Tapp's Travels

4 NORTHERN SPAIN

Well, now we know why the area is looking so green! It’s varied from drizzly, low cloud to thunderstorms for three days now – and there’s no end in sight. All along the north coast of Spain and round the corner down to Porto. There are days more of wet stuff forecast. Salamanca and Madrid are wet and it’s said to be pouring in the Basque Country – Biarritz and Bidart. It’s wet in Carcassonne too. La Romieu doesn’t look much better. Our only consolation is that there have been flood alerts for South Devon and there are thunderstorms in Chieveley.   I wouldn’t mind but the social side of camping goes out the window in wet weather.  Everyone locks themselves away in their own little dry spaces.

Having said that, we have only been seriously rained on once while we’ve been out and about. It has proved possible to avoid the showers – but really only by random chance!

Yesterday, Saturday, we ventured all of five miles into San Vicente. It was market day so parking was a bit tight. We found a space at the port – well, strictly speaking we found five. All were dodgy for various reasons so, under instructions, I kept moving from one to another. There were beat up cars next to us, or there were two-seaters with massive doors and the final insult was a camper van parked sideways over three and a half pitches.

But eventually we got sorted and headed off towards the mouth of the river looking for a restaurant. Which we found just as the heavens opened. Annua. A two-starred Michelin place. Just what we needed at €140 a head. But while checking the menu (very slowly and very carefully), we managed to keep dry and use their toilets while the shower abated! Isn’t that what the reception areas of Michelin-starred restaurants are for?

We had an OK (if rather touristy) meal in town in the rain for 10% of the price at Annua. Then we headed off looking for a little beach to the West of town. I’d seen it on a map – Playa de Fuentes – and was sure we could find it. Avoiding all main roads – at one point having to use a grassy by-way – we eventually found the cove down 3 kms of single lane track with about three passing places.  “What are you going to do if we meet someone, John?” “Reverse – probably a long way!” “What are you going to do if we can’t turn round at the end?” “Reverse – definitely a long way!”

But we were alone and there was ample parking for at least 20 cars at the end. But if 20 cars all got there at the same time all the passengers would have had to share two beach towels to sit on. There wasn’t room for a third! Very cozy little cove – apart from the drizzle, that is. Glenda was asleep by the time we arrived (too much wine at lunchtime possibly?).  So I locked her in the car. When I got back she as sitting rigidly still. That had been the only way she could stop the alarm sounding! Oh John!

Sunday was set to be the best day weather-wise. So we planned to go back up the Saja Valley. Have a walk in the lovely open flood plain and then find lunch somewhere. It wasn’t exactly sunny but it was good walking weather. We stopped at a restaurant at a place called Valle for coffee but they didn’t want the trade so they directed us to a tiny bar/cafe across the road. Great recommendation.

Great coffee – but why do they insist on serving it in glasses – so hard to hold? Great loos too. We have yet to find dodgy toilets in Spain. I’m sure they exist – but our survey of restaurants from two star jobs down to village haunts; from bars to cafes; and campsites to public establishments has yet to find insolubrious facilities. I’m sure you are as fascinated to hear this as I am to report it!

A super three mile circular walk took us past the campsite we visited the other day, along near the riverbank and back through paddocks with horses and their foals. I’ve never seen/heard horses with horse-bells before! So that’s another first.

According to Mr Google there’s a rather nice restaurant just down the road at Selores. Unfortunately, when we got there it was closed for a private function – two babies celebrating their christenings. Rotters! More good loos though! And we were directed to another historic town, Barcena Mayor about 15 kms up the valley which apparently had lots of dining prospects.

Apart from residents, the whole village was a pedestrian precinct.  A bit of a problem as we had planned on making a circular tour which would have meant driving through the village and out the other side. But let’s worry about that after lunch. I placed the car (strategically miles from all rogue Spanish vehicles) in the generously proportioned car park on the outskirts. Glenda went ahead to find a restaurant. Then, of course, I had to find Glenda.

