Brittany and Normandy – and the end of this trip

After an overnight stop in a free Aire de Camping Cars close to our (now back in the UK) friends John and Marguerite at Selles-sur-Cher (it was a real shame to have missed them) we arrived on the coast of Brittany near an old favourite of ours, Pornic. Even more popular and busy than we remembered it when we had free camped on the beach at nearby St Marie de Mer with the kids oh so many years ago, Pornic still has a charm and Breton feel – although we were glad we had opted for Plaine-sur-Mer just a few kilometres up the coast which was a lot less busy but just as charming.

This area is known for its seafood and the ‘sheds-on-stilts’ fishing shacks that line the coast and Plaine was no different.

We were really lucky to get a pitch at Camping Guichardière, as not only was it the weekend of the final of the Euro football cup, but we were well and truly on the start of the French ‘grand vacances’ period. We were offered the only pitch vacant for the time we wanted – and it was just fine, with loads of space and the site itself just 300 metres from the beach and boasting an adjacent cycle path into the nearby town of Plaine.

 

Although we had free camped here in the mid 90s, the boom in campervan ownership and other live-in campers had led to a severe restriction on where campervans could park. Being France of course there were plenty of well provided for Aires nearby, but none of them matched the ‘on-the-beach’ experiences we’d had back in the day. Indeed it looked as if the area had even planned against bigger live-in campers explicitly – we’ve never come across signs like these before!

And so, with an evening walk along the beach and the sighting of thousands of oyster and mussel shells confirming for us that we must make the effort to get out to a local eatery whilst here… we headed back to the site for a proper steak BBQ instead! (We had already shopped for the meat – honest!) Of course we could also have taken one of the local options for ‘pêche-a-pied’ – the gathering of a range of shellfish directly from the rocks at low tide, with strictly set out sizes and quotas per person – what a great way to get fresh shellfish if you know what you’re doing! Lucky for the local shellfish population though, we missed the low tides….

The weather was amazing and with temperatures in the high 20s we found it very easy to laze by the pool, the van, or just cycle along the coastal pathways – all of them picturesque and affording views of the crazy ‘stilt huts’ around every bend.

This part of France has a very distinctive feel and at the end of one of our coastal evening meanders, we spotted a makeshift tented area on the beach where, after taking a promenade, the locals could, for a few Euros, enjoy a ‘sardinade’ where bread and sardines were all the menu offered by way of food. The signs advertised that it kicked off at 6.30 and, as we walked past at 7.00, it was already rammed, leaving no space for linguistically challenged English folk to try and nab a table… Still, we’d spotted a couple of promising eateries not far away and we promised ourselves that we’d head off one night – but not this night, as we’d organised our own seafood extravaganza back at the van…except the ‘one, maybe two’ glasses of chilled rosé that accompanied our blog updating at the bar soon turned into a one litre carafe and a ‘pizza parisienne’ that took no prisoners!

One of the other interesting things about this bit of coast is the proliferation of plots of land that have been bought up and used as ‘private’ mini camping grounds. Some had what looked to be water, waste and electricity and most had a resident caravan, campervan and/or tent. They were all pretty well tended and had a cool vibe about them – almost a commune of campers who had their own little get-away for the weekend or longer stays. Some even had mini allotments to augment the provisioning!

The next (and final) night of our stay in Guichardière turned out to be the footie final – with everywhere (including nearby restaurants and bars) given over to supporting ‘Les Bleus’ (and then absorbing their loss to Portugal in extra time) – so we reconciled ourselves to returning to this area in the future for a shellfish spectacular, and decided to award ourselves a consolation prize of tucker out at Dieppe the night before we got the ferry back to Newhaven – as I write this section only two days away!

