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.

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