cafe/restaurant/shop, and you have access to inside, (relatively) clean toilets all night. This was cool, a few other people were doing the same thing, and had even pitched tents!

An earlier services stop gave us the opportunity to christen (attempt cooking with?)

our new stove. This turned out all right. Our first home-cooked meal was chicken with tortellini and pasta sauce.

Easy-peasy. But we learnt we would need to allow a little bit more daylight for the washing up.

The decision had already been made that we would hit Spain via Andorra. Who wouldn't take the opportunity to cross another country off their list, if it's right there? And we're glad we did. Leaving the motorway again in France broadened our cultural experience a little more as we visited another tiny French village, Tarascon-sur-Ariage

(and went past a campsite we catalogued for possible future use), then climbed the Pyrenees mountains to Andorra.

Just before crossing the border we stopped for a beautiful photo op of the valley we had just left behind. A lovely older couple offered to take a photo of us, but didn't seem to want one of themselves together. I can only assume that's what happens after 40 years of marriage.

Still, they were very nice. It was here, in this beautiful place, that Ruby got her name. Mike tried it out once, twice, then decided he could handle it.

(Now he calls her by name more than I do!) I later told him at our lunch stop in Andorra that it could have been something like 'Blanche'. We're laughing about this now...he's just informed me he nearly fell off his seat when I told him that. Haha.

So, Ruby she became.

In the beginning...London

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 00:09:00 GMT

After purse dramas in Holland that morning (I had left it on my coach the night before - it had my passport in it, without it I wasn't going anywhere!), I caught the ferry to Dover with some colleagues, where Mike met me with the van, bed made up in the back, all ready to go.

We made our way to London and caught up with our friend John on the Friday and Saturday nights. Mike and John came to my end-of-season work party Saturday night. Mike was mobbed by half the Topdeck crew who had been sailing the last few months. John and I watched and laughed as they bought him drinks and demanded that he stay for a few more. We couldn't stay, we caught the last tube back to the hotel, which resulted in a bus half way, for about an hour (or forever, according to Mike).

Sunday saw us heading to an outdoor equipment store in Piccadilly Circus, recommended by a colleague (Thanks, Jamie!) to see what we could get in the way of cookers. One thing we didn't want was to be reliant on restaurants every day or dreaming up new filling combinations in sandwiches for dinner. I could remember my high-school supplying us all with single-burner stoves for hiking camps. They were compact and lightweight enough to carry in a backpack. These 'Trangi' stoves only had one pot from memory, but we were keen to see what was on offer at Trek and Field.

For £50 we picked up a larger version of the Trangia, still a single burner but the stand, burner, 2 pots, kettle and frypan all pack into one pot. And it burns metho, cheap as chips. Perfect!

Sunday afternoon we immersed ourselves in Camden. Indian takeaway was eaten on cool half-moped stools, and we lost ourselves in the massive crazy-busy markets.

Monday morning was the start of our “Big Trip” and saw us making our way back to Dover. We stopped in Ashford on the way for our first supply shop. Funny. We had to find all the items legally required by all vehicles in continental Europe...hazard triangle, fluoro vest, 1^st aid kit, headlight conversion stickers and a (giant) 'GB' sticker (which Mike hates and is determined will get 'lost' very soon). We also nixed on the extra washing up and went with disposable plates and utensils (I know....but we'll save the environment some other way!) and a few one-pot meals.

And so our Big Trip had begun!

The Premise

crazyeyes_and_flyingfraggle — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 23:01:00 GMT

A nomadic 5 weeks spent discovering the delights and wonders of Spain, Portugal and Morocco, employing Mike's art of “winging it” and Carla learning how.