Basque

28-31/7/13

We decided to leave the sunny beach of Comillas to explore the unknown beaches of the  Basque Country. According to Tom Tom it is a nice 2 hour drive. 8 extremely frustrating hours later we arrived at Vittoria-Gasteiz, an inland town. Basque is very mountainous on the coast. Most of the coastline is treacherous and cliffy, and the few beaches that are accessible are choc a bloc with Spanish tourists...none of whom are stupid enough to try to get there in a motorhome. 

The stupid f£|¥#^%~% bitch in the Tom Tom dragged us up mountain ranges, and down mountain ranges, along windy narrow cliff lined roads...pretty enough but we were well and truly over 'pretty' and just wanted beach, sun and sleep. Through tunnels we went, along green mountain roads past hilly farmland with the sea tantalising us in the distance, but like a mirage, disappearing as we neared it. We were directed to a beach that was actually not accessible as it was just a rocky cove at the bottom of a cliff, but holiday makers were sunbathing on a grassy knoll at the top! Another couple of beaches were at the end of a nerve wracking drive through a narrow cobblestoned town, only to find that parking was impossible for motor bikes let alone a cumbersome motorhome full of idiots. The strange looks we were getting told us to actually f... off out of there and head inland. We did. 

[this looks tantalising, but there is actually no beach]

This road went for hours like this, mostly steeper, through middle earth much to our annoyance and frustration.

Basque Country was interesting. The language is completely different and all the signs are in basque. It looks like some lost Inuit tongue with lots of x's and z's. the people are supposed to be direct descendants of cro magnum man with different genotypes and blood groups from the rest of Spain. They guard this jealously as well, and there has been much unrest politically and blood shed over the years. I can see why the Spanish have not conquered this land. The inhospitable terrain would have made it impossible to invade. It reminded me of middle earth, which we nick named it, and not surprisingly the capital is called Bilbo.  

We made it to Vittoria-Gasteiz just before sun down and were greeted by Gandalf himself who not only showed us where the toilets were, but showed us how to flush the toilets and how to clean the toilets! He was as eccentric as hell, but very sweet and kind. He looked after us and made sure the taxi driver who took us to town for a meal also picked us up and took us home again. Just as well, the place was dead as a doornail at 1130...very odd for Spain. But then again, this was middle earth, not Spain. Gandalf gave us advice on where to visit, (which we accepted with good grace then promptly ignored, as we were not in the mood for AFM...another f...ing museum) then bid us farewell with namaste and prayer hands. He was a Himalayan pilgrim as well, it seemed, and was rapidly starting to remind us of someone.

We headed for Burgos the next morning, mainly because the camping ground had a pool...no other reason. It turned out it also had a river with a beach which was nearly as good as a real beach. There was also a beautiful cathedral built by Ferdinand and Isabel. We took a photo of it and headed for the tapas bars.

We found some lovely places to eat. Tony again demonstrated the capacity of his stomach and prowess of his digestive capabilities, so much so that the tapas bartenders soon knew him by name...Antonio. "Ah here comes Antonio for another round" they would laugh. Of course, things were going swimmingly until tony asked the two bartenders if they were father and son. They weren't of course. Probably old school pals. At least they laughed about it. 

This morning we packed up and left for Madrid. We parked in Burgos for one last feed. We found a little hidden tapas bar called Gaona Jardin at the end of a dead end street. It was gorgeous inside with rubber tree vine indeed an open roofed bar area and restaurant at the back. Moroccan tiles lined the walls and the tapas was outstanding. 

These two guys came in and got breakfast at the campground cafe while we were having our orange juice and coffee. They had ham and eggs and a bottle of red. No kidding.

Comillas

28/07/13

We travelled across the top of Spain from Pantin, stopping briefly at some interesting places on the way. San Andres de Texiedo (spelling uncertain) was a beautiful series of cliffs giving a magnificent view of the sea. Some were 600 metres...highest coastal cliffs in Europe. We drove past the Picos de Europa...a stunning mountain range next to the sea popular with hikers.

We missed many beautiful coastal places as we are running out of time. Some of the places were pretty but we didn't stay...

