A Dutch Christmas in Portugal

Several new motorhomes joined us since my last post so there's a bustling little community

A busy Serro da Bica 

of nine campers here now, 17 people including Herman and Albertje. Everyone is Dutch apart from us, one other English couple and Frithjof who is German, but all the Dutch people speak good 'Engels' and are more than happy to switch between languages.

I'm glad we didn't follow my whim of spending Christmas day on the beach though. I know the weather in Portugal isn't anywhere near as bad as it has been back home, but heavy rain set in at about 5pm on Christmas Eve and just kept coming - all night! We managed maybe a couple of hours sleep between us as, with the awning blowing around and the rain thundering on Bailey's roof, it sounded like a hurricane outside. The awning escaped most of its pegs before morning so water got in. However, Bailey coped just fine and we stayed cosy and dry, if wearied.

Christmas Day began with coffee and Buterkoek in the bar. One of the other campers, Peter, had his birthday and joining a group for coffee and cake is a traditional Dutch way to celebrate. We braved the much-lighter-by-then rain afterwards for a hour's walking which meant I got the chance to try out my new Marmot waterproof trousers. They're perfect - comfortable, warm and stayed completely dry throughout the walk which is more than my previous Peter Storm pair ever managed. Well worth the price!

The house at Serro da Bica 

Highlight of the day was our Christmas meal for which we (almost) all gathered in the bar at 5pm. The other English couple won't come to the bar because 'they all speak Dutch' but everyone else was there. Albertje and Herman had arranged the tables with cloths and candles, red and green Christmas napkins and it looked lovely. I wrote out the menu afterwards and all the courses took up two days of my pocket diary - coincidentally, we both felt as though we had eaten a good two days' worth of food! First course was Albertje's homemade Hummous with mini toasts. Then we had Herman's Soup which was similar to a minestrone but with chourico pieces and meatballs in it. Everyone had seconds. Then the main course was a delicious Hachee which is a thrice cooked thick beef stew, vaguely similar in taste to the Greek Stifado. Albertje had been cooking this over the previous two days so we all already knew how good it smelt! The meal is traditional Dutch cuisine, but not traditional for Christmas Day. However, with so many mouths to feed here, it has become the Serro Da Bica tradition and several of this year's guests have been previously and returned. The Hachee was served with roasted rosemary potatoes, rice, spiced red cabbage, pears poached in red wine, and stewed apple. Everyone had at least seconds of all this as well. Then, when you would have thought no one could eat any more, our hosts served a rich dessert of whipped cream with multi-coloured jelly cubes, topped with a conserve of Albertje's homegrown strawberries. Phew! The Dutch have a fantastic word (which I've probably spelt wrongly) - 'outbouken'. It means to sit back and let your stomach hang out after having eaten too much. We all practised 'outbouken' with a small liqueur to finish! Dave had a Portuguese cognac and I had a white port.

We rolled back to Bailey and slept for about ten hours!

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A cloudy day in Ourique

In a "shock, horror" storyline, we were actually awoken this morning by a faint pitter patter of rain on Bailey's roof!

Dave walking the river Mira
on a sunnier day

I think this is only the second day we've had rain since we left Britain and it was only very light, so we carried on with our day's plans undeterred. First off was a visit to a little market in the village of Santana da Serra, about a ten minute drive away. Around two dozen stalls were set up selling a variety of fruits and vegetables, clothes, pottery, live chicks, plastic containers and tools. The clothes stalls were interesting in that they only had quite formal items including skirts, trousers and thick woollen cardigans. It's easy to spot the tourists in southern Portugal at this time of year - we're the ones in shorts and t-shirts while the locals sport scarves, gloves, hats and coats! Unfortunately we were too early to spot many of said locals. Unlike British markets which generally start at the crack of dawn, we learned that Portuguese ones don't really get going until closer to lunchtime.


After lunch, with the rain gone but the sky still overcast, we chose to set off on what was intended to be a short 'getting out of the house' stroll but which turned into a lovely two hour walk and explore along the river. We were musing on a our good fortune, sat on a large rock at the turn-around point and trying to think what we would have been doing had we been back home. Apart from my needing to be at work, it being a Thursday, we realised that even had it been a weekend, we probably wouldn't have ventured outdoors and certainly not set off across the South Downs. We can both be discouraged by grey cloudy weather and generally choose to remain indoors on such days at home, whereas here we feel 'outdoors' already, mainly I believe due to the fantastic surface area of our Bailey Orion given over to windows. Plus, of course, it's considerably warmer here. The blustery breeze of the past couple of days has faded completely and I don't think Bailey's heater even turned itself on last night. I'm not sure how we will adapt to this loss of activity once we get home again. Obviously a complete lifestyle-change would be the perfect answer, but financial considerations don't make that an easy decision on any level.

Sinterklaas gifts! 

On a completely different and less philosophical note, Dave kindly pointed out, yesterday perhaps, that there are only two weeks left before Christmas. Neither of us are feeling particularly seasonal - even less than we usually do! However, Albertje has put up decorations in the bar at Serro da Bica and we joined in the 5th December Dutch tradition of Sinterklaas last week. (The link goes to Wikipedia if you want to read more about the tradition and its history.) For us here, the day meant we got to try small spiced biscuits (I initially thought they were pepernoten but kruidnoten are more likely) which Albertje had baked together with slices of a spiced cake with a almond-paste layer in the centre. We also got given the pictured pottery bowl presents - apparently all children get presents on 5th December! The smaller of the two has made a perfect ring dish and they are cute mementoes of our time here. Perhaps when we move on, we should fill them with the profuse prickly seed pods that get attached to our clothes every time we walk along the river?

