Handbrakes, positive thinking, and the perils of tidiness

We’re still feeling lucky today – more so because we realised that we’d parked the van on a downhill slope facing the cliff, and we’d been sunbathing on the bit of beach directly underneath.  How fortunate that our would-be burglar wasn’t the sort to take the handbrake off and watch it roll.  It would have been a nasty end to our holiday, to the van, and indeed to the Spanners.

Things were put into even sharper perspective when we heard war photographer Giles Duley on a BBC World Service broadcast (and how CAN they be thinking of cutting that?).  This is a man who lost three limbs to an IED in Afghanistan, then lost his income and his home too, but who is still interested in other people's stories.  I think I would feel very bitter, but that didn’t even seem to cross his mind. The link below is nothing to do with the interview we heard -  I haven't even read this page because anything with pictures seems to suck the life out of our poor dongle - but I hope he still comes across as an amazing bloke, because that's how he seemed to us. It made us feel a bit pathetic and whiny actually. It's not like we're in a war zone, after all.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2011/oct/30/giles-duley-war-photography-afghanistan

This morning we went for a lovely bike ride from the camperstop at Quarteira....

...along to Villamoura, which is very much the posh end of town:  the gin palaces in the harbour  made the ones  in Quarteira look like toys.  Some godawful names, though, like Crystal Princess.  It soothed the envy a bit – not much, but a bit - to see such incontrovertible evidence that money can’t buy taste.

It IS a bit of a Brit ghetto here – English is spoken everywhere (often better by the Portuguese than by the Brits), and every other bar calls itself a pub and advertises Full English Breakfasts And Sunday Roasts With Pudding.  I quite fancied that, but Mike wouldn’t hear of it, and I’m grateful to him now as I am still losing weight.  The travelling life seems to suit me, so much so that I’ll soon need to make more new holes in my belt and even cut the long dangly end of it off.  OK, maybe I’m bragging a bit, but things are certainly going in the right direction.

After the bike ride we were off to see Tommy, proprietor of the only campervan shop on the Algarve, to get our new lock fixed.   Only problem was, Mike had changed the oil – without spilling a single drop on the floor – and then, getting into the general spirit of tidiness and cleanliness, I put the can of used oil neatly under the van.  I'm sure you can guess the rest, but setting off for Tommy’s, we drove over it.  There was a loud bang which we thought was a tyre exploding, and when we looked outside, we wished it had been.  There was oil everywhere, though thankfully only a drop or two on the brand spanking new motorhome parked next door, otherwise we’d still be there now washing it off.  Most of it sprayed under our own van, which I’d guess would be good on the rust-proofing front.  Also on the plus side, we were very close to the beach so could easily get sand to soak up the mess.  But positive thinking can only get you so far.  It was , actually, a bitch of a couple of hours, and I think you can probably see that Mike was less than cheery.  He may even have been wondering why I was taking pictures instead of helping, but I after listening to Giles Duley I felt it was almost my duty to document what had happened.

Mike did forgive me eventually, and I hope Mr. Duley would too.  And I did help a bit.

Oh bugger - the computer charge is on its last legs, so I’ll have to write about Tommy and the Mozzie Zappers next time.  We have a new lock, anyway.  Safe Spanners!  No idea at all if anyone is reading this, but if you are, lots of love, and don't worry - all is lovely.

Hymer 1, Burglar 0

Sines looked like a nice little pointy headland on the map so we went there, only to find it was one big oil refinery.  It seems strange that they put these things in what would be such pretty places otherwise, but it reminded me of when I used to play an early version of Sim City on SuperNintendo – the taxpayers hated power stations in industrial areas, but they all kept voting for you if you put the nukes at the seaside and threw in a fairground or two in the city centre.  

We drove on to Porto Covo, where we found a group of about a dozen vans parked up on the cliffs, and everyone sitting out and watching the sunset.  As you may be able to see from the photo, Senor Spanner is completely recovered.

We also met a really inspiring man called Martin; his muscular dystrophy is getting worse so he and his wife sold their business fourteen months ago and have been travelling more or less ever since.  He was so lacking in self-pity it was humbling, and it was a real pleasure to meet them both.  As seasoned travellers, they also gave us co-ordinates for lots of camperstops and places you can get water – very useful, as it’s definitely harder in Portugal and Spain than it was in France.