We made it to Comillas (aw shucks no fiesta) last night and after excruciating deliberation, found a lovely camping area on the beach, finally. What sealed the deal was going to the toilet in the wild camping place..."no way" I said to Tony, "there is no way on earth I am staying here"...and I have put up with some pretty rough toilet situations thus far. The campsite was in a lovely place...the beach was idyllic and there was a cute little cafe/bar/restaurant but the ground was crowded with vans and soggy and smelly with the discharge of everyone's grey water. The portaloo dunny didn't lock or flush properly, and there was no tap for hand washing. The toilet seat was non existent and what was there was all wet. Trish would have had kittens. Say no more.  

We searched for the plaza mayor in Camillas last night and found somewhere to eat at the strike of midnight on the cathedral clock. 

Gotta say, we're getting a bit tired of the Spanish menu especially in the north. Every place has practically an identical menu. There is nothing remotely healthy, no fruit, little in the way of veges, the salads are a token gesture and bland and boring, and all meals contain meat of some sort. Vegetarian salad had tinned tuna! we have been subsisting on tomato salad as the tomatoes are plump and flavoursome. Having said that, if you find the right place, the version of dishes there will be outstanding. We have a rule of thumb...if they have photos of the food, a tv, or a chupa chup machine out the front, it's crap and the food will not resemble the photo. But the wine generally makes up for it!

The beach here is stunning, and early in the morning (any time before 1030 am) it is quiet and bare. The water is crystal clear and cold but not as cold as further west. At about 1030 Tony and I head to the cafe on the beach for a morning coffee and orange juice. As we sit there in the warm sun, the holiday makers start pouring in. Families and older couples make their way carrying umbrellas and beach chairs and within half an hour the beach is packed...and I mean packed. The car park, before abandoned, is now full with guards directing traffic and frustrated drivers having to turn away to find alternative parking...god knows where. It amuses us that no one seems to learn that if you come at 10 o'clock, you will get a park and a spot on the beach. It's like they are thinking that any time before twelve is obscenely early and that they are doing their best to get here at eleven.

29/7/13

Last night, after a thunderstorm...our first bit of real rain since being away from home, we found a restaurant that blew the above paragraph out of the water. We had an outstanding meal of tender pulpo in potato garlic sauce and a delicious bean and mussel dish and a baked cheese cake with a burnt toffee sauce that was gorgeous. This morning we got up early and had a swim at the beach before heading off eastward. You can lie in the sun for hours and not burn. Its heaven. As we drove out behind Camillas we saw the Picos in the distance snow capped...it must have snowed overnight. We marvelled at how we could swim and laze in the sun with snow on the mountains.

Praia de Pantin

Praia de Pantin

 (Pantin beach)

Last night was bizarre. There were few places in the town to eat and we had no supermarket supplies because yesterday was a public holiday and everything was closed. The festival area was set up basically in a cemetery, and there was a massive drinks bar set up but no food! There was a jumping castle in the shape of a giant panda on all fours looking down on children jumping around under his belly. This had the unfortunate effect of appearing as though he was pelvic thrusting in a most inappropriate manner in the direction of the children. In Australia it would have been banned or investigated or something. I belly laughed as I haven't belly laughed in a long time. A Shari belly laugh.

Sunset at ten pm over the ocean was spectacular. Hunger had set in and it was time to find food.

We searched for somewhere to eat and followed a sign saying "restaurant"...and walked up a massive hill to get to it only to find it was a bit fancy for us. So back down we went to the bar down the street to find it was big on beer and town crazies and small on food. We walked a little further on to find another bar that looked like the hotel California but without so much as a beast in which to stab with our steely knives. So back up the hill we trudged and had a lovely, if not a tad expensive, meal at the restaurant. Later we found out about a hamburger cafe hidden away near the beach. 😣

Today has been a day of surfing and beach hopping. We stocked up at the 'supermarket with no baskets or trolleys' (this was so weird...you had to bring items to the counter after picking them out from the shelves. I had Suzy doing the running), and headed to another beach. After being given the runaround by the sheila in the Tom Tom, who we have nicknamed 'that f#%^+¥% bitch', we found another magnificent stretch of sand. Suzy and I swam and it took a while before we could feel our bodies again. 

