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, 23rd
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment