Al Andalus Part 1 Days 31-35 – an international gap in the plastic and a trip to the dog’s arse Days 31 - 35

The drive further south from Isla Plana was a journey into the arid and even more intense agri-commerce of northern Andalucia. We headed north to pick up the free A7, rather than the coastal and toll-booth-rich AP7. As we neared the coast at the Cabo de Gata natural park that we have visited a few times in the past, and even though we knew what to expect, the full horror of the consequence of cheap fruit and veg from Spain was splashed all over the campo with mile after mile after mile of plastic polytunnels.

 

Putting our northern European landscape appreciating prejudices to one side, it was a sobering reminder that this is one of the few industries that provide work outside of tourism, in a region of Spain that still suffers from high unemployment. So some selective viewing tempered with economic realism was the order of the day.

 

Which is why we opted for a site just down the coast from one we had stayed at in the winter of 2016 in Roquetas, in full knowledge of the probable close proximity of plenty of plastic.

 

The drive down to the coast at Balerma was a plastic lover’s wet dream come true, with hardly anything visible except the odd building dotted amongst the sea of polytunnels. As the plastic gave way to the small town of Balerma on the coast, we expected some respite along the littoral, but no – our campsite, Mar Azul, had literally been carved out of what was once a gap in the campo between the poly-tunnels, and was surrounded on three sides by plastic, with the fourth letting onto the beach.

 

 

Whilst not the prettiest of beaches we have seen on this trip, it was mile after mile of uninterrupted coastline with hardly a soul about. So all we needed now for our last beach-focussed Mediterranean sun-soaked stop over was some sun. Hmm. Well, we knew it was up there as it was toasty warm in the mid 20s and around 20c at night – but those rich blue Andalucian skies we have known and loved were hidden behind hazy cloud for the beginning of our stay.

 

This didn’t deter us though, and our first day saw us mounting up on Freddie and Fanny the folders and cycling north to the port of Almerimar

 

 

Part compacted sand, part road and part pimped-up cycle path, our journey took us past the best named topographical feature we have seen in a while – Punta Culo de Perros – dog’s arse point! We are still none the wiser how it came to be called this, and on some maps it’s just Guardias Viejas, which at least links to the old Castilian ‘Carabineros’ we saw on a building near a small hill fort on the point. These Carabineros the old coast guard/customs corps, disbanded in 1940 by Franco for their allegiance to the Republican cause. (And not to be confused with posh prawns, which came up first on Mr B’s interweb search!)

 

 

Passing loads of excellent free camping spots en route, we eventually arrived at the edge of a slowly spreading urbanisation of what looked like holiday flats, now mainly empty, all along the coastline.

 

Agreeing that this section of the coast was considerably less picturesque than our cycling adventures from Roquetas in 2016, Mrs B suggested that we should at least continue into the port itself and look for a place to eat. Which is how we discovered a charming ‘Area de Autocaravanas’ right on the harbour by the boats.

 

At €15 a night with electricity, showers and water, we thought this might be an interesting final night option before we travelled further west into Andalucia.

 

Wandering around the campervans we spotted what looked like a fellow Brit camper, so we went over to have a chat. After a good natter about van-life with Martin and Geri, who were full timing their way around Europe and elsewhere, we had to take a photo of their number plate on their much more modern version of Evie – what a cracking way to make statement after selling up in the UK and hitting the road!

 

 

After learning from them that whilst pretty, the location did have a lively night-time economy, with a nearby disco from 1030pm until 6.00am at weekends, we put the idea of a visit on the back burner and went off to enjoy lunch at one of the many harbourside restos. Where we got to enjoy our first proper tapas of the trip, with a drink and a tapa at €3, what’s not to like!