A sad note to finish as I report the sad demise of our slow cooker which chose to give up the ghost on Sunday, part-way through the cooking of Dave's not-famous-enough Rogan Josh curry. Fortunately, we already had our new Clatronic EKP 3405 Hotplate  so the curry was saved and Herman very kindly took the cooker surround apart the next day to see if he could repair it in his workshop here but to no avail. We've googled up and down the Algarve, searching out a replacement and have come to the conclusion that Portuguese people don't use slow cookers. There are a few pressure cooker-like devices but we're a bit wary of them, Dave having witnessed a pressure-cooker accident some years ago. Therefore, as I finally get to the point, if anyone is coming out this way in the near future (and doesn't have a baggage weight limit!), could they put this Crock-Pot Slow Cooker  in their luggage?!

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The first week in Ourique

Gorgeous view from Bailey at Serro da Bica
photo by Dave Greene

which rhymes so well I couldn't resist! We're staying at yet another brilliant Dutch-owned campsite, this one is called Serro da Bica and our hosts are Herman and Albertje. Again, we've pretty much got the place to ourselves - one other Dutch couple and a German man being our only neighbours - although Herman said that it's usually busier here at this time of year. Apparently tourist numbers are lower generally compared to previous years. Must be that recession still biting. Facilities here are a cut above the norm - there's even underfloor heating in the shower room for a couple of hours every morning. We also have a bar/library room where we all have the option to meet up of an evening. You'd like this, Dad! Herman rings a bell at 5pm, when he's got the wood-burning stove roaring away, which is our cue to trot over there for a hour or so of beer or port and olives. Last night was special because Albertje had baked delicious Sinterklass biscuits which are little spiced cookies to celebrate the 5th of December.

Banks of the river Mira,
photo by Dave Greene

Walking is the primary daytime activity here and there is a variety of maps to choose from in the bar, plus we also tried going off-piste - which nearly ended badly meeting a large dog in a farmyard! The first afternoon we explored a little of the gorgeous river Mira whose banks mark the edge of Serro da Bica. On the first full day, I packed a picnic lunch including a loaf of handmade fresh brown bread that is delivered daily. It's so tasty butter isn't needed with it. We set off on a 13km walk which doesn't sound too taxing except that the first half was mostly rock scrambling and following narrow wild boar tracks along the river bank in lieu of 'proper' footpaths. Great fun and the river here is beautiful. Rocks and autumn coloured trees, crystal clear water and red earth. Unfortunately most of the birds have gone south for winter but we saw azure magpies, red legged pheasants and evidence of an eagle owl.

Saturday night saw us going out to dinner for the first time since we've been away. Herman and Albertje drove us all to Café Restaurante O Novo Coimbra, a few minutes away. They had already got us salivating with much talk of the 'mirandesa' - a beef dish of the red cow which is served on vertical skewers with chestnuts and fried potatoes. Dave had this and was very impressed. I had javali, which is wild boar, in a very tasty stroganoff. I had not tried boar before. We're going back there on Friday and I think I shall have mirandesa then though - unless something else new catches my eye!


Do you remember my saying in a previous post that one of the problems we might face on such a long trip is only having British gas bottles which aren't compatible with those in ANY other country? Well to try and prevent this being an issue for as long as possible, we brought a camping gaz bottle that was still part-full from our last trip. It's done pretty well coping with most of the cooking outside in the awning until yesterday evening when it ran out. Replacing it was going to be expensive - 36 euros we think - so we have taken the advice of our Dutch neighbours at Evoramonte and have instead splashed out the princely sum of 17 euros on an electric hob. We generally have to pay a set amount for the electric hookup, regardless of how much energy is actually used so ... ! We are now the proud owners of a Clatronic EKP 3405 Hotplate which has just cooked an excellent Chicken Tikka Masala (recipe to follow) and fits neatly on the worktop in Bailey so no more chilly awning cookery!

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Evoramonte

View across fields to Bailey at Camping Alentejo 

Another Dutch-owned campsite for our second base in Portugal. Perhaps I should have downloaded a Dutch language course from Audible instead of the Portuguese one! Camping Alentejo is 3km from the pretty village of Evoramonte and our nearest town is Estremoz. The site is small, with good-sized pitches, is surrounded by cork oak fields and, although it is right by the N18, the traffic noise hasn't bothered us. The reception/shower block is an eye-catching building - architect designed apparently - and best of all, the door closes properly so there's no horrendous draughts to contend with while showering! We've had clear skies most nights and the stars are incredibly beautiful plus, the first night here, we heard owls hooting. I was delighted to see book exchange shelves in reception so have undertaken a spot of BookCrossing here - you can see my latest releases in the widget down the right-hand side of the blog. And, while I remember, please check out the blog of fellow BookCrosser Jacob who is in Wisconsin. I enjoyed his post On Judging A Book By Its Cover which is just so true!

Interesting windows, Estremoz 

We've visited several towns while we've been here, all of which begin with E. I'm not sure whether alliteration is a popular local pastime? Elvas was highly recommended to us from Camping Beira-Marvao but we were underwhelmed. It's a nice enough medieval town but I couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Perhaps I'm getting blase? Estremoz on the other hand was much more my style. Fun architecture included this restaurant with its variety of windows and, because of the amazing marble quarries just out of town, the whole town seems to gleam white. 