Before then though, we decided to give a bit more of north west France an explore and after a short hop up the fast roads from St Nazaire to Caen, we stopped off at Pontaubault near Avranches and Mont St Michel. We’ve both been over to the ‘Mont’ before so decided to take the opportunity of exploring the nearby village of Pontaubault and Camping Vallée de Sélune. This site is excellent value as at €14 without ACSI discount (and no electricity for us) and it offers plenty of grassy pitches (some sloping – note the use of the giant ramps here!), a village nearby for essentials, and a convenient ‘voie verte’ that goes in one direction to Mont St Michel, and in the other, almost to Paris (at least that’s what the site owner David told us!).

We only ventured as far as Ducey on the eastern leg of the voie verte, enjoying the site of the disused railway bridge designed by M Eiffel en route and a glass of wine at our turning round point in Ducey. The cycle path is a real treat of well-maintained (and EU co-funded) investment and as we passed by so many desirable houses, our thoughts turned again to what returning to the UK might mean as potential non-EU residents…

After a tranquil night’s sleep we bade farewell to Camping Vallée de Sélune, its idiosyncratic level crossing barrier and its affable and very helpful English owner David, both Mrs B and I were thinking that we’ll likely make a return trip to this area as part of an amended route to Dieppe – or other French port depending on whether the French will continue to support the ferry link to Newhaven or not – already under threat before the referendum result!

And so the last leg of the 2016 summer trip commenced – with the obligatory stop at a local supermarket for some bits and pieces to remind us of mainland Europe once back in the UK!

Usually we set a well-rehearsed route back to Dieppe – but as we were coming from much further west than we have for a while, we opted to take a more scenic route along the coast once we had cleared Caen. Unfortunately, my attention to road signs must have lapsed at some point and we ended up taking a slightly longer (but very pretty!) wander around the Seine estuary as we headed east. We’d also remembered that our overnight camper stop at the Dieppe port last year, whilst convenient for a good choice or restaurants as well as the ferry, also meant we got to hear the arrival of the night boat and the disembarkation. So, in search of a quieter night, yet still somewhere to have an enjoyable ‘last supper’, we opted for St-Valery-en-Caux with its 50 van capacity Aire de Camping Cars (€6).

They’re funny things these coastal Aires, with many of them (especially near ferry ports) very busy. They also tend to follow the ‘car park bay’ layout in that your choice of which way round (and where) to park is predetermined. This means that vans are cheek-by-jowl and would cause your average Caravan Club warden to have kittens about the fire hazard! The fire risk tends not to bother us – and it’s down to luck whether you have considerate neighbours, so we only tend to use them with an ulterior motive (the nearby ‘Restaurant du Port’ in this case) and just as a place to sleep. And how lucky were we – the very last bay was waiting for us to reverse into – less daunting than it looks with the great turning circle these Ivecos have!

 

 

And sleep we did, with no disturbances from ferries – just fond memories of a delicious seafood meal taking on the usual cheese-board-fuelled oddities of dreamland! Of course, being our last night it rained (as now seems customary) just enough to prepare us for the UK.

Morning brought more dull weather and, as I was getting the van ready for departure, a lecture from a fellow (French) camper about the poor behaviour of one of our (English) neighbours who had emptied his waste tank under his van – and consequently under the French neighbour’s van as well. We really don’t get this un-neighbourly approach, which seems depressingly common amongst a number of British campervanners on Aires – and even some campsites. It’s not unique to the Brits of course, but when I pointed out to the owner when he surfaced that he might get an on-the-spot fine if the Gendarmes should pass by, he seemed non-plussed and passed it off as an ‘accident’. Hmm…

As I write this we are on the ferry back to Newhaven – grateful to have had yet another fabulous tour around mainland Europe and already looking forward to the planning of our next van adventure! As with last year’s trip to Italy, the final entry for this trip (to follow shortly) will be a summary of some of the key data (costs, distances, fuel consumption etc) as well as a map of the places we visited.

Thanks for reading – and if any of you are also blogging your own van trips, do send the links so we can add them here!

Until next time…

S.