 

Stocking up with our first bottle of Manzanilla sherry (we’ve been looking but this is the first time we’ve seen it on sale) we arrived back at the campsite with a 12 mile cycle under our belts – and Mrs B wondering out loud about the benefits of an electric folder…

 

Mar Azul is another truly international site, with Finns, Swedes, Bulgarians, Hungarians and Norwegians adding to the ubiquitous assortment of German, Dutch, Belgian, and French campers, with a few Brits and Spanish thrown in for good measure! We experienced a continuous ebb and flow around our pitch, realising we were clearly in the ‘short stay’ road!

 

The site also provided us with a glimpse into the ultra-expensive end of campervan life, with an enormous Bliss-mobile 6x6 truck better suited to the Sahara, amongst the enormous coach size behemoths dotted around the site. But our favourite giant was a home made one we saw in the port!

 

As the weather perked up we did what we do best; decided to stay on a bit longer and enjoy the delights of a toasty Mediterranean for a bit longer. Which is how we ended up discovering the delights of the nearby town of Balerma, dismissed as ‘scruffy’ in a number of ACSI reviews, we had an inkling that it might just be our cup of tea, especially as it was market day!

 

And it didn’t disappoint, with its North African influenced food stalls and fabulous fresh veg, no doubt literally from up the road, a stall selling mouth watering pollo asado, (the roast chickens here are so lush!) we soon filled the panniers with enough yummy goodies to keep us smiling for a while.

We were bemused why the town had been described as scruffy, with its sea front prom overlooking crystal clear water, and a well appointed Consum supermarket, it seemed ideal for a short ride from the campsite to stock up or just enjoy the laid-back vibe.

 

Regular followers of the blog will know that we are partial to a bit of graffiti/street art and this one tickled us pink! Popular in the 70s and beyond, we had only ever known the spray painting of ACAB to mean ‘all coppers are bastards’ – but this southern Spanish spin certainly shone a new light for us!

 

And so we stayed for a bit longer to enjoy the swimming and reading on the beach, whilst the daytime temperatures were still in the mid 20s and rarely dropping below 20c at night, enabling us to enjoy eating outside the whole time we stayed – not bad for late October!

 

 

Next stop Ronda!

 

S&J

30.10.22

 

Cartagena and Isla Plana Days 28-31

It was a long, hot drive to Isla Plana, with temperatures hitting 34c. The rapid transit we’d hoped for came to a halt just outside Murcia when we hit gridlocked traffic on the motorway just outside the city.

So, we took a breath, crossed fingers and peeled off onto the inner ring road and as much by luck as map reading, ended up on the A30, driving through some beautiful mountain scenery down towards Cartagena, rejoining the motorway closer to the coast and then heading for Mazarrón. Passing by what looked like some spectacular abandoned tin mines, we reached the coast road and headed for our destination campsite, Los Madriles.

 

First impressions were good with a choice of terraced pitches and a lovely saltwater pool. We chose a pitch about halfway up and lucked out with the neighbours.

 

 

Our road was very friendly! Not so some of the other campers. This was one of the biggest concentrations of long-stay campers we’ve seen in Spain so far and there was something of a sense of entitlement and arrogance in the behaviour of some. There was also a sense of claustrophobia for us, with mountains looming immediately behind and a distinct lack of air circulation! The whole place felt stuffy in every sense of the word. With a minimum stay of three nights and lots of other ‘rules’, we decided to keep our stay short but sweet and spend as much time as we could off site.

Day one we walked into Isla Plana along the beach. We freecamped here on the promontory about 25 years ago, just along from the old church. Now there’s a promenade, palm trees and low rise condos. It was nice to see that although it’s developed, it’s not spoiled.

 

Day two was a cycle ride in the other direction, out to Azohía and Cabo Tiñoso, along a track that began at the back of the beach. No beauty prizes for the first leg, hemmed in by polytunnels, but about a third of the way in it gave onto a palm lined path and then a beach. Azohía itsself turned out to be a pretty little resort, and very popular with freecampers as well as walkers, heading for the cape. We’d definitely stop here in future as a freecamp spot. It’s lovely.

For our final day’s adventure we caught the bus into Cartagena, an oft passed-by city on previous trips, sharing the journey with Barbara and Hagen, two of our friendly campsite neighbours.