There has been a strange phenomenon happening since Portugal...every now and again, about 8 times a day, someone lets off an enormous fire cracker that sounds like canon fire. When we first encountered it in Portugal we thought someone was shooting at us, then thought that the van was backfiring, and then we saw puffs of smoke shooting up into the air in the hills. It's really loud, and gives a fright when you aren't expecting it. It must be some sort of celebration...maybe we will ask someone. 😬💥💨

It is kids with fire crackers, and it happens during fiesta time. And everyone is having fiesta time.

Praia de Pantin was the only place to be this afternoon with a nice swell rolling in, and the waves getting crowded with surfers from all over. The wind has died down and its quite warm, so I went for a swim down the front. It was effing freezing of course, but the warm air felt nice. Holy shit, there goes another cannon fire.

Tony is in his element, making friends and surfing his head off. He reckons its a $30,000 surf...the most expensive to date.

We are going to have burgers for tea, and a nice bottle of Rioja and watch the sun set on the Atlantic again.

It turns out we have happened upon the best surfing beach in Spain. We didn't know when we stopped here for lunch 2 days ago. Tony surfed for 4 solid hours yesterday which isn't bad for an old fella. Today the waves are 2m and beautiful but alas Tony has no board and we have to move on. Surfers are out there until after 10 when the sun sets. There are no sharks!

Today we will head off for Asturia where they drink cider (sidre), and where we will hopefully find another nice beach in a town where they aren't celebrating some saint or other. 

Santiago de Compostela

25/7/13

Before beginning...I have photos of Santiago on my iPhone, and getting them onto the blog is just too hard given the primitive nature of the wifi. So the pictures here are of the beaches, not the town or the food.

On the 22nd we arrived in Santiago de Compostela, an ancient city famous for being the destination on the famous pilgrim trail. The region, Galicia, was settled by the celts in ancient times. The Celtic influence can be seen everywhere including the architecture, language, knot-work designs, wine (traditionally drunk from the barrel in earthenware bowls), and the people generally. They are decidedly fairer on the whole than their fellow countrymen from the south. It is cooler here as well...I had to buy a doona...and the weather has been cloudy. Santiago has been in a thick pea soup fog at times. The seafood here is supposed to be the best in the world. They haven't been to mooloolaba obviously, but the stuff is varied and plentiful to be sure. There are creatures I have never seen before being consumed in bucket loads. Barnacles and razor clams...shell fish that look like intestinal parasites in a long cigar shaped shell, prawns, fish, and of course big fat octopus (pulpo) are what make the place famous. The pulperias are pulpo restaurants and are ubiquitous. Sorting the hay from the chaff took some local knowledge, but by that time, I was so over pulpo, it wasn't funny. Even tony has had enough of it. ( But not squids). I feel sorry for the poor creatures draped over bowls in the windows of restaurants in the old town. On our first night, we arrived at the camp ground starving and weary after driving all day from Portugal. We were told the old city...where all the action is...was a 2 km walk from the campground. 5 km later and starving, we arrived in the main square in front of the magnificent cathedral to find it crowded with people and about to be lit up with fireworks. It was day one of the yearly festival of st. James. Another bloody feast! 

We wandered into the restaurant street...a narrow little street packed with people and restaurants...including pulperias. We went into the first one before even looking further on as it was11 pm and we hadn't eaten since lunch time. Needless to say it was absolute garbage and I won't even bother to elaborate. We got wiser.

The next day we decided to explore the coast around Santiago. We found some gorgeous beaches and quiet little fishing villages. The sun even came out for us. The water was devine. We ended up at finnesterra...at point at the far west of the peninsular where the sun was setting and we watched from the craggy cliff tops. We drove the hour and a half back to Santiago and decided to stay another night and enjoy the festival. We went out and had a meal at a busy tapas bar with fantastic seafood and wine. We stood huddled at the bar to eat and it was worth standing. The chiperones...tiny battered deep fried squid was mind blowing and the garlic scallops in shells with prawns was out of this world. Another regional dish we can't get enough of is the garlic mushrooms in olive oil cooked and served in an earthenware dish and brought to the table sizzling. We started talking to a couple who were almost as bad with english as we are at spanish, but we miraculously were able to communicate quite well. We had been drinking the regional wine, Albariño, who our soon to be new friends told us they reserved for the tourists! They introduced us to the Godello...and we were instant converts. We sent suzy and daph home in a taxi, and after consuming a bellyful of the stuff we proceeded to be lead by our friends to a bar the locals go to. The rest is history.

