Tapp's Travels

We discussed going to Santiago de Compostela.  Either with or without the caravan.   The reviews of the city camp-site (not universally encouraging) persuaded us to make a day trip out of the mission.  To be honest, we had fairly low expectations of the city at the focus of all these paths.  In the event, we were really pleasantly surprised.  The parking was easy (but it was Sunday) and the medieval city centre was really interesting.  The cathedral was largely swathed in scaffolding and plastic sheeting.  Lots of renos and cleaning going on but it was still very impressive.

The Parador, the Hostal dos Reis Católicos, was beautiful.  It is, apparently, regarded as one of the most luxurious and beautiful hotels in the Paradores chain.  Located on Obradoiro Square where all the modern-day pilgrims congregate next to the cathedral, it adds spectacular beauty in this, one of the most visited provincial capitals in the world.

The building first served as a royal hospital.  It was built in 1499 to accommodate pilgrims traveling to Santiago.  It is one of the many hotels world-wide that now claim to be the “oldest hotel in the world”.  It is closed to the non-resident public of course.  But we did a “Rob Laery”.  Glenda found an unguarded way in!  There’s a cafe attached to the Parador.  So I sat there while Glenda scouted the little girls’ room which just happens to be inside the back door of the main building.  There’s nothing to stop you turning left out of the loos rather than right, back to the cafe.  So that’s how we “broke in”!  And it was a really worthwhile thing to do.The parador encloses a series of four internal, cloistered, courtyards and gardens.  Absolutely beautiful and so peaceful …

Walking back to the car we passed a lot more fine old buildings…

… and a super chocolate shop …

On through the Parque da Alameda …

… with its statue of Don Ramón Maria del Valle-Inclán.

He was a famous (??? if you are interested in Spanish poetry) poet!  And he was accompanied in the park by some clever little fountains.  Very fitting, I’m sure!

We drove cross country home to investigate the suitability of the road over the mountains behind Muros for our departure from the area.  Does this sound familiar or what?

The road was straight and easy.  Until, that was, we found ourselves amongst a long row of wind turbines.  There were dozens of the things running all the way along the ridge which we can see high up behind our campsite.

In the last few kilometres to Muros, the road fell away in an alarming series of hair-pins.  “We are not bringing the caravan out this way Barry!”  Well, why would anyone want to when there’s a scenic road around the coast leading to a new motorway past Santiago?  Just looking!

Muros was jammed when we got off the mountain.  Their fete was in full swing with a traditional, local dance troupe performing to a bagpipes and drums band.  The only things missing were the kilts!

They marched through the town’s narrow streets to the main square with some of the ladies balancing (rather solid looking) loaves of bread on their heads.  As one does!

Their music, song and dance routine turned into a sort of Spanish square dancing exhibition.  This suddenly became “audience participation”.  We had to leave at this point in case we got into difficulties understanding the instructions.  But everyone was having a good time.  The town was decorated throughout in a maritime, fishing-orientated way.

One day we went for a walk around Mount Louros seen here from the campsite at the far end of the beach.

Our path started to spiral up the slopes of the mount planning to return to our car over the top.  It gave us a great view – the reverse of the previous photo.  But we’ve been over enough mountains so we went back the way we had come.

A quick check showed that the Pont Aven was indeed still running and, with two nights to go we left Muros (by the sensible route) and headed for the North coast of Spain.  Here we discovered just how horrid some of the seaside camps can be.  Cramped, noisy and downright undesirable.  We hesitated at three places (including one at which we found the couple of Coachmen caravanners we originally met at Moinhos and then again at the scene of our “accident”!) before settling down for the night about 100 miles short of Santander.  The answer is to stay at least 5 kms inland.

There are some nice coastal villages on the narrow strip between the Picos mountains and the sea.  Lastres (photo below) and Ribadesella to name but two.  But you wouldn’t want to tow a caravan into either!

While we were at Camping Villaviciosa we also visited the local, “must-see” beach – the Playa de Rodiles.  Situated at the mouth of the Ria de Villaviciosa and nowhere near the town of Rodiles!  Big beach.  Lots of parking.  Plenty of shaded picnic tables.  Miles of easy walking boardwalks.  Several cafes, restaurants and bars.  It’ll be a madhouse when the local holidays start in earnest!  But we had a very pleasant walk along the almost deserted banks of the river, a nice coffee with a view and a walk along the sand dunes.

And on the cross-country route home which was a little narrow in places – but extremely narrow most of the way, we passed loads of little “houses” perched on stone supports.

We are guessing these are the local versions of the traditional Galician grain stores we had seen lots of around the Muros area …

(Not my photo.)

We can’t leave Spain and Portugal without a comment on three of the widely practised nocturnal activities.  Firstly dogs!  One of my “favourite” subjects.  This time it’s about how the locals allow the blasted animals to howl and bark all night long.  The animals are often left alone to “guard” a property.   Maybe they have problems with visitors scrumping their cherries and oranges!  Or maybe they leave them anywhere but in their own back gardens where they would disturb the owners!  Anyway, we rarely visited a campsite which wasn’t affected in this way.

Secondly, very constructively for all concerned, bins are emptied at around midnight (if indeed they are emptied at all).  The sound of the rubbish wagon driving round the campsite at Plasencia in the dark was as regular as clockwork.  We think Iberian bin men have a clause in their contract which says no collection in daylight hours… and no collection at all in the town of Muros where garbage was stacked high in the streets (until the night before the fete when it did mysteriously disappear!).

Thirdly, cooking.  As we are turning off the lights and settling down for the night in our caravan, the Spanish neighbours will be rattling their pans and deciding what they are going to cook for supper.  I know it’s hot in the day and cool at night but I don’t think I could ever get used to eating at 11 o’clock at night!

One other thing – snakes!  The Iberian peninsula is home to 11 species of which five can be rather nasty.  We’ve traveled thousands of miles (4,300) and walked more  than 150 miles through all sorts of different, wild and remote places.   Country tracks.  Near lakes.  In mountains.  And the nearest we have come is a “possible” sighting of one wriggly thing crossing a road as we passed with the caravan.  But it could well have been a bit of a branch moving in the wind.  Well, at least one of us was a happy bunny about that!

So – the ferry home.  We arrived four hours early!  I wouldn’t want to miss a ferry.  Crossing the Bay of Biscay (which our limited experience is one of the calmest pieces of water anywhere!) we discovered that we were in the company of about 50 people on a whale watching trip.  Apparently, a third of all the whale, dolphin and porpoise species of the world can be seen in the deep waters of the Bay.  So this makes it prime whale watching territory.  I saw a number of common and bottlenose dolphins.  But the whales (beaked whales I was told) were on the far horizon.

Home to the crowded and dug-up streets of Plymouth.  Not missed that at all!

I would be interested to know who are the 60-70 people reading these bulletins.  Please let me know.

Until the next trip…