 

We loved Cartagena! There are so many layers of history and so much to see. Cartagena was Hannibal’s city on the Iberian Peninsula, named after Carthage in North Africa, as well as a port and administrative centre for the Romans and is overflowing with historical sights. It was also the last city held by the Republicans before surrender to Franco’s Nationalists.

With the bus times only giving us a scant 5 hours to explore, we crammed in as much as we could, including a visit to the Roman Theatre and even a barco turistico trip around the bay to learn about the city’s military and trade history. It’s still the base for the Spanish navy now and a centre for trade, as well as a destination city for cruise ships.

Tired but happy with our day we got back about 7:30pm and began packing up for our onward journey south to Andalucía.

 

J&S

25.10.22

Oliva – the endless beach – a storm – and please don’t shit in the showers! Days 17-27

 

We fell in love with Oliva in the late 1990s when our friends Linda and Kevin had suggested we explore the area in our previous camper, Daisy the Dodge. With its 8km long beach and half a dozen campsites to choose from, it soon became a firm favourite. So much so, that for almost 12 years we owned a little casita, or summerhouse, at the nearby Font Salada

 

We have many happy memories of Oliva, although have only visited once, briefly, since we sold up, making this quite a poignant trip for us, as it still feels very much like home.

 

We still have friends here too, and this was also part of the reason to visit. As we pulled off the motorway slip road, it felt as though little had changed in this small town that was once a part of our lives for so many years. The traffic still snakes between the old town with its castle and the newer part with its paseo and weekly market, and before long there are roads leading off to the miles of dune backed sandy beaches. This stretch of coastline is remarkably undeveloped, which is another reason to love it here.

 

And it was wonderful to be back and see that little had changed. We were especially pleased to see that although some of the dunes had taken a battering over the years, they are now being actively protected as a nature reserve, to protect the flora and fauna and indeed seedlings could be seen pushing up through the sand and a small flock of the little ‘clockwork’ birds we remembered were feeding on the shoreline.

 

 

And the mile after mile of perfect beach walking was just calling to us!

 

 

We took a stroll up to look at the old campsite we used to stay on many years ago, El Rancho, abandoned and derelict the last time we visited. And it still is, providing us in this photo with a classic example of the microclimate in Oliva, with the interior often cloudy, dark and with lowering skies, sometimes even raining, but the beach in full sun! The picture of Mrs B above, literally having been taken minutes afterwards!

 

 

Our friends Janette and Ian have a lovely casita a few hundred metres from the beach and towards the town, and had kindly offered to allow us to park up outside the house the day we arrived.

 

Pulling into their part of a small barrio, we parked Evie up for the night and settled in for an evening of their legendary hospitality and a good old natter about what’s changed in Oliva since we were last here.

 

 

 

Over the years, they have transformed their house into a beautiful home that has stayed true to its Spanish ‘casita de verano’ origins.

 

Over our first weekend we were treated to a fabulous range of authentic Spanish cuisine, including a paella Valencia on no other than Valencia day itself! Thank you both!

 

 

Choosing to extend our stay longer than we initially planned, we went in search of a campsite further down the beach, opting for one we’ve not stayed on before, Eurocamping.

 

After establishing that we could have our pick of any number of vacant pitches, we were pleased to see that amongst the numerous German and Dutch campers, was a strong showing of Spanish weekenders in caravans and tents, making for guaranteed lively weekends.

 

We were lucky to be able to choose a pitch that had a mix of German, Dutch and Spanish neighbours and it was great to see large groups of locals all gathered to eat at enormous tables, BBQs smoking away and even the odd giant paella being carried back to a caravan from the obliging campsite restaurant!

 

 

Often criticised in ACSI reviews by Northern Europeans as noisy, we love these opportunities to experience a slice of Spanish holidaying, complete with its Latin sense of exuberance.