The Tarn Gorge and on to Brittany

Having really enjoyed our luxy stay at Serignan Plage, and the bonus of steady hot weather, we decided to pick our next stop not too far from the weather system that was sat over the Med. And so we found ourselves heading for the Tarn Gorge and a riverside campsite at St-Rome-de-Tarn. Although we knew it from an overnight stop at the amazing ‘Les Raspes’ hotel and restaurant from a trip by car years ago, we’d never really got to know the area, which is truly spectacular with its steep valleys and meandering rivers.

We arrived at Camping la Cascade (€17) just as reception was opening (after the customary closure for lunch that is typical on many French sites), and having marveled at the scenery as we got closer and full of anticipation for a river-side pitch. Having learned that it’s often best to give the maximum time for a potential stay in order a) not to be moved and b) to get a good chance of a decent pitch, we were rewarded after saying we may stay for five nights, with a pitch that overlooked the bend in the Tarn river that the site was strung out along.

The temperature had risen steadily as we descended from the road that ran along the ‘Parc naturel des grandes causses’ at about 1km above sea level, and as we pulled up on our sun-drenched pitch, the external gauge reached 36c and the temperature activated fans that boost the fridge exhaust vent kicked in for the first time on this trip. Although they sound a bit like a hovercraft has pulled up alongside the van, they help enormously with air-flow and keep the fridge working – and those ice-creams frozen!

After setting up camp and making sure the awning was giving as much shade as possible, the temptation of the Tarn was too much to resist and I was soon splashing about like a five-year old! River swimming can be a variable experience but this was excellent, very clean, warm and no real current to speak of – and there was even a diving platform! Diving from this caused much hilarity with the locals, as my swimshorts were unable to maintain their position around my waist after a near perfect racing start off the platform turned them into ankle draggers….

Luckily I was able to execute an underwater retrieval and surfaced with a smile…

As we started to get ready for a barbecue and an evening of fun overlooking the amazing view, we realised that our little piece of paradise was shared with large numbers of flies… OK, we’re used to flies on inland sites but there was clearly a fly party going on here and it was only the BBQ smoke and onset of evening that brought some relief!

The next day dawned cloudy, so we decided to take a walk into St-Rome – hoping that staff at Les Raspes wouldn’t recognise us as the English couple that famously ate another (French) couple’s fish course as well as their own in a gastronomic feast littered with linguistic confusion never to be forgotten… Luckily the town was asleep by the time we had walked up from the river, pausing to admire the view of well-tended allotments against a backdrop of ancient terraced hillsides on the other side of the river.

St-Rome-de-Tarn is one of those photogenic places that France excels at, and even though we’d been here before, we were struck again by the attractiveness of the village and its riverside location.

Returning to the campsite in the rising heat – and needing a cunning plan to escape the friendly and attentive flies, we decided to explore by river. Faced with a choice of canoe or pedalo, we set off at a stately pace in what was clearly a child-sized pedalo, as even my short legs struggled to turn the crank comfortably (Mrs B, as those who know her will imagine, found the pedals even more of a challenge!). Dwarf-sized craft aside, the river gave us some fabulous views, including our peachy pitch…

… the waterfall the site is named after…

…the amazing gorge sides, including loads of caves…

…St-Rome-de-Tarn itself…

…and after our return of the by now almost sinking pedalo, Mrs B enjoying a swim in the Tarn herself!

With the weather set to stay hot, as if by magic (or 20+ years of travelling together) we both suggested it was time to leave the delights of the Tarn and its flies, and head off the next day for a coastal location as we headed north and the last few days of our trip. Of course, we had to have a farewell party on the pitch and as we were nowhere close to any other campers, we treated ourselves to an evening of our favourite tunes with dinner as the sun set over the hills. And as darkness descended, and the tunes migrated from our favourite French bands to more ambient chill, we had our own mini lazer show setting hundreds of red stars dancing across the nearby trees and the river. Mrs B has often teased me for packing a mini lazer light show amongst the camping essentials, but tonight made it all worthwhile! Unfortunately, we were having such a good time we forgot to take any pics – but I’m sure you can imagine the vibe!