The following day was the day daphne was leaving for Barcelona. I was feeling sad to say goodbye to her again. Even sadder for Suzy who was going to be left alone with us. Her original flight was at 2.30, but there was a mix up with time zones coming out of portugal...long story...and she missed her flight. She was able to book another one for ten pm...ka-ching. At 8.30 we left for the airport. At the campground, the police helicopter was circling overhead and the sound of sirens rang out from all over the city. We were up high on the hill so we could hear the festival and loud noises in the city. I didn't think anything of it as it was the big day for the festival and a lot was happening. We dropped Daphne off at the airport one last time and headed back for the campground with heavy hearts. We talked about treating ourselves to a "comfort sandwich" ...something nice to ease the pain of saying goodbye. We decided to head back into town to have a meal and watch the pyrotechnic show at the famous cathedral at 1130. It was very busy, people everywhere, and we noticed a crowd huddled outside a bar peering in at the television. The was footage of a train crash on the screen. On closer inspection it was evident the crash was in Santiago and it was a big one. We settled ourselves in another crowded bar and watched the news on the flat screen. The tragedy unfolded and the town was in shock. I will never forget sitting in that bar, missing Daphne, watching the sadness, listening to Dire Straits and wishing I was home.

We have moved on up the coast to chill out for a while...get away from cities. We are at a beautiful beach near Cediera in the north west called Praia de Pantin. Tony just had his first surf of the trip. It's so bloody cold in the water...there is no way I'm going in!

We will wild camp here tonight. Someone just told us there is a festival on in the town. 😳

Tony de idling to stretch his back on the footpath. This is just an example of strange behaviour on his part. It's a whole other blog.

Pimientos, my favourite.

Cinfâes

Cinfaes.

19/7/13

We took the advice of our friends and decided to go up-river on a port tasting and buying journey. We followed the river Douro along narrow winding roads along sheer drops which had me biting my nails. The river was once a fast flowing rapid which always a hazard for the port barrel boats...a lot of port was spilled apparently. Now the river has been intercepted with a series of locks which has turned it into a series of navigable lakes of different levels. Before reaching the area of port grape farms, we wound through little villages surrounding the green wine...vinho verde...grape growing area. Green wine is a very young white wine, fruity and almost tasting of aspro clear...a little fizzy but not like champagne. Very refreshing on a hot day as long as you don't drink too much. 

More about that later.😖

The mountains were glorious, all very steep and green and terraced with grapes and old houses and iron gates. We stopped at a little village, Cinfaes, to get fuel and directions to a supermarket where I needed to buy supplies for our lunch...the usual fruit, bread and cheese. The guy had so little English, all he could say was straight up and right. We went straight up and right and found a little street with a sign 'municipal mercado'. We thought this must be it so we parked awkwardly as usual and went for a walk to investigate. We came across a giant marquis with large table areas set up like an eatery. There was a big stage and sound system set up. It was a fiesta that we had run into, that was to start at 10 pm. There were a handful of people eating, so we gawked like dills for a while then decided to join them. It turned out they were food production businesses showing off their wares. There were farming cooperatives coming together like a show. We ate at the middle one where the boss, Fernando, on finding out we were Australian, proceeded to treat us like the royal family. He brought out all the specialties of the region, including half a cow from his farm. There was so much food we thought we would burst. The local wine was like a green red...it had the consistency of blood, but had a sparkle, and so astringent it made the inside of the mouth wrinkle up like a prune. There was gallons of it. Then a port. Then some rocket fuel we were supposed to down in one gulp. We decided to stay for the evening fiesta as there was no way we were driving anywhere.