 

This site turned out to be a great find, with generously sized pitches, lovely showers and a nice bar/resto and right on the beach, plus just a 30-minute cycle into town. What it also had, weirdly, was something we have only ever experienced once before in Sardinia – the eccentric practice of taking a dump in a campsite shower! We had assumed that the time Mr B had needed to report an unexpected deposit in the shower cubicle to reception back then was a one-off accident, but, as you can see from this unambiguous-in-any-language sign that greeted him in the showers, it’s not simply an Italian phenomenon, although clearly a male one as no signs existed in the women’s shower block.

 

 

After enjoying a run of lovely sunny days, our return to Oliva also gifted us with another of its autumnal weather features – a storm of biblical proportions known locally as the ‘gota fria’ – the cold drop – when the warmth of the land and the cool of the sea produce spectacular storms and quantities of rain you might expect in the tropics.

 

We should have guessed when we experienced a fabulous full moon rising over the sea – often a portent of a change in the weather…

 

 

Deciding to sit tight and ride it out, the view out from our window on day one gave us a taste of what was to come…

 

 

 

And of course, camp-life has to continue in the gaps between the deluges…

 

 

With staff obviously being well prepared…

 

 

We had heard that the site uses a series of pumps to help get the water out of their drains, and we certainly heard them when in use, so when we spotted a gap in the rain we dealt with our rising cabin fever by taking a walk through the campsite to see what happened.

 

After passing numerous flooded access roads, including one deep enough for a group of little girls to have claimed it as a paddling pool, we exited the main entrance to find that the water is simply pumped out into the ‘campo’ – land not used for anything at the moment it seems…

 

I

 

Musing that this seemed a bit like a ‘my problem is now your problem’ solution as we saw what happened to the nearby kids’ playground, now resembling a boating lake…

 

 

We subsequently learned from one of the owners that until the adjacent urbanisation had been built, water from the campsite mostly drained into the surrounding land. However, since the increase in development, managing water and planning for the consequences of new developments might be fairly described as work in progress. Still, it gave us a chance to experience a genuine autumn experience in Oliva and as is usually the case here, a day or two later all was back to normal.

 

Extending our stay further once the rains had abated, we managed to make it over to see our old neighbourhood at Font Salada.

 

 

The owner of the chiringuito there, Antonio, and one of the waiters, Dani, both recognised us and we were treated to a free cortado as we nattered about the now declining number of our old Valenciano neighbours, either dead or poorly and no longer using their summer houses.

 

And how it showed, as we looked up the communal access road to our old house, which between us we used to maintain with the need for frequent repairs. It didn’t look like anyone had done any maintenance for some time and we abandoned our idea of walking up to the house to have a look and instead enjoyed our time next to the crystal clear waters of the font. Some memories are best left as they were.

 

 

On our way back we saw another change as we crossed the N322. What was once an Indian restaurant when we first got the house, and had then fallen into disrepair and dereliction by the time we left, and had been covered in Valenciano graffiti, was now covered in Russian graffiti – and, as we’d heard Russian voices further up the coast so we had in Oliva… Russians are not new to this part of Spain, but it was interesting to see that their influence had spread to this level of integration!

 

 

As the sun returned with gusto and daily temperatures rose to the mid 20s, we made full use of our easy access to the beach, walking north and south to vary the scenery, but always coming back to our favourite – the long stretch south towards Montgo.

 

 

Our extended stay managed to include a trip to Oliva’s vibrant weekly market – an absolute treat of fresh, local and seasonal produce, with a couple of the stallholders we used to buy from still there and smiling!

 

 

The consequence of such abundance of course was that one of us was obliged to return to ‘el burro’ mode as we carted our haul of fresh produce and supermarket top-ups back to the campsite on the bikes. It’s a lovely ride along old narrow roads and views are always a useful offset to the anxiety that we might be pushing the design limits of these bikes!

 

 

The best benefit of our extended stay in Oliva though, was that we got to return some of the hospitality extended to us by Janette and Ian, when we invited them back to ours for dinner before we left, and enjoying our first BBQ of the trip, in weather that seemed like an endless summer treat!