Next morning we realised it was 1^st December - we’ve been living in the van for two months!  It’s hard to believe it’s nearly Christmas when the weather is so lovely (the Portuguese snigger at our shorts and flip-flops and pull their winter coats a bit tighter as they pass),  but it also seems so fresh and exciting still that it feels like we only left five minutes ago.  We’re having to watch the cents though – thirty euros a day doesn’t buy as much as we hoped it would - so we only went a short distance down to Zambujeira and parked up next to another Hymer.  It was much smarter than ours;  it even had a vase of flowers in the front.  They were very polite Dutch people, but we could tell that they found the mess of maps and blankets and banana skins on our dashboard not quite to their taste.

The next day we were very silly, but got away with it.  It was hot, and the SatanNav had taken us along yet another sheep-track just south of Zambujeira when we saw a clifftop carpark with wooden steps down to the most beautiful beach.  It did feel a bit isolated but we didn’t really think anything of it, so we set the alarm and off we went for a couple of hours of gambolling in the surf and suchlike – it was absolutely lovely.  However, when we trudged back up to the van we couldn’t open the door:   it had been forced with a screwdriver.  When we did get in we found that the van had been ransacked - all the cupboards open and all our clothes on the floor (bit like our bedroom at home really but felt a lot less friendly).  We thought the worst, but then, one by one, we found the laptop, the satnav, the i-pod, my Kindle, the Flip video recorder, and even Mike’s ancient digital camera, and realised that our ten quid alarm system must have frightened them off.  Nothing had been taken, nothing at all, and we went from desolation to euphoria in about ten minutes.  After about half an hour we even felt grateful – we’d been reminded to be more careful for the price of a new lock. 

There WERE a few minutes, though, where Mike thought some of his clothes had gone.  I realised (again) how shallow I am when I noticed that, although I was concerned for Mike, I was actually feeling much more offended that they hadn’t taken any of mine.

Big love and hugs to you all.  In case you’re worried, tonight we’re parked up next to the beach in Quarteiria with thirty-four other vans. 

29th November - Lisbon

We found a lovely camperstop on the seafront at Belem - the place where Vasco da Gama sailed from, apparently - then got the train and metro into the centre.  We were nearly defeated by Lisbon’s ticket system: you need to buy a travel card and then charge it with enough money for the journeys you want to take, but this has to be done via a machine which only speaks Portuguese and which goes back to the start of the process if you hesitate for even a nanosecond.  If it hadn’t been for a couple of Portuguese teenagers who did it for us, we’d have had to forget Lisbon and scurry back to the van like the country bumpkins we are. When we get back we’re actually going to seek out  confused travellers to help!

We bust the budget today with lunch out in Lisbon, but it was worth it for the experience of proper Portuguese food.  At least we think it was proper Portuguese food, but it’s possible the chef put a fried banana on the fish for a laugh.

We also had our first guest for dinner in the van - Nick, also driving an old Hymer, who's taken a year out from work to travel. He can't believe his luck either.

Senor Spanner is indisposed

Mike was going to write about Sao Martinho, but we had a long old drive today towards Lisbon and visited four alleged camperstops before finally finding this wonderful place in Sintra – it’s only a town car park really, but it feels like home tonight.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mike so tired and in need of a large G&T before dinner, but four?   He is now in bed, but sends hishlove.  

San Martinho was lovely – a pretty little town built around an extraordinary, almost circular natural harbour.  There is a small tunnel through the cliffs where you can walk from the calm water on one side to where the Atlantic is smashing into the rocks on the other.  The contrast is amazing, and even though I know how it works it still seems bizarre that a few yards of stone can make so much difference.  Going to join Senor Spanner now, but off to Lisbon tomorrow, which is very exciting.  We are having such a lovely time! xxxx

Spanish motorways & Portuguese mountains

It’s been a long time since we wrote, as we have been on Spanish motorways and Portuguese mountain roads - not a dongle shop to be seen until we got to Figueira da Foz on the coast of Portugal a couple of days ago, where a very nice young man from Vodaphone made us almost sob with gratitude.  We’d been steeling ourselves for a major linguistic and technological ordeal, but Fabio spoke perfect English and even offered us a choice of pink or white.  We chose the pink:  our French dongle is white and you know the trouble we’ve had with that.  Irrational?  Don’t care.