And so instead of five nights of river-side paradise, we set off after only two – leaving some fabulous memories and a good number of flies behind as we headed for the north west coast and Brittany – not quite the most direct route home but one we fancied all the same!

S.

The Circle Sea; A game of two halves

Sérignan is just a short potter from Loupian and we were soon there, having shopped en route to pick up some regional goodies for the next few days, including a couple of Tielle Sétoise, little squid and tomato pies that are popular in this region, plus a few bottles of the lovely pale southern rosé, of which we’d become rather (too) fond over the past week.

We were looking forward to some more Mediterranean seaside swimming, having not been in the Med since Oliva in early May. We’d chosen another Yelloh! branded campsite, as in Portugal, partly as it was the only one along this stretch with a few days left on ACSI discount but also because it had direct beach access.  The campsite, Aloha, was almost at capacity at the start of the school summer holidays when we arrived, but we were given a choice of several emplacements by the lovely young staff and were soon installed under the trees on a spacious pitch.

These 5 star sites have been quite a revelation to us this year and this one was even better than the last, with a full range of shops, pools, waterslides, jacuzzi and entertainment programme, as well as super modern shower blocks and a launderette.  With our morning baguette and croissants less than a hundred metres away, there was no need to venture far and we just relaxed, beached and swam most days, along with a bit of exploring on the bicycles.

Not far from the site is Valras Plage, a substantial resort town, and you can get a small ferry boat, the Lily Passeur, across the estuary to get there, so after a couple of days sunning ourselves, we hopped on the bikes for a morning cycle and lunch out. 

It was a pleasant ride on the flat, past the horses grazing on the marshes, attended by the ubiquitous egrets common to this type of terrain.

Also along this stretch of road are several stalls selling local produce, including tomatoes and courgettes grown in the adjacent fields.  I love tomatoes this fresh – you can just small and taste the sunshine, and we made a note to stop by later. By luck, we arrived at Valras on market day, just in time for a quick wander around before settling down for lunch.  It’s much more touristy here and whilst our lunch was perfectly pleasant, it didn’t have the same nice low key vibe that we’d enjoyed at Méze a few days previously – and there were so many (too many) places to choose from!

From here we caught the boat back and then cycled the few kilometres into Sérignan itself, an attractive little town, and after an afternoon ice cream, we pedaled back to Aloha along the cycle paths that run all along this stretch, including one that goes out to Portiragnes and the Canal du Midi and further, to Cap D’Agde, with its many nudist campsites.  We were slightly tempted . . . I spent time on a naturist site in the former Yugoslavia many years ago and loved it, but I suspect that the Southern French version may be a tad more commercialised these days!

Back at Aloha, another evening cooking session – outdoors most of the time here. . .

 

We’d looked at the entertainment programme for the bar and thought we probably wouldn’t venture there, but sitting outside the van one evening we both began tapping our feet to Red Beans and Pepper Sauce, the French funk rock band that were playing that evening, and were tempted over for the last 45 minutes or so of their set, which included an excellent rendition of Motorhead’s The Ace of Spades!  The bar was rammed with young, old and everyone inbetween having a good time, as did we.  Another preconception quashed!!

http://www.redbeansandpeppersauce.com/

All too soon it was time to go.  It had been full-on here; busy, noisy with families and almost at capacity, but we’d had a great time and were sorry to leave.  As we left, our wristbands were cut and our €50 deposit returned.  It seemed odd to have these attached on arrival and the first time we’d experienced it, but pretty sensible on a site this size with so many visitors.

We will certainly return to this area in future – in fact as I write this I can just imagine sitting under the trees on a balmy evening with a plate of local oysters and a glass of chilled wine, mmm …..


J.

Coast to Coast – from the French Atlantic to the Med (again!)