Views of Barcena Mayor

She was in the sixth place I tried – and there are only six eateries in town! La Solana de Barcena Mayor. Glenda had snagged the last table. Menus from €15 for three courses including wine and water. Fresh from not having spent a fortune at Annua, we elected to splash out today on the €20 menu. It is Sunday, after all! Mountain stew, white beans and venison followed by duck and sirloin steak. Homemade caramel flan and apple pastry to finish. After a couple of hours, as we left, we had to struggle through a queue of about 100 people waiting for a table. Think Glenda chose the top spot to dine. Highly recommended.

We binned the planned circular drive and headed home to our water-logged pitch. On the way one of us fell asleep – sound familiar?!  Luckily, not me! So free of questioning navigator input, I decided to find the lookout we had been told about. Not that there would be much to see in the mist – it was more of a challenge just to locate it. The only things I had to go on were that it was just north of the motorway near Comillas close to a village whose name starts with the letter “H” (or possibly an “A”).

Found it (theoretically)! It was down one of those narrow, no-passing roads. I never actually saw the lookout, but the road turned into a wonderful forest track which wound down the hill for about 10 kms. The only trouble was that it was just that – a track. Gravel, sand, mud, potholes, wash-outs… the works. And the car bouncing around woke my sleeping partner.  “Where on earth do you think you are going?” “Back home by the shortest route, darling!” The worrying thing was that the sat nav had the track showing loud and clear along with all the dubious looking side branches. Amazing stuff this technology!

That night – just for a change it rained. The ground is now super-saturated and past a joke. Next morning – I guess that would be Monday – the awning had to come down. We HAVE to move. But where to? After much research we decide to go south. Everywhere is going to get rain and thunder. And Morocco is south! So Salamanca is our target. Our second visit in less than 6 months!

But before we go we have a farewell coffee with Pia and Grant. (Up to this point they had been known to us as Mr & Mrs Oviedo for the simple reason that they had abandoned their caravan and the rain for a couple of nights to stay in a hotel in Oviedo.) Now we’ve been properly introduced!

Driving south we soon discovered that the superb system of free-to-use dual carriageway autopistas has a fault. Because there is so little traffic, the lorries never get out of the inside lane. For this reason half the road surface gets a severe hammering while the other half is unused.  So the slow lane is bumpy and lumpy while the fast lane is like a bowling green (except not green, obviously). So the Tapp-van traipses down the smooth stuff and pulls in to let past the occasional Brit speeding for the South coast. What I can’t understand is why these fast cars immediately pull back into the inside lane while we do the exact opposite behind them.

Well, Salamanca is reached in good time. We even saw the sun en route. And the ground is dry when we arrive. A novelty. We were told anywhere is OK. But we end up on half of a large pitch which is already occupied by a Dutch caravan. They weren’t best pleased when they came home. Well, honestly, they didn’t need all that space, and we promised to move in the morning. Mr Dutchman was OK about it but Mrs D was hopping. She even tried to park their car between our van and the hedge on what was, admittedly, part of their territory.  I knew she wouldn’t make it because I’d already tried to get our car into that space and failed! We’ve got to do Brexit!

There’s a river-side walk to the centre of Salamanca running right past the campsite. So we decide to leave the battle-zone and go for a walk. We got maybe half a mile before the sky turned a delicate shade of black and the rain started. B@#/^$# hell – the heavens opened! Dramatically at first and then much heavier. We just about made it back without getting soaked. Then. Hail AND waterfall-style, stair-rod-like rain. For hours.

   Hail on the roof

Our pitch turned into a pond and the caravan an island. We thought of declaring independence and raising the Union Flag (the red, white and blue version – not the one with loads of yellow stars on it) but the Dutch neighbours were watching!

Our own personal lake!

By morning the pond had shrunk but was still bigger than the footprint of the caravan. We’ve got to move for several reasons: rain, hail, puddles, mud, gunge – and, of course, Mrs D! We relocate the van to the overflow carpark and walk a couple of miles along the river bank. We are never going to get to Salamanca (it’s 6 kms away) but it’s good to have a stretch. We left town via the Leclerc hypermarket and headed south towards Morocco with a vague plan to stop at the first place with barren-looking ground. But more of that later.

Time to end this chapter.