Walking has been a feature of our stay here. The campsite provided a 'map' of a two-hour walk that we've undertaken twice, once in each direction. And Dave also created a walk of our own setting out along the tracks from the deserted Evoramonte railway station. No tiles at this one! There's a couple of photos on Facebook together with pics from a fourth walk - up (and up and up) to the castle and old town of Evoramonte. Part of the castle surround is an open-air theatre space with granite block seating. The actors would need to be pretty amazing to distract audiences from the draw of the view. The gift shop was surprisingly decent and, amongst other local handicrafts, has fab shoulder bags and jewellery made of cork. I passed on buying, hoping there'd be more variety in touristy Evora. There was but at hefty prices so the birthday presents I hoped to find are yet to materialise.

Temple of Diana, Evora 

Visiting Evora was the main reason for our stopping in this part of Portugal because we both wanted to see the Roman architecture. The Temple of Diana is in a square in the middle of Evora. No real fuss or build-up. We turned a corner and it's just there! The columns are huge, towering above the stone base which in itself rises several feet above street level. Unfortunately we couldn't find the Roman baths. If you go to Evora, don't waste your 50c on the map from the Tourist Office - it's useless because not all the streets are named so start diverting down side roads and you'll soon get lost. Interestingly lost, but lost all the same. Fortunately Dave's phone has a GPS map thingy which found us. Instead, put your 50c towards the most delicious Pastel de Nata from the Pastelerie Violeta (on Rua José Elias García near the theatre). We got a bag of assorted savoury and sweet pastries for lunch which we ate sat on a bench in the sun. Perfect!

The cathedral is refreshingly plain with only a couple of spots where over-the-top gilt is in evidence (and yes, I do mean gilt, not guilt!) The ticket we bought also included entry into the attached sacred art museum which has artefacts mostly of the 17th and 18th centuries and here gilt is much in abundance. I liked the stunning golden embroidery on the vestments but some of the statuettes are bizarre to say the least. One, of a baby Jesus asleep on a cross that was resting on a skull, was decidedly creepy! Other areas of Evora that we liked included the tranquil public park space with elegant pairs of peacocks wandering around. There is an ornate bandstand and a beautiful partly-ruined Moorish building that I'm not quite sure what it was, plus a tall ivy covered tower that was evocative of fairy-tales like Rapunzel.

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Arrived in Portugal - Beira

Tiled wall panel at Beira railway station 

Warning - Long post - Ensure comfortable seat!


Leaving Caceres presented us with a couple of not-so-pleasant moments. Firstly Dave banged his nose which then refused to stop bleeding for several minutes. Then the casing shattered on one side of the MotorMover as we pulled out of Camping Caceres. Grrr. Fortunately the drive to the border was breath-taking. Stunning autumnal scenery over the hills and we saw so many vultures. At one point there were eighteen together, all wheeling in a tower above each other in the sky.

Once through the border crossing, we overtook a man leading a horse before the smallest roads we've yet attempted with Bailey led towards Camping Beira-Marvao, our first Portuguese stop and definitely our favourite campsite so far. Its entrance is a steep sandy lane which nearly stranded us part way. The tranquil quinta site is owned by Annick and Rudy, a very friendly and helpful Dutch couple. They are harvesting their olive crop at the moment so frequently all we could see of Annick was her feet peeping out below tree branches at the top of a ladder! The pitches aren't marked so there's freedom to set up anywhere. The shower block is pretty new and has the Citizen M of camping showers - they're brilliant! The first evening, we walked into the nearest village, Beira, where we were very pleasantly surprised by being charged only 70c each for a small beer (which I ordered in my best Portuguese). We saw an abandoned railway station with several incredible blue and white tiled panels including the one shown above which depicts pride in local trades. The whole place felt distinctly eerie - perfectly maintained yet completely deserted. 

Next morning, after Dave had undertaken a lengthy bicycle reconnaissance, we chose Castelo De Vide to visit on our first afternoon. It's a perfectly picturesque medieval town with incredibly steep and narrow cobbled streets, tiny houses with thick wooden doors, and its own castle tower. We visited a one-room archaeology museum where the guide talked at great length about the varied local historic sites. We saw ancient pottery, beads and beautiful arrow heads which were almost like jewels, they were so delicately crafted. We did some food shopping including a delicious pineapple cake and another local cheese, this time a sheep's cheese from Queijos Fortunato. As dusk fell, we decided to put up the awning - perhaps we should have started a few minutes earlier as this got somewhat fraught in the dark! However, it was well worth the effort as we have since done all our cooking out there on the camping stove so are preserving our precious caravan gas. Temperatures are falling rapidly up here this week with a couple of nights dropping to below five degrees. it's reminding me of Gocek in Turkey because the early mornings and nights are cold, but its still almost t-shirt weather in the afternoons (if we can get out of the wind!). However, several sights have been positively spring-like - there's young lambs in many fields and I posted a photo on Facebook of purple crocuses on the edge of a footpath.

Baby lambs near Beira, 
photo by Dave Greene 

Day two saw us driving around ancient sites including a six metre tall menhir, a grass-roofed stone shepherd's hut and several lake-side graves marked with stone slabs. I'm not sure if the graves would originally have been by water because the river has been dammed to make the lake. And I think I saw an eagle overhead when we were by the menhir. None of the birds have got close enough for a good photo yet. Several motorhomes were parked at one end and we walked round for a couple of hours after eating our bread and cheese picnic on its shore in the sun. Idyllic!

The third day we started by walking. Annick and Rudy have created a selection of maps of walking routes around their campsite. They have a Google Earth map on one side and English language directions on the back. We took a short detour around the delapidated village of Cabecudos which has a stream running right through the middle - complete with stepping stone ford. Dave went off on his bike again in the afternoon - he's now done over 1000km since he bought it so well worth the investment. I tried a short (10 minute) jog and my leg was ok so that's encouraging.