One of the great things about travelling in the way we do is the flexibility it allows. When we were first planning this trip we envisaged a chunk of time exploring Spain’s northern costas, meandering through Galicia and across Asturias and Cantabria, followed by a quick leap across the Pais Vasco and the Pyrenees to meet up with Chris and Sue again in Salies de Béarn, south east of Biarritz. Then we found out that our lovely granddaughter Ada Mae (or ‘La Nieta’ as we often call her) would be arriving with her Mum Lucy at Salies more or less at the time we would be in northern Spain. So, not wanting to miss an opportunity to see La Nieta after two months away, we re-shaped our plans and decided after our stay at the amazing Paxariñas, to save more of the beauty of northern Spain for a subsequent trip.

After the sunny stop in bird heaven near Burgos, we watched the weather deteriorate as we neared the Pyrenees. This was entirely fitting and matched our disbelieving and darkening mood post-referendum result, as we travelled in our Italian designed, and Spanish-built for export to the UK van. We’re still struggling to come to terms with returning to a country where more people voted for an essentially anti-Eurpoean agenda than for it…

We’d never crossed the border this way before (Arnéguy) and had looked forward to the spectacular scenery we had read about – as well as the easy access to Salies on the other side. Sure enough though, the clouds and mist came down to greet us and we enjoyed the endless switchbacks more as a test of driving skills in wet weather, than for the views. At least we had a chance to check that the fog-lights were still working.

With an appreciation for water that only the English could fathom, we descended from the clouds/rain and opted for a campsite with a ‘babbling brook’ promised in the blurb near St Jean-Pied-de-Port at €19 (more raging torrent than brook in the overnight thunderstorm…) but then woke to a sunny sky for our last leg over to Salies. Hurrah!

Chris and Sue are making steady inroads into the conversion of their massive French farmhouse into a new home in a really beautiful part of France. Having not long shed the responsibilities of renovating a house in Spain ourselves, it was easy for us to see and appreciate the enormous amount of work that had gone into things that would never really be obvious to subsequent visitors (think cesspits, cubic metres of concrete, roof repairs and chemical warfare against the myriad pests). We hope to make a visit on a regular basis each time we are in France and will be keen watchers of the progress.

Although getting the chance to fire a shotgun for the first time (and even hitting the target!) was a highlight of the visit to Salies for me, seeing La Nieta again after such a long time was priceless. We couldn’t believe how much she’d changed and that she now looks even more like her dad Laurence (minus the beard of course!) and after an initial fairly frosty reception from her we were soon overwhelmed with the irresistible pull of Nieta-fuss we’d missed so much. (It was of course also lovely to catch up with Chris and Sue and Lucy…!)

Keen to show Julie and me what a pair of wusses we were, Lucy suggested a swim in the river at nearby Sauveterre. Needless to say, we left the icy plunging to Lucy and Chris and after hearing their exclamations of ‘it’s a lot colder than yesterday!’ echoing across the river as the current pulled them downstream, we heaved a sigh of relief as the plan was revised to head off to a nearby bar sooner rather than later. Lucy and I took the steep route up the steps and decided to take this photo as we gathered our breath and let our heart rates settle before meeting the others at the bar.

It was at the bar that we met the ‘demi-peche’ for the first time. Draught beer with a slug of peach syrup might sound wrong, or even rank to those who have never tried it, but it turned out to be surprisingly refreshing! After a fun evening barbecue back at the farm, we were treated to another tranquil night’s sleep parked in the yard at the front of the farm, as last year, beautifully quiet and dark.

Next day we’d intended to have a classic French lunch – but it being a Sunday, all the places that Chris and Sue tried were booked, so we headed off to a Vide Grenier (car boot sale with panache) in a nearby village and had some very tasty saucisson et frites amongst lots of French families having a great day out.

You never know what you might find at one of these events, and Chris and Sue came home with a new kitten to join the cat already resident at the farm. They’d been waiting for one to come along, and sure enough this one did!

And so with mixed feelings of sadness at leaving La Nieta and co – and excitement at a return to the Med to catch up (eventually!) with an old friend currently touring in the Herault departement in the sunny south, we bade our farewells to our hosts Chris and Sue, and bonus visitors Lucy and Ada Mae!