We found Spain difficult.   Speaking French doesn’t work for a start, and neither does English very well, no matter how loudly you do it (only joking).  I’ve realised how much I love words – I get a bit miserable and shy when I can’t communicate except at the most basic level.  Mike had to force me to go to the Sunday market in Lierganes, just South of Santander, but I felt much better afterwards. I will try to remember in future that it’s better to go out into the world and say  ‘hola’ badly than to sit in a van worrying about it.   

We also struggled to find camperstops in Spain, so we cut across from Santander to Miranda do Douro as quickly as possible.  This meant driving on motorways which though spectacular in the mountains - well over  1000 metres high – meant we saw a lot of grim industrial hinterland too:  lots of derelict buildings and piles of rubbish, and block after block of high-rise flats on the outskirts of the cities.  Part of me had been expecting passion, flair and flamenco dancing on every corner (never going to happen on the route we took, or anywhere probably), and even though my expectations are more realistic now, I’m still looking forward to seeing a different side of Spain when we head to Tarifa and then back up the eastern coast through Barcelona. 

Portugal felt better straightaway:  human-size housing, flowers planted on roundabouts, and very friendly smiley people.  Driving through the mountains, a group of workers cutting down an orange tree handed us oranges as we passed, and we have had some lovely nights.  Here’s where we parked in Pinhao, halfway down the Douro valley.  Beautiful, and the owner of the bar we'd parked next to insisted we have free port.  For breakfast.

We also stayed at the Sanctuaria de Sainte Maria in a place called Vagos, which was very peaceful .  We lit candles for our friends and family and felt almost religious, but the locals put us to shame – they were crawling round the church on their hands and knees. 

Generally, we have felt very safe and welcome since we arrived here.  Well, apart from the night we were woken up and moved on by armed police.  Oh, and the night in Espinho where we couldn’t find anywhere that felt safe, so paid 12 Euros for a campsite which was fenced with razor wire and had a 24 hour guard.    If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that you have to take the rough with the smooth when it comes to camperstops – it’s never going to be perfect every night...

...which is why we’re spending a second night, tonight, in Sao Martinho do Porto.  I’m running out of computer charge tonight but will upload some photos tomorrow.  Senor Spanner is going to write tomorrow too - he is scribbling away now, finding words to describe how lovely this place is.

X

Pyrennean mountain tracks

Last time I wrote I was being all cocky about going in the sea, come what may.  However, we looked at miles of beach after Contis-Plage, and it was all the same – big, scary, crashing waves, nobody surfing, warning signs everywhere, etc.   I have never felt so insignificant in the face of the sea. Truly awe-inspiring, and worth the seven euro camping fee in itself.

Heading inland a bit, we spent a lovely couple of days at the Etang de Leon, where we parked right next to a sandy beach, free of charge, and saw the most beautiful sunset.  The photos don’t capture it at all, but hope you can see what nice parking spaces there are! 

We did get horribly drunk, though, and Skyped lots of people who probably wished we hadn’t.  Sorry folks, and don’t worry – we’re really not like that every night. 

With the weather sunny but the sea scary, it seemed like a good time to go into the Pyrenees.   Even in the foothills it was spectacular; more spectacular still when the satnav decided that our 7 foot wide van was actually some sort of mountain goat (see the so-called road she tried to take us on, below).  The locals certainly seemed to find it very entertaining watching us trying to get back down.

We’re now at Hendaye-Plage where there are no waves at all, but it’s very pretty, and also has a launderette.  Surfing may have to wait till Spain or Portugal, but at least we won’t be smelly.

We have started trying to learn Spanish – Mike bought a DVD on Ebay before we left - but after floundering through Lessons 1 and 2 yesterday, we’ve already realised that it’s much too little, much too late.   Gracias por favor?  Cerveza?  That’s about the level we’re at.

We’re heading into Spain tomorrow, and judging by the problems we’ve had with French dongles, I’d guess that it’ll be even harder to get online, with no Spanish except as described above. We may be gone some time.  Luckily we have a very good friend in Tarifa who might be able to help – we’re aiming to get there around 8^th December.