We winged a walk on the fourth morning which looked like it should have been a loop on Dave's phone, but the track petered out into brambles so turned into an out-and-back instead. Dave had pain in his back from about 30mins onwards which I blamed on him getting cold while cycling on the day before and he blamed on getting cold while being on the laptop earlier in the day. One good and bad thing about Camping Beira-Marvao is that the wifi is only available outside reception. There are nice tiled bench-tables to use and the signal is strong, but it gets bitter sitting there for any length of time. This sounds bad but is good because we don't dwell online but go walking instead! (I'm supposed to be using this trip to rescue my eyesight after all.)

I was expecting Sunday to be ultra religious in Portugal, as in Spain, but Annick assured us the supermarket, Pingo Doce, would be open all day and it was - 8.30am to 9pm! Swordfish steaks from the extensive fish counter made a delicious dinner with sauteed potatoes and red peppers. In between shopping and eating, we tried another of the provided walk maps. Unfortunately, having walked for an hour and a half, we then found a padlocked gate right where a left turn should have been so had to retrace our steps instead of completing the circuit. I am missing ordnance survey maps and the security of yellow arrow footpath signs. Walking back home, we would have hopped over the gate. Here, you're likely to be confronted by a large, loud dog!

Then it was Monday and the last of our Beira days. We finally got to Marvao. Perched as high up as it is possible to get around here, the views are certainly marvellous. We weren't sure how far we could see - maybe fifty miles, maybe a hundred. Breathtaking - but almost completely deserted! One art gallery was open so I got my first culture dose from the papier mache sea-and-island paintings of Rui Da Rosa and we saw the courtroom of Mouzinho da Silveira, a very important Portuguese personage! Other than these, we weren't actually that impressed with Marvao so went back to Castelo instead.

And now it's Tuesday so I end this post with an appropriate YouTube!

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Cacares

Plaza Mayor in Cacares

Our journey to Caceres was marked by the first of several firsts! We pulled into an aire by the forecourt of the wrongly named Hostal Mirabel to eat our first en route picnic in Bailey. Corner steadies down, table laid, lunch ready - rapid and civilised! Driving through hills we saw wide areas of autumnal trees with beautiful yellows and oranges. There were also frequent sightings of large birds that may have been vultures. I haven't got around to googling them yet. They elegantly soar and hover alongside the motorways and are mostly dark coloured with white patches under their wings.

Camping Caceres was easy to find and we discovered that its baffling website mention of each pitch having its own bathroom was not a dodgy translation but meant just that: a small lockable shed bathroom with a wc, sink and shower inside and a water tap and washing up sink outside. A table and four chairs are also provided and most pitches are flat hardstanding. I undertook my first continental BookCrossing forays (another first!) by utilising the Libros shelves in Reception. However, the wifi was irritatingly sporadic and the whole site, while functional, was a bit too concrete for our liking. It was hot though! Sunday lunchtime was warm enough to eat al fresco (the third first).

Street in Caceres medieval quarter
photo by Dave Greene

Caceres has a tranquil medieval old quarter with a few museums within its walls but, unusually and pleasantly, no tacky tourist shops. They are all out in the modern streets! We visited a small army museum that had aerial photos of the surrounding towns. Particularly interesting was a series of Caceres images taken some twenty years apart and showing how the town had grown since the 1920s. Narrow cobbled streets are steep and, having not already seen Castelo De Vide at this point, we thought the medieval atmosphere was well preserved! There's a spacious Plaza Mayor just outside the walls where we stopped to have a coffee and I took the first photo illustrating this post. The second picture shows one of the cobbled streets in the old quarter. There's also pleasant tree lined promenades into town and, on the Sunday, a group of around 300 cyclists had gathered. We weren't exactly sure of the reason but it seemed to be organised by something along the lines of Bespoke. There's an interesting commercial town centre and we managed to get some of our groceries in little shops. A locally-made cheese, Queso de Casar, has an almost fruity tang and, at Dave's insistence we also tried a vibrant orange fruit called Kakis. They're persimmons and are delicious!

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Salamanca

giant painted hand
in Salamanca 

So now it's farewell to Salamanca as we're moving on to Cacares. We've been staying in the campsite at Hotel Regio which is good - not outstanding but has everything we need. The bus into the city stops right outside once an hour so we've taken full advantage of that for one day and actually walked in - nearly two hours including wooded island detour - on the second.

Salamanca is a great historical city with a remarkably calm old town - perhaps the time of year has helped as it must be pretty frantic in the summer. A UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1988, the range of architecture is impressive and we enjoyed seeing the House of the Shells and the fabulous stonework on the outside of the Cathedral. Dave spotted the little astronaut in amongst all the carved religious icons, gargoyles, vines and leaves. Public art is popular throughout the city and the giant hand pictured is painted on the side of a tower block just up from El Corte Ingles where we failed to find any cargo shorts for Dave, but did get a great deal on a bread knife! The favourite shop in Salamanca appears to be butchers and there are so many legs of ham hung in windows around the city, it's amazing there's any pigs left.

My favourite place in the city was undoubtedly Casa Lis, an amazing museum of art nouveau and art deco artefacts. There are gorgeous gold and ivory statuettes, perfume bottles and vases and the building itself has a stunning blue glass roof and stained glass windows looking out over the river. We spent ages walking around spotting Lalique and Galle glass as well as learning new names to look out for: Demetre Chiparus, Ferdinand Preiss, Otto Hoffman and Karl Hagenauer. Their cafe is beautiful too and does a very good rooibos tea. Talking of tea, another tiny shop that caught my eye was El motin del te on Rua Mayor where I purchased a cute tea ball, having left mine at home. They also have a wide range of loose leaf teas and loads of other tea-related accessories.