The journey along the Pyrenees and over to the Med near Méze to catch up with Dave and Jan was a classic southern sojourn – the closer to the Med we got, the bluer the skies and the hotter the temperature. We broke the journey near Foix at camping L’Arize (€15) where the American receptionist warned us about the pitches near the river being a bit waterlogged after the recent heavy rains – and that if we did park there we were on our own and no conferring. So, rather than opt for a nice safe hard standing (and clearly in need of more babbling brook experiences), we set up camp in a very pretty pitch next to the river.

It was only after we drove off the pitch the next morning and we saw how much our ramps and grip mats had sunk into the ground that I realised we had probably erred on the wrong side of a pretty pitch versus the safe one Mrs B had advised!

The journey over to Méze was fast as we took the autoroute, being keen to make sure we got a pitch at the site at Loupian where we had agreed to meet up with Dave and Jan. This meet has been at least five years in the making, as every year we had talked about meeting up as each of us wandered around bits of southern Europe – and at last we had managed it!

Dave and Jan are big fans of this bit of France – which is largely new to us. And what a revelation – we’d pretty much assumed that it was all over-developed tourist hell – but no – there are some real gems to be found. And Loupian was one of them. Situated on the Etang du Thau east of Béziers, this lovely old village has a well-appointed municipal site – much better than might be implied by this old sign we came across!

We have come to love the enormous pitches frequently found in French campsites and this was no different. Dave and Jan had reserved us a pitch adjacent to theirs – and between us we had plenty of sun and shade – perfect! And although this site was off the ACSI tariff, we were able to get a deal without electricity for under €15 – no doubt a product of it being run by the municipality.

Loupian itself is a small village with plenty of southern charm and enough amenities to support a decent stay. So nice, we’ll probably come again!

There is also a ‘voie verte’ (cycle/walking path) that runs alongside the campsite and into the much larger and nearby town of Méze – where we went the next day after a very pleasant (and intoxicating!) evening round at Dave and Jan’s. Although the ‘beach’ at Méze is on the inland side of a massive ‘etang’ (lake) it is still super pretty and very relaxed.

After hitching our bikes to a nearby post, we settled down to lunch at one of the eateries that overlook the small harbour. Of course it had to be ‘moules et frites’ (mussels and chips) with a jug of the local rosé – like much of our trip those clichés are just too hard to avoid!

After a fab couple of hours munching moules and downing the rosé, we cycled back to the site at a slightly slower pace than our outbound trip – at  least we did – Dave and Jan who are clearly more aclimatised than us to the joys of southern lunches kept up a steady pace on the voie verte and at one point were just dots in the distance…

Having put in so much effort cycling, eating and drinking we fell into an easy post prandial torpor – siesta time suddenly makes so much sense! Slowly coming round to the realisation that dinner for the four of us was round at ours and not far away, I launched into my classic (and, I’m told, tortuously slow!) prep for a seafood risotto and as darkness fell we enjoyed another evening of tucker and wine. It’s great fun sharing food and drink with like-minded peeps and as the evening drew to a close, we all agreed that we’d not leave it quite so long before we caught up again!

Dave and Jan were staying at Loupian for a further night, so after saying our farewells and thanks for the intro to this area to our two chums, we left them in peace as we headed off to another site actually on the Med that they had recommended.

Next stop Serignan plage!

S.

Paxariñas, Pilgrims, Birds and some Very Bad News.

As we trundled into Camping Paxariñas, sometime after 8pm, we were surprised to find Reception still open, but of course, this is Spain, land of late nights and leisurely morning starts.  After a quick look around we tucked ourselves in on a pitch one row back from the sea view and after a quick supper went to bed.  As a sleepy morning dawned, two grumpy campers rubbed their eyes and decided to look for an alternative spot! During the night road noise and locals using the adjacent beach car park had disturbed our sleep, but given the blue skies and lovely location we weren’t minded to move campsites.  And so we moved here . . .