After a 4 hour nap, we dressed up and ventured out to the fiesta. It was crowded with locals, and farmers and producers showing off their talents in little stalls set up like sideshow alley. There were handcrafts, small goods, leather goods, sweets, pastries, meat and of course green wine. There was a disregard for fruit and veges. We stuck out like dogs balls being the only foreigners there. It seemed word had got around that the Australians were here, and we were stared at all night long. Fernando and his wife Marissa were very hospitable, and their son Dwart was a lovely boy who spoke very good English and promptly fell in love with Suzy. The waiter at fernandos tables was a guy called Edgar who was so lovely, it was almost impossible. He and Tony became bosom buddies, and Edgar gave us some tips on where to visit.

We made the rounds of the green wine stalls, trying each one from each farm, meeting the growers, and getting sweetly merry. The rock band played their set...they were called AZ which was short for the Portuguese word for olives. Weird.

When they finished, the local folk band  started to play under the marquis and the locals all started their folk dancing. Tony and I thought it looked easy, so we joined in, me counting 1-2-3 to keep tony in rhythm. Judging by the way we were being looked at, it wasn't as easy as it looked. It was so lovely, though, the way everyone got together and danced...young and old. 

Things were going nicely, we were socialising and joining in, being included in conversation and introduced to the locals. When things are going this well, it's time for tony to drop the bombshell that has us reaching for the shovel to dig the hole in which to bury ourselves. "So, is there any more food?"

These people had already fed us for nothing, and were more than hospitable. So why tony does this is beyond me. It has something to do with what I said wasn't what I meant. We have a policy, devised by Daphne, that he has to consult with us before opening his mouth, but that cat got out of the bag. They then got up and rushed about organising another feed for garbage guts, and I proceeded to cower in the corner wishing the world would swallow me up.

20/7/13

We slept in a car park outside some houses, and apparently on of the residents was a little cranky about it. He told someone we were gypsies and would be there for a while. The next morning, I was in the grip of the mother of all hangovers. As usual, way out of proportion to how much I drank. All I could think about was green wine and blood sausages. It got worse as the morning progressed. Tony was told about a river Bestança where the water was clear as crystal and cool. I said " get me there". We decided to depart Cinfaes, and make our way along the river via Bestança. It was Daphs turn to sit in the front. I was too sick to object, so I sat in the back. We wound down and around mountain roads, taking wrong turns, winding up again, winding down again, winding around and around, up and down. I became greener and greener and felt like I was becoming like my Shari who gets motion sickness. At last we stopped looking, and found the place. Like an oasis in the desert, the river was as promised. But alas the hangover wouldn't let up. 

We continued to wind on along the mountain road with me moaning at every turn. While I was trying to hold my stomach contents down and not think about blood sausage and green wine, the others were considering the pros and cons of returning to Cinfaes to say goodbye to our friends and have another night of fiesta-ing. They decided for it and ignoring my moans for a straight highway and a hot shower, up the winding hills we go again. When we arrived at Cinfaes, our flat ground park was gone, the town crowded and we parked on a hill. It was probably just as well because old mate would have had a fit if the gypsies were back in his neighbourhood. While the others partied all night long, drinking green wine and eating blood sausage, I went to my slopey bed and crashed out, waking intermittently when the revelling got really noisy, and when the church bells rang.

After 12 hours sleep and 36 hours fasting, I was we'll on the way to recovery and awoke with my old pal hunger with me once more.

21/7/13

After leaving Cinfaês again, we went to the town of Guimarães, the first capital of Portugal, and heritage listed because of its ancient buildings. We had lunch in a little cafe, and when they just kept on bringing out the food...octopus salad, codfish croquettes, roasted pig, pippies and bread and wine (I didn't touch the wine!). I said to Tony, "this is going to cost a fortune you realise...we've just blown our budget". 3€ each later, we left stuffed to the eyeballs.

Next stop was Citânia de Briteiros, a 2000year old Celtic city/archaeological dig site.

 

We decided to take the non toll road out of here and ended up here...

The following are all the pics I have available to post. 

Unfortunately, I didn't take many pictures with the camera. There are some on my phone but wifi is too bad to send. 

Parque Campismo Salgueiros and Porto.