We've learned a few things about Bailey over this first week. There's actually far more storage space than we need and the whole caravan manages to feel both spacious and cosy, especially after dark when the lights are on and we return from our post-dinner paseo. On the more irritating side, holding down the hob button for twenty seconds and then still having the gas go out is quite annoying.

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Cubillas Santa Marta

Don Quixote sculpture in
Valoria La Buena
photo by Dave Greene

Our second stop, between Palencia and Valladolid was Camping Cubillas which, although being almost right on the A62, was quiet. The site is a mix of touring pitches, permanent caravans, and statics. Some of the little gardens created around the permanent caravans and statics were wonderful, hedges and arbours, little wooden gates and paved patios. We had the place pretty much to ourselves on the Monday so took the opportunity to peep over several hedges!

We didn't see much in the way of walking opportunities so chose to take a drive on the Sunday morning instead. There are several bodegas close to the campsite, all of which appeared to be closed, and three little villages. We spotted this cool sculpture by the road into Valoria La Buena and, having recently seen the wonderful ROH ballet of Don Quixote, couldn't resist stopping to take a few photos. On the other side of the A62, the Canal Castilla passes close by so we did get our walk after all, over two hours along the towpath which was picturesque, but judging distance was deceptive as it is dead straight for miles. Almost deserted, we only met three other people - two fishermen and a Spanish man who pointed out a large dead snake in the grass by the path. It was about a metre long and a pretty green colour.

Monday had light rain for most of the morning. We did get to play tennis in the afternoon - my first attempt in nearly thirty years but fortunately Dave was encouraging. He only mentioned once that he wished Kim was there instead! The evening was spent reading The House of Rumour by Jake Arnott, a great novel that incorporates many conspiracy theories from the 1940s. As a previous X-Files fan, I knew most of the back stories and like how Arnott has entwined them around his own narrative. I'm planning to leave the book in Salamanca somewhere later this week as my first Spanish BookCrossing release if I can find a suitable place.

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Aguilar de Campoo

Lake reservoir at Aguilar de Campoo

A post originally written on the 2nd of November but which I couldn't publish so it's a bit delayed!

We're moving on from Aguilar de Campoo today. The industry here was biscuit making and, although there are only three factories left now, there was a delicious aroma of baking as we arrived. Aguilar is a pretty little town with an olde worlde feel to the centre and lovely porticoed streets that reminded us of Bologna. Unfortunately there was a car parked in front of the pharmacy or I would have photographed its painted frontage. A 16th century arch has been preserved but the medieval walls that adjoined it are long gone. 

We stayed in Camping Monte Royal on a hill above the town. There is a big house at the entrance which doubles up as a bar and restaurant. I imagine it would be busy there in summer as the site is among pine trees and is just over the road from a huge lake-reservoir. The accompanying photograph was taken at dusk on Thursday evening when the rocks were glowing orange in the setting sun. Monte Royal officially stays open all year, but we were directed to set up at the edge of the drive. We discovered that all the water in the sanitary block was off so had to fill the aqua roll from the sinks in the bar toilets! Bailey would probably have got stuck had we tried to tow through the trees but it did feel odd being parked up on concrete. 

The second day saw us walking for a couple of hours part-way round the lake and over its two dams, one current and one decommissioned. Dave was brave enough to stand out on a viewpoint, a concrete tower WAAAAY above the lake. I didn't even want to walk across the narrow concrete bridge. Far too scary!

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The best hallowe'en song ... ever!

Happy Hallowe'en!

If everything has gone according to plan and that big storm the Met Office was forecasting didn't get in our way, we should be docking in Bilbao right about now. Tesco Mobile may also be in the process of changing my tariff - they'd better be - so I won't have internet access again until tomorrow but have blogged this special festive post in advance. 

I hope you all have a fantastic evening, especially Michelle who has put so much effort into her fantastic costume. Sorry I'm not there to see the final ensemble!

Please raise a glass to the start of our big adventure and enjoy Are You Happy Now by Richard Shindell, my favourite songwriter and the best Hallowe'en song in the world, ever ...

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Not long now

Dave and Bailey at Orchard Farm

I’m having trouble believing that in two weeks’ time we’ll really be setting out on our Big Adventure!

At last!

In fact, we’ll already be on our way having parked up nearer Portsmouth overnight Tuesday to hopefully prevent any last minute rushing for the ferry. We think we’ll go back to the Bosham campsite we stayed at for our Anniversary, Orchard Farm. Every possible thing will be packed in to Bailey and the car, I’ll have checked our passports at least half a dozen times and I’m pretty sure neither of us will be sleeping too much for nerves. Let’s hope that overtiredness doesn’t lead to bickering before we even set sail! Dave’s already volunteered to be the one to drive onto the boat. He found a YouTube video and actually it doesn’t look too awkward. I’m sure the crew are used to jittery caravanners, but I’m sure I’d be so concerned about not delaying everyone else that I’d panic and make a hash of it (thereby delaying everyone even more). I’ll do the return voyage - I’ll be an old hand by Spring.

A Google+ acquaintance was the most recent to post a photo of his car and caravan just before he set off to Europe a few days ago. I’m starting to get a sense of being part of a bigger movement, this mass exodus to the sun, even though, in the best British tradition, our plan is to avoid as many of our countryfolk as possible and ‘discover’ somewhere new. We will, of course, conveniently ignore that the Spanish/Portuguese have already done the discovering!