Right on the front line and in amongst the potentially noisy weekend visitors.  Spain is well known for its lively weekenders, where permanent caravans or cabins (or both) are sited and used from Friday through to Sunday as a meeting place with friends and family.  This site was crammed with weekenders, an eclectic raggle taggle of quirky ‘vans and cabins, some almost touching from one pitch to the next. Whilst setting up our pitch we watched in amazement as a couple built a small wooden cabin on their pitch to house an enormous ‘fridge freezer – all in a morning!  Our pitch looked to be on the site of a recently dismantled caravan/cabin set up and was the only one with a front line view out towards the Isla de Ons, and our neighbours a lively, friendly group of thirty somethings, so it was with slight trepidation that we set up camp. The views though, were stunning.  We had a beach this way . . .

And that way . . .

And a path to get there . . .

And in the evenings we could look out across the sea to the most amazing midsummer sunsets . . .

And apart from a noisy rendition of happy birthday on the Friday night at about 1am, we weren’t disturbed at all. 

During our six night stay here we spent a lot of time just relaxing on the beach and up by the camper.  This little peninsula is just beautiful . . .

We went into nearby Porto Novo on the bikes and bought locally caught fish from the market for the barbeque, and the best steaks ever from the butcher.

We didn’t want to leave, but the clock was ticking and we were due in France at the weekend, so we set off for a campsite near Burgos on Thursday morning – and what an eventful 24 hours were in store.  Note the date, 23^rd June.

The drive was an easy and interesting one and we arrived at Camping Santiago around 6-7pm.  We’d more or less followed the Pigrims’ Route all the way, passing Santiago de Compostela within an hour of leaving the Pontevedra Peninsula.  It was fascinating to see the pilgrims of all ages, trundling along the footpaths alongside the road, or sprawled out in the shade at roadside stops and in restaurants and cafés all along the route.  We’d not even realised that we’d be following this route other than noting that Santiago will be on our list next time we visit – soon we hope, as we loved this part of Spain.

The small and picturesque campsite where we stayed, which is on the pilgrim route near Castrogeriz, is lovely, overlooked by an old Templar castle and shaded by trees.

The owner is a keen birder and the site is well known for its wildlife.  At the point we arrived, a group of Dutch campers were showing a film in the site restaurant that one of them had made, about Golden Eagles and Vultures, some of it filmed in the area, and as we headed to the pitch we saw a hoopoe on the pitch next door.

After an outdoor supper, we settled for a peaceful night under the stars with dedos cruciados for a stay vote in the referendum back home.

The first thing we did was check the news next day in the café (no phone signal here).  The mood was one of disbelief from the Spanish newsreaders and one of bewilderment from our fellow European campers, from Holland, Germany and France.  Mine was disbelief.  I felt sick, tearful and ashamed to be British.  Here we were in Europe, enjoying the hospitality and culture of our neighbours and a bunch of little englanders had decided that we would no longer be part of Europe.  Words fail me.  The rest of the day was spent in a daze.  We’d arranged proxy votes before we left and so had been part of the stay vote, and a small ray of light was that our home town, Brighton, had voted to stay – almost 70% of those who voted in fact, along with London, Scotland and Northern Ireland.  Elsewhere in the UK though, it was a dismal story.  As we chatted with fellow campers, our Dutch neighbours talked about the far right in Holland, and a minority group who would like to leave, and we’d seen an extensive poster campaign in Portugal, from a leftist group, also urging exit.  However, there seemed to be little support for either of these outsider groups who are seen in the main as extremist and poorly informed.

As we left Burgos, having benefited, for the umpteenth time, from our ACSI camping card discount (Dutch), secure in the knowledge that our road recovery with ADAC (German) was the best we could find - and no equivalent cover available via a UK company, we reflected on the isolationist mindset of some of our fellow Britons with despair, and could only watch at a distance as the UK descended into political chaos.

J.