Parque Campismo Salgueiros and Porto.

We stopped on a town called Vila Nova de Gaia, which is a town across the river from Porto. We thought it would give us enough distance from Porto, a busy centre, but close enough to be able to get there by bus or taxi...the latter being cheaper with 4 of us.

 As with the last campground, we travel back in time to the 20th century before wifi was invented, and toilet paper was a precious commodity. Our neighbours are preparing a fire on which to cook their dinner and the smell of kerosene, that they are using to start their fire, wafts over to us and surrounds us in place of wifi currents. 

There has to be something to this Portugal that we are missing. One thing that is apparent is the nature of the people. On the surface they appear stern, sometimes almost angry but just under the surface they are warm. The smiles on their faces stay imprinted on the mind for a time after parting. The last 'obrigada' with the shop keeper or cleaner or service station attendant leaves a warm fuzzy feeling that lasts a while.

A walk to the distant toilet block at this camping ground revealed a park full of teenagers camping in tents...reminiscent of Woodford. We were told by the manager that there was a music festival on just down the road. Smashing Pumpkins and all that. 

There were places in the world I would rather be, Maleny for instance. It did strike me though how well behaved and respectful the youngsters were. In Australia, there would have been loud drunken revelling all night with no regard for other campers, but these kids would tip toe back to the campground, and sit around drinking together certainly, but talk in whispers and not smash bottles or vomit. It was so strange.

We took a taxi into Porto to have a look at the ancient town and maybe taste some port. As we neared the main part of the old town, which was centred around the river Douro, we began to wind down through narrow cobblestoned streets, at an alarming speed I might add. We passed old stone buildings with the names of popular port wines on them. This was where the port was stored and aged in barrels. In olden times, the port would be placed in barrels at the place of manufacture...ie. small family owned 'quintas' or farms dotted up the mountains along the Douro river and shipped to Porto in small ships resembling large Venician gondolas where they were stored in the port houses for ageing and then bottling and export.

Nowadays the port is still transported from the quintas but in tanker trucks and transported to the same places, but instead of being family owned, many are now owned by multinationals. This, luckily, hasn't affected the quality of the port too badly and we tasted some lovely liquor. The main area was on the other side of the river and set upon a steep hillside next to it. We found a cute little port tasting shop along the river bank where we sat as the only visitors in a stone room the owner told us was 2000 years old. We tried some Ruby port, 10 year aged, Branco or white port, Rosé port and tawny. The owner's mrs provided us with bread and cheese to put the lining on our stomachs. We all agreed that the older the port the better. It's a no brainer. The manager and his wife were so warm and friendly, that we ended up having a nice conversation with them. Pictures of grand children were brought out and they were eager to advise us on what to see. We tried to ignore Tony's embarrassing questions and statements..such as 'in Australia we are all white'...WTF? He was just trying to tell them our heritage was mainly English and devoid of tradition, but as usual it all comes out so wrong. They reminded me a little of Gian Carlo and Susannah. They advised us to travel up the Douro into the mountain country to see the quintas and towns up there.

We then went for a walk up the narrow stepped cobblestone pathways through the hillside town. The houses were ancient, and as the guide book says, 'Dickensian'. The place oozed charm. It was at this point I fell in love with Portugal. The view from the top was magnificent, with old churches, convents, and the lights of the town reflected on the river. The characteristic sea mist had rolled in and this, along with town lighting and the 3/4 moon gave the sky a purple/pink tie dyed hue that I couldn't quite capture on my camera. There was a beautiful spot where the moon was half visible through a purple haze behind a date palm next to an ancient church. I watched it for some time to imprint it upon my memory as the camera failed me.

The meal of the evening was small as we pigged out at the churrasqueira that day, so with a  gutful of squids, we opted for a light meal of garlic prawns and stuffed mushrooms again washed down with a bottle of Portuguese white. 

That night a mad taxi driver took us the long way home at 200km per hour. Daphne refused to put her seatbelt on which left me in a sour mood. Tony tried to argue with the taxi driver that it cost us 6€ to go into town, and his price of 20€ was a bit steep...but to no avail. Never mind, shit happens.