We’re in a strange kind of limbo state at the moment. We’ve done all the ‘in advance’ chores and are now waiting for enough time to pass that we can launch into the last-minute things too. There’s no point me packing up the kitchen stuff when we’ve still got a fortnight’s meals to cook! It’s so frustrating though because we just want to get on with it. Dave, in particular, is starting to roam aimlessly about the house. He says he doesn’t want to get into anything that he’d have to leave part-finished which I quite understand. I’m blogging as far ahead as I can for Theatrical Eastbourne to keep its posts trickling through during the Winter. I don’t want to have to start building all the visitors again from scratch next year.

Only 7 full working days left!
I must cancel my dentist appointment.

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The Old Man and The Gauntlet, a fairytale written by me

photo by Dave Greene 

I was inspired to write this fairytale while we were on holiday in Iceland last autumn. We were visiting the Thingvellir National Park which has been home to Iceland's open-air Parliaments for centuries. (This link goes to +Wikipedia if you'd like to learn more.) As well as the political history, the site is also the only place on Earth above the sea where tectonic plates meet - the North American and Eurasian plates - which we were both excited to see. There is this imposing cliff, huge fissures and crevasses, waterfalls and the river, and we had the place almost to ourselves. It was bitterly cold and the white on the rocks in this first photo really is frost. Check out the blue sky though!

Returning to the fairytale, I have started several versions in the past twelve months but none were quite right until now. I'm happy with this version and believe it's time to stop editing and put the story 'out there'. Big thanks to Dave for the gorgeous photographs.

I hope you all enjoy reading my tale of The Old Man and The Gauntlet ...

Tiny purple heather flowers huddle together low to the ground, clustering around the bases of dry bleached stems which spear upwards, white as old bones. Dark leafed shrubs lean over at crazy angles. They have all been trained into similar silhouettes by constant winds, their branches reaching for the setting sun. A sheer rock cliff rises imposingly maybe half a mile away and continues further than sight both to right and left. Its few threads of tumbling water appear stationary with no clue as to the force pushing them on. The wide valley is surprisingly silent. A lone bee absent-mindedly hums to itself as it potters from flower to flower, but there are no engines, no conversations, no birdsong. The summer is over and, although the sun is still warm at noon, shallow streams and pools freeze to their banks at night. The waterfalls will soon freeze too, their spray already treacherously frosting any rocks close by.

An old man skips across hassocks. Tall and slender, he nimbly leaps each crevasse that waits to trip him, knowing instinctively where his feet will land safely. There is joy in his dance as he descends from the road towards the river. He has come to this ancient place almost every year of his life, as a child and as a young man, with his own children and after they had moved away. He has seen the place packed out with thousands of people and he has been here alone. He is nearly alone today. A tourist couple are wandering on the other side of the river and, at the base of the cliff, a woman is packing away a camera with a ridiculously oversized lens. The old man cannot see anyone else. The woman will soon leave but he thinks that the tourists will stay a while longer. They are only half way to the Parliamentary Stage, avidly reading every informative placard and pointing out sites to each other. To the old man they are a vintage silent movie. He cannot hear their words but can tell the gist from the direction of their gloved fingers. He judges that they have around four hundred years left.

A flash crossing the path ahead catches the old man’s attention and he cautiously steps closer, softly crunching small gravel chips. His watery brown eyes flicker and dart until they spot his prey. A solitary ptarmigan stares out from beneath a shrub. Oblivious to its already whitened plumage, it believes itself invisible, perfectly camouflaged and therefore safe from the human towering above. While it does not move, it cannot possibly be seen. The old man is amused and copies the bird. Both remain absolutely still for several minutes. Eventually the ptarmigan decides that danger has passed and struts away confidently into shadowy undergrowth, its white tail as obvious as a flag.

photo by Dave Greene 

Chuckling to himself, the old man selects a patch of coarse grey grass and settles down to wait. He eases worn rucksack straps over bony shoulders and fumbles with a rusted clasp. The bag is not much younger than its owner and is faded and patched. He extracts a garish plastic lunchbox, outgrown by his daughter, and pops its lid to reveal an apple, a slab of pale cheese and several sweet biscuits. He will have the cheese now and save the biscuits. The apple is bruised and wrinkled. It won’t be eaten today, but will soon be discarded and replaced with a fresher one, the doctor’s advice to have more fruit being wilfully misinterpreted. Then the old man snoozes until he is sure the place is deserted. It is wise to be discreet. By dawn, he will have more money than he could hope to spend in his lifetime. He will fly south like a bird and never be miserably cold again.

Awoken by a barking fox, the old man huddles into his parka. The night is perfect. A bright moon shines strongly from clear skies. Millions of stars are breathtakingly beautiful and the old man lies gazing up into them, hypnotised, until dull pains in his back become too insistent to ignore. Rubbing his joints to ease their stiffness, he pulls himself to his feet and retrieves his rucksack. His cropped grey hair reflects glints of moonlight as he walks silently beside the path making his way towards a stone bridge over a deep dark pool. Sited at the entrance, between the car park and a rebuilt white church, the pool is a dead-end offshoot of the river that snakes away from the cliff. Already stately as it flows past, no movement at all can be discerned under the bridge. English visitors do not think to play Poohsticks here. But everyone must cross the bridge and most cast a coin into the water, a traditional splash for good luck.