Buenas noches, amigos.

xxx

and he's a Triathlon man...

Woke up to a beautiful sunny morning at Eulalie en Born, and even though it had rained in the night, Monsieur Spanneur was dead keen on a bike ride.  So was I, actually (amazing what a bit of sun can do), so Tesco bags over the wet saddles - they don’t give you free carriers over here - we set off on the most beautiful easy ride along the banks of the lake.  Only about 8kms, but enough for poor old Madame S all the same, even though my arse is getting plus toned and petite by the day.  Every now and then along the way we saw men with guns, which - even though I know it’s almost normal over here - I still find disconcerting.  It doesn’t help that so many of them seem pissed as farts while they’re doing it.  The local commune hangs receptacles for spent ammunition on telegraph poles, but judging by the ones I’ve looked into, it’s three beer cans and a wine bottle for every shotgun cartridge.  Bizarrely though, there are SO many birds here, so maybe the French are just lousy shots.  I hope so. 

After the bike ride, the lake.  There’s a municipal campsite next to the motorhome area, and it had a sandy beach, so we thought “Why not?”  We soon knew exactly why not – it was bone-chillingly freezing.  I am sure you don’t want me to describe what it did to Mike’s testicles, which is just as well, as I would have needed a microscope (he said this, not me).  However, I did take a very nice picture of him swimming – his sunny smile making a very good job of hiding the pain.

When we got back to the van, Mike suggested a run, but by that time I’d had enough – this is a holiday after all, not a bloody triathlon – and luckily, time was getting short so we left for Mimizan....

...where the waves were HUGE.  Not just biggish, but stonking great crashing things that were very scary, even just standing on the beach.  They seemed to break very unpredictably, and there were also big 'Danger' signs everywhere warning of shelving sand and lethal currents, so we decided against it and went further south, to Contis-Plage.  Have to say it all looks a bit big here too, but we will see what tomorrow brings.  It would be very nice to get into the sea, especially as we’ve had to pay seven euros just to park here!  In England we’d be congratulating ourselves on having found  somewhere cheap to stay, but in France, seven euros feels like a personal affront.

I'm a ramblin' woman

Mimizan is a bit further than we thought, so we stopped at Arcachon (very prettily decorated Victorian buildings and great cycle paths right on the edge of the beach) and Eulalie en Born, just North of Mimizan, where we’re now parked up in beautiful woodland next to a lake.

It’s very nice going slowly.  It’s only just beginning to sink in that we don’t actually have to get anywhere (apart from Tarifa for Mike D’s birthday on 10^th December, but that’s a long way off).   It’s almost scary, how easy and comfortable this is – I keep thinking that it can’t really be allowed, then I realise that it IS – thanks entirely to our fab tenants, who have ALL paid their rent on time.  I suppose we should expect that, but actually I feel very touched by it, and so grateful that I had to be dissuaded from emailing them all with a gushing thank you.  I might still do it anyway.

France is the most fantastic country for camping-caristes.  In England you call us travellers and move us on, but here, almost every village and certainly every town has a designated space where you can park up, dump waste and take on fresh water. Most of them don’t charge, and some even provide electricity.  We’ve been buying food from local shops where we can - that must surely be the rationale for providing these places – but what a friendly and welcoming attitude it shows. 

People HAVE been lovely to us, especially at the France Passion sites where you can stay for free on farms and vineyards, and where nothing seems too much trouble for the hosts.  The last one we stayed on was a marshy field next to a vineyard, and Mike and I must have looked a bit dubious, as the first thing the farmer said to us was “No worry, I ‘ave tracteur.”  He went on to tell us that he “lerved speak English”, so we spent an quite stressful five minutes murdering one another’s languages before saying good evening in that peculiarly respectful and civilised way the French have.  Sometimes I really do wish I’d been born here.  Maybe I would have been elegant and slim, as well as being able to speak French properly.  We didn’t need the tractor, by the way, but I like to think it would have been there if we had.

The only miserable git we’ve encountered since we left England was someone we were trying to buy wine from:  she actually laughed at us – definitely not with us - when we said we didn’t know the exact year of Bordeaux we wanted, but that was the only time she even cracked a smile.  We considered walking out, but at that stage we needed wine more than self-respect (wouldn’t be the first time, I know).