A slice of northern Portugal en route to Spain

And so, with the weather set for more rain, we set off along the Douro valley from Vila Chã, half hoping that the weather would improve and we’d fetch up on a lovely ‘quinta’ (wine producer) with a restaurant where we could eat and then sleep over in the camper until the next morning…

It didn’t quite work out like that though, and although the scenery was amazing (steep valley sides covered by hundreds of quintas, fabulous river views and interesting little villages) the rain only lifted briefly, and just long enough, to squeeze in a pic of this Douro cliché through the van’s side window…

And the decision to track the river bank from Porto all the way was a mistake – pretty yes, but tortuously slow and all the best bits are closer to the Spanish end of the river. So, by the time we had reached Peso de Régua, we decided to take up one of Maria from Camping Vila Chá’s suggestions and visit the Palácio de Mateus and quinta at Vila Real, once the home of the (in)famous Mateus Rosé and now a producer of some repute – and housed in an amazing 18C building, apparently worthy of a visit in its own right.

We arrived in Vila Real in sunshine (at last!) and after a very pleasant night at the municipal campsite (€15) itself adjacent to a large and pretty impressive outdoor pool, we set off for the Palácio Mateus – just a few kilometres away.

The sun of the previous evening had given way to a return of dull weather, a real shame, as the magnificent Palácio with its impressive Gothic exterior would have looked much more photogenic than these pics show.

 

 

The entry price of €11 each started to look a bit steep by the time we learned that no photographs at all could be taken of the sumptuous interior (even without flash) and that the wine tasting would cost another €1.50 each – so we shared a tasting (brilliant rosé – Alvarelhão– not at all like those round Mateus Rosé bottles/candle holders some of us can remember from the 70s!) but we weren’t taken by the red or white, and so left with just one bottle of Alvarelhão rosé and some bonus pictures of the large and well manicured French influenced ‘fantasy’ gardens. Of course the quirky collection of Vatican endorsed ‘authentic’ relics went some way to compensate, but if only we’d found those saintly eyeballs the Palácio was once famous for, perhaps we’d have felt we’d had better value for money…

It’s an odd venue this – not well signposted, no carpark big enough to get a campervan in (we parked nearby with the coaches and walked), an informative presentation in English (and other languages) by staff that could have been students waiting to be told to get into their corporate uniform but someone had forgotten to tell them (OK, we were spoiled by the slick tour at Ramos Pinto in Porto), and nowhere to have lunch that we were by now so hungry for. So we thought we were pleased to see a café/restaurant opposite – especially when they said they could do a ‘Bifana’ which we had enjoyed in Saõ Martinho not so long ago. However, the lacklustre vibe of the Palácio was replaced by a ‘sting the tourist’ one here, and our memory of a great value, freshly cooked bit of pork in a fresh roll, and an enthusiastic explanation of the need to add mayo and piri-piri sauce to have an authentic Portuguese experience, was sadly replaced by bit of re-heated pork in a chewy roll and having to ask for the sauces – and at twice the price.

And so, with the dull weather adding to our darkening mood, we cut our losses and hit the road for Spain. We’ve mentioned already the pain that non-motorway driving in Portugal can be, and the final leg was no different, with ambiguous (or totally absent) signage adding frustratingly to the journey time once we had run out of the detail on the Google map tile.

By the time we crossed the border at the charmingly named Feces de Abaixo and were within minutes on a fast, well maintained and free double carriageway to Vigo, the sense of relief was palpable. Although we’ve really enjoyed bits of our time in Portugal, we’d made a rod for our own backs by not signing up for the motorway network and we’d probably not do ‘just the back roads’ approach again! And to add to our sense of relief, as we sped through the beautiful Galician countryside towards the coast, the sun came out as if to give us a special welcome home!

With smiles all round and a hankering for a new adventure in a part of Spain that we’ve never visited together, we set our sights on a coastal campsite on one of Galicia’s famous west coast Rías (think Norwegian fjords meet Cornwall) with nothing more specific planned than, ‘let’s see what it’s like and how the weather goes…’

And so we arrived, late on a Friday night at Camping Paxeriñas on the western tip of the Ría Pontevedra…

S.