The pool is perhaps ten feet wide. Perfectly clear and delicious, its glacial water is dangerously deceptive. Jagged rocks many feet below the surface appear only inches away. Glittering treasure cries out to be snatched but childhood experience taught the old man respect for this optical illusion. He still clearly remembers a sudden toppling, ice clamping his lungs and his mother’s desperate shrieks. He still feels the same overwhelming desire. The wealth here is more than anyone could carry but only the oldest, deepest coins are his prize. They must be incredibly valuable. No one cares if he stoops to grab a discarded krone from a busy Reykjavik pavement. Is this remote wishing pool any different?

Previous night visits with long and longer handled nets had been virtually fruitless. He had retrieved pocket money precariously balanced near the banks, but the deep rich well remained untapped. Unguarded by dogs or alarms, the pool is safer than a vault. The old man needed a new idea. Setting his mind to invention had resulted in hours of reading and days of deep thought. False starts and failed experiments littered his home and the old man had almost abandoned hope before the answer finally fell at his feet, a slim Victorian book of electricity and magnetism tumbling from a dusty bookshop shelf. For its author, the then new power was exciting and limitless. Anything could be achieved! The old man believed every word and eagerly set to work. He bought fine leather and cut it into curved shapes. He twisted shiny copper wire into coils. He sewed and hammered, riveted and soldered, and finally his creation was a reality – a thick leather gauntlet, as long as his arm from fingertip to shoulder, lined with soft wool and supporting a magnificent array of buckles and coils. Thick wires led away to a squat black cube, the store of power with which the old man would work his magic. The gauntlet was perfectly moulded to his arm and even jointed at the elbow, although not the wrist. Double-stitched straps secured it across his shoulders and he was confident that it could not fall off.

By the pool, the old man loops a blue rope around his ankles and ties it off around a slim tree. ‘Safety first’ he thinks, parroting his daughter. He kneels on the bank and cautiously leans forward, balancing himself and taking deep calming breaths. Braced and secure, the old man reaches to the black cube and flips a switch. Every nerve tingles with anticipation as he gazes into the dark pool. He leans further and the gauntlet breaks the surface of the water. Now his whole hand is submerged, now his wrist, now his forearm. The limb appears gruesomely distorted at the water line. Are the wire coils shining in the moonlight or glowing with electricity? The old man cannot tell. The coins remain still. The old man reaches back and twists a dial. The black cube begins faintly to hum. He returns his intent stare to the pool, placing the gauntlet a little further in, a little further. Then it happens. He sees coins jump! Just briefly. Twitch and settle. The gauntlet works!

Amazed at success, the old man starts back. He uncurls his stiffening spine and heaves the gauntlet from the water. His heart is racing and his eyes sparkle like a child’s. Giggling impulsively, he rocks himself on his heels and gleefully hugs his chest with his bare left arm. The gauntlet really works! Unable to wait any longer, he twists the dial up to 'eleven'. The hum rises to a protesting whine. Returning to the pool, he thrusts his arm downwards. Ripples career across the surface to upset low-lying plants on the farthest bank. Coins flash, silver and gold. The old man stretches but cannot reach far enough. He jerks his body, now lying flat instead of kneeling, but his long arm is still not long enough. He wriggles forward. First his head overhangs the pool, then his shoulders, then his chest. Then disaster. With a sickening lurch, the old man feels the bank crumbling beneath his waist. His arm is too heavy to pull back. The gauntlet drags him forwards and he plunges headfirst into the pool. Thick wires drag the cube in too, doubling the weight on the old man’s arm. He screams in silence, ice water filling his lungs, his eyes bulging in panic. Strung tightly between the gauntlet and his roped ankles, he scrabbles with freezing fingers. He cannot unbuckle the gauntlet. The slim tree is bent almost double as the taut rope quivers.

photo by Dave Greene 

The young tree is strong and it holds firm against the strain. The rope is weaker. It snaps. As the tree is flung back and frayed rope slashes through the air, the old man has no choice. He dives, flying like Superman, but thrashing his legs and churning the water to froth. Dislodged coins dart alongside him, leaping and tumbling. He crashes to the bottom of the pool amidst a tumult of silver and gold, and lies perfectly still, unaware of having reached his goal. The water calms and the coins slowly sink. They land all over the old man, a blanket of treasure that gently and completely obscures his body. If anyone looked, they might discern his shape but would believe it to be a trick of the light, a coincidence of nature. By morning, the only signs of anything untoward are a frayed blue rope around a tree and a discarded old rucksack. No one comes to discover them. Inside its lunchbox, the apple rots.

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I've made a new book-related discovery

or actually maybe not so new. I think I remember finding BookCrossing a few years ago but didn't really get into it. However, the site was recommended to me on Google+ recently and having checked it out again, I signed up. You might have noticed the widget that appeared on the side of this blog?

The idea of BookCrossing is to create a kind of World Library. People recycle books they have read by sending them out into the world and tracking their progress. Sounds a bit whimsical but it's a fun idea and a potential source of free reads. As readers finish a book, they can register it on the website, assign it a unique code and start its travel journal. The book is then labelled with this code and left 'lying around' in a public place for other readers to find. The finder can log onto BookCrossing to add their own journal entry before reading the book and then setting it 'free' to find its next reader. So far I've 'released' two books 'in the wild' - Chinese Cinderella in Hampden Park and The Midnight Palace in Willingdon - and have a third, The Sea, on its way to Hampshire. I haven't 'caught' any books yet but it's early days and there are several BookCrossers registered around the Eastbourne area so plenty of potential. Books have recently been released in Western Parade and near the Seven Sisters Country Park.