Mike played me a song the other day, Ramblin’ Man, which just about sums up how I feel at the moment, especially the last line.  If you haven’t heard it, I recommend it - here’s a link:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP-N9057wiQ

Old haunts revisited

After many weeks, plusiers visits to SFR phone shops, and much testing of our rubbish language skills, we have finally got the better of Mr. C****y’s* French cousin, and now have a reliable connection.  We hope.

We’re now halfway between Perigueux and Bordeaux, having spent the last week or so visiting the area around Charroux and Chatain (where I lived from 1997-1999).  Seeing old friends and neighbours was lovely, and we were looked after very well, but – maybe because it seemed to rain most of the time - it did take me back to the struggles of living in an old house in France, and not entirely in a good way.  I have a lot of admiration for people who stick it out, learn the language and become, if not quite French, at least an important part of their local community.  I've been feeling quite sad that I didn't manage to do that myself. 

On the plus side, the van has proved to be watertight, as long as we remember to shut the air vents.  We only forgot once, and I don’t think we’ll do it again.

Going to Bonnezac almost made me cry too:  most of the house we lived in has been renovated now, but the part we were in is unchanged, even down to the three-foot-high shallow stone sink I used to wash up in – I had a twinge in my back just looking at it.  

 I also remembered Nathan and Laura, aged 8 and 5, arriving there and just coping with everything from beetles in their beds to being thrown into the French school system without speaking a word of the language.   I was – and am – very proud of them.

My barn, just across the lane from the house, has held up about as well as my French.  Once the most magnificent building in Bonnezac, it’s now not much more than a heap of very nice stone in a field.    

 

The field is bigger than I remembered, though, and apparently we could get planning permission for a whole estate of retirement bungalows – something to think about for the future? 

After all this dank rural stuff, we needed a bit of city time so we headed for Limoges, famous for its pottery.  Asking for somewhere open late, we were directed to a nightclub down a dark alley.  We were a bit confused to be handed a towel each and a locker key, but it seems that in Limoges, what you really want after your disco is a sauna. We didn't think too much of it, and the music wasn’t too bad – no Hi Ho Silver Lining anyway – but when we followed people upstairs we found that the sauna was really rather rude.   Obviously, we made our excuses and left...  

We spent today in Perigueux, wandering round the medieval streets and – naturellement – visiting a branch of SFR, where we discovered that not every SFR employee is an Anglais-hating sadist, and also why everyone seems to smile when Mike says his name – Michael Jones is apparently a rather saucy pirate in a TV show.  How fitting.

Tomorrow we’re heading for Mimizan, hoping for surf and sunshine. 

Much love to you all,

Madame Spanneur

 * Mr C****y is Susie & Nick’s alarm clock.  All extremely annoying technological/electrical gadgets – such as our dongle - are related to him. I did try to explain this to the SFR employee, but rather predictably I had to give up.

The dongle says 'non'

Dear lovely friends,

It’s been a long time since we could get onto the internet.  Don’t want to bore you with the hours we’ve spent in mobile phone shops where seemingly nice French people nod and say ‘toute a fait’ but are actually lying par leurs dents, but it has been incredibly frustrating.  Our cle –dongle – has attitude too.  Sometimes it will, sometimes it won’t, but mostly it won’t.  It’s been great to find a Wi-Fi hotspot today, at L’Aiguillon sur Mer.  We've been parked up here for hours, revelling in the sheer connectivity of it all. 

We’ve been in France a week now, charting a more or less straight course from Calais to Les Sables d’Olonne.  We’ve stayed on beaches, at a goat farm (nice cheese but very goaty), 

at a vineyard (verrrry nishe wine), and in a car park (not nice at all), and we’ve only spent £15 on campsites since we left.  Tomorrow we’re off to a place called St Trojan on the Ile d’Oleron – there’s a surf school there, so we’re hopeful.  Our wetsuits are all dry in the top-box, and I don’t think I’ll feel proper-holiday-like till we’ve been in the sea.

It feels like ages since we were in England, but even so, a campsite in Worthing sticks in the memory as somewhere NOT to stay. It must regrettably remain nameless - we have nothing good to say about it whatsoever and don't want to get sued - but it begins with a D.