 

 

We love you Oliva – and we will be back!

 

S&J

17.10.22

 

 

 

Mobile Retirement Days 8 – 16

As we reached the coast and sailed past the Ebro Delta, we reflected on our neglect of this beautiful and ethereal land and seascape, which this time was circumstantial, as the main campsite had closed for the season a few days prior. Next time we really must visit.

Continuing south, bumping along on the old N340 we were surprised at how quiet the route had become since the AP7 motorway had become toll-free, courtesy of Pedro Sanchez’ Socialist government. Mile after mile of neglected and mostly closed garages, motels and clubs, once used by truck drivers, now abandoned.

Although only a little over 100 miles from d’Alós de Balaguer, Camping Tropicana in Alcossebre seemed a world away and was a welcome and familiar sight and our third or fourth time here. 

 

Resplendent with palm trees, wide boulevards, Greco-Romano statues and a lovely pool, this site is just across the road from a pretty beach and has one of the best facilities blocks in Spain!

 

Cause for excitement here as this was our first laundry stop of the trip and believe me, a 10kg industrial washing machine is definitely cause for celebration! Ditto the bliss of a lever shower after all that push-button nonsense and you can see why Tropicana has a year-round loyal clientele.

 

In the winter, the residents are mostly deeply tanned Northern European retirees from all corners of Europe: German, Dutch, British, French, Belgian, Austrian, Norwegian and Swedish were all represented here and it gives the site a nice, almost bohemian feel. There were a few young families too, a few with toddlers or younger children on half term holiday.

Tropicana is also pretty much self-contained, with its own Consum mini-market where you can buy anything from a morning ‘rustica’ baguette to a saucepan lid. This is useful, as Alcossebre itself is a good 45 minute walk away, albeit via a pretty coastal boardwalk along the back of the numerous little coves and beaches that form this stretch of coastline.

In the other direction is Capicorb, where you can grab a coffee or cocktail and admire the view, with a long stretch of marshy parkland beyond, dotted with abandoned buildings, which makes for a pleasant and interesting cycle and leads into Torrenostra, a new(ish) high rise beach resort, the sister town to Torreblanca on the main road.

 

After a very relaxing six nights at Tropicana, we reluctantly upped awning pegs and continued south to Torre la Sal, near Marina d’Or, for a few nights. 

 

The entrance to the town has an intriguing sculpture, which is also a useful landmark for getting to the site!

 

 

Camping Torre la Sal is a smallish family run site right on the beach, with a relaxed and friendly feel, just to the north of the resort town of Oropesa. Again filled with 60+ age range, this site caters mostly to German and Dutch campers and we were the only Brits on site.


After a couple of lazy beach days, some swimming and a 10km return walk into Oropesa, we decided to sample the delights of the campsite restaurant – lunches only.  

 

 

 

We’d yet to eat out this trip and as the only evening restaurant option nearby was a fluorescent tube-lit schnitzel gaf, we opted for lunch at the campsite instead. It looked good, with a contemporary twist on standard Spanish fare at €18 pp on a special campista offer that we’d been given two days before at Reception.

 

 

We arrived at the restaurant in a gust of wind and a torrential downpour only to be told that the €18 menu offer had ended and it was now €25pp. Undeterred, Mr B was firm in his slowly improving Spanish and asked the waiter to speak to the boss… and hey presto, turns out we were right after all.

And after all Mrs B’s painstaking translation prior to arrival it would have been a shame to miss out.

 

All we can say is that whilst the menu showed promise and imagination, was prepared by a handsome tattooed chef and the food was pretty decent, the experience was something of a disappointment and included a grumpy waiter, the smallest glass of wine we have ever seen in Spain, the wrong main course and two completely cold cortado coffees. Usually Spanish lunches are a treat, so we will try again, but maybe not here!

Next stop, Oliva!

 

J&S

12.10.22