When we arrived, our hosts sighed.  Even when we paid they sighed, which takes a certain sort of idiocy.   When we told them we’d have to leave at 8.15am, they sighed again: “We’ll have to set the alarm then”, they said, gloomily. 

Next morning was beautiful:  crisp, clear and sunny.  We made the mistake of remarking on it - 'nice morning', we said, as you do.  They glared at us.   'All the better for being up so early' was the pointed reply.  There was a blackboard in the reception area on which was chalked “Hello and welcome”.  It was doing a much better job than the owners, that’s for sure.

Lots of love to you all,

M. et Mme. Spanneur

Close (very) to Gatwick

Hello lovelies,

Hope this finds you well.  We are fine after a manic tour of Wales and the North, but our campsite for tonight (advertised as leafy Surrey countryside) is at the end of what must be Gatwick's busiest runway.  It's good for my flying phobia though - no planes have crashed yet, and there have been a hell of a lot of them.

Our first full day off tomorrow, which will be nice.  It'll be a good time to sort out all the cupboards in the van, which were packed in a hurrry and contain a lot of stuff we don't need, making it harder to find the things we do - like passports, which we finally found after a two-hour search yesterday.  Remind me to listen next time Mike says he's found a safe place for something. I think we might also spend a bit of time looking for a new campsite.  We can see the passengers' faces from this one. 

We have been having lovely healthy food and so far it's all been free, thanks to my brother Rob's allotment, accountant Fiona's vegetable garden, and schoolfriend Claire's muck-heap (the best pumpkins and courgettes you've ever seen).  We are hoping to be unrecognisably slim by the time we come back.   Proper cooking photos below:

Rosemary and Rob's butternut squash.  Mike's gin & tonic (honest, guv)

Squash, tomato, onion & chilli soup.  Lovely, and cheap too - gives us hope that our budget might even work.

Time for bed now.  Mr Spanner and I have matching earplugs, you'll be pleased to hear.

Mrs S.  x

 

STILL three weeks to go

Nothing for months, then three jobs come along at once.  We're still leaving the house on 1st October (gulp), but roleplay from 12th-14th means a month's living money once we're on our way, so we've said yes.  The plan is to spend the spare time up North visiting Mike's mum and the kids, which I'm very glad about - a much nicer way to leave the country, and a much gentler introduction to living in the van too. 


Even the ferry crossing will be cheaper.  We were going to sail from Plymouth, but as we're working in Sussex on 14th we're now booked from Dover to Calais on 15th. Truly, the Universe is smiling on the Spanners!

Three weeks to go

You didn't think we'd really do it, did you?  Neither did we, but somehow the tenants move into our their house on 1st October, and we move into the van.  How the hell did that happen?


Well, we know how, really.  Our income started to drop, we fiddled while Rome burned, and eventually our options narrowed down to this:  stack supermarket shelves and stay here, or rent the house out and run away.  The open road it is, then.  But I do like to think we did it on purpose.


Righty-ho, on with the packing and cleaning and sorting out.  There's a lot of it to do, and tenants, if you're reading this, I apologise in advance and hope you will find some use for all the things we couldn't flog at the car boot sale. You'll be able to make smoothies and cappuccinos to your hearts' content, soaking your toes in the vibrating foot spa as you wait for the alfalfa seeds to sprout in their special propagation tower.  But you probably won't.  We never did, and we actually paid good money for all this stuff.
 
My friend Michelle is moving house next week and is also in the middle of packing and cleaning.  We've both found furry things under cupboards, but hers was an ostrich-feather fan and mine was a mouldy mug.  Says it all really, but I'm not downhearted - maybe it's a sign that moving into a rattly old van and living on turnips for the foreseeable future is the right thing to do.


If it sounds like I'm scared, I am.  But I don't mean to moan: Mr. S and I feel incredibly lucky to be able to do this, and although it's frightening to be packing up and leaving without really knowing where we're going, it's also very exciting.   The worst thing is leaving our lovely friends.  We will miss you very much, but want you to know that we will think of you often as we're forced to spend yet another day playing in the surf, exploring ancient towns, or strolling on verdant hillsides.  Seriously, we really will miss you.  


Big love from Mrs. S.

xxx