The BookCrossing team is based in Idaho but the site is popular across Europe and I'm hoping to be able to catch some titles while we're away. Germany has the most BookCrossers in Europe but there are participants in Spain and Portugal too. Campsites usually have bookswap shelves too and our Kindle is loaded so there should be enough to keep me going - fingers crossed!

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It was all going so well until

Easyjet, in their wisdom, decided to land our plane in Santiago instead of Porto! The staff are saying the problem is the fog here - pictured - but we can hear other planes taking off and landing so that's a lie.
We should have started boarding at 14.35. At 16.00 we finally got some news and were told that boarding will begin at 21.15. Oh joy! If Easyjet actually stick to this, we might get home by about 1am. If not, I might be going straight to work from Gatwick.
Fortunately I have several audio books on my headphones and there's a Costa with comfy armchairs. Silver linings?

 

P.S. We finally got a plane which took off about 10pm and landed at Gatwick shortly after midnight. We were all given vouchers to buy food. Arrived home at 2am.

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A tram ride to the coast

for our last full day in Porto.

We started with a visit to the church of St Francis which is such a vision of ornate gilty cheruby excess that it's overwhelming - and not in a good way. The origins of the church are medieval but most of the decor was added in the 1700s.

The tram terminus is just outside the church and it's only €2.50 for nearly half an hour along the river to the sea. Both the tram and the Metro are great ways to tour Porto cheaply!

The huge sculpture pictured is some minutes walk from the sea end of the tram line. There's a sandy beach with lots of surfers in the sea and a wide promenade to stroll along. We kept walking past the fish docks and along a street with a dozen or so stalls grilling fresh caught sardines. We got as far as Mercado, a huge glass roofed market building.

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This striking art deco villa

is in the Fundacao de Serralves park which also contains a contemporary art gallery, a tranquil tea house, rose and herb gardens, a small farm and an arboretum.

We weren't particularly taken by the art. Alexandre Estrela had several sound and video installations, a couple of which were intriguing, and Bochner was the main visiting exhibition. Fun images comprised of words were the more memorable of his works.

Fortunately today had very little rain - yesterday afternoon we got drenched! So we could walk all around Serralves, took tea in the Tea House and then walked back to Hotel Teatro along the river. We calculate nearky six hours walking in all.

Dinner tonight was a disappointing salted cod dish with tinned boiled potatoes. T'was an odd restaurant! A shame as yesterday's monkfish risotto at Restaurante Novo Paris was really nice.

I am developing a taste both for the little pastry custard tarts they sell everywhere and also for tawny port. Oops! More walking is needed tomorrow.

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Enjoying Porto despite the rain

which has been torrential in bursts this morning. The hotel has umbrellas to borrow though!

We've seen the Bolhao market, the gorgeous bookshop with the Hogwarts staircase - Lello - and so much beautiful architecture. I love that there as so many grand old buildings with fabulous tiled frontages and interesting statues like the one pictured. All the pavements are cobbled, some with black and white images.

Yesterday, there were several groups of university students, elegantly dressed in black capes and suits all over the city centre. Apparently it is some sort of initiation rite for the freshmen students but it was bizarre to see them all together. Perhaps J K Rowling was inspired by their appearance as well as Lello?

I think this afternoon we might wander round some more and drink in the atmosphere. I quite like being in the rain as it is still warm and with only a light breeze. Photos aren't coming out so well though.

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Thinking about what I might miss

We had what might turn out to be the last firebowl of the season yesterday. Hopefully there will be more warm, still evenings but there’s a definite chill in the air in the mornings now and a real sense of autumn approaching. Watching the wood burning and chatting with Dave got me thinking about things that I might miss while travelling because sitting by our firebowl would be one. Dave pointed out this is daft because we don’t sit out in the winter months!

Obviously it will be strange not having our families and friends around and I do have some guilt about being away for the first Christmas without Mum. Several people have expressed the intention of coming out to meet up with us for a few days though so that will be nice and there’s always Facebook and Twitter and Google+ for keeping in touch.

I definitely won’t miss getting up to an alarm clock before I’ve had enough sleep, or sulky Stagecoach bus drivers and their unique style of timekeeping. There’s a pretty good chance that I won’t miss my actual job – sorry Ewelina – only the people with whom I work. Perhaps someone could Facebook the mad stuff Yelda says?

Foodwise, I’m reliably informed that there are Cake Shops in Portugal so that’s a relief! But I’m not sure if they have +HARIBO Tangfastics so I might take a secret stash. And tubs of Horlicks. And boxes of +Twinings because Fermin, who is Spanish, says the tea is awful. On the plus side, I’m looking forward to the fresh markets, stacked high with bright colours and real flavours, and trying lots of new recipes.

My beloved theatre trips will be pretty pointless because of the language barrier, although we might be able to catch an +National Theatre Live screening if we’re in the right place at the right time. I don’t know whether other cinema trips will be possible. I’ve read that films in Portugal are often shown in their original language with subtitles, but as we watch a lot of European cinema this might just mean two languages we don’t understand well enough to keep up. However, there is still music and dance as well as the art and architecture that we both love. 

Tiny technology means that most of what I would have really missed can be taken with us in our home-from-home. I’ll have my +Audible.co.uk talking books and campsite book exchanges will help me discover new authors. And, of course, all our music is on an iPod and we're taking an old laptop with a few DVDs (just in case of occasional boredom). Plus sporadic wifi means I’ll be able to blog about our experiences and make you all jealous! 

Can't wait!

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Other new caravan toys we tried out this weekend

The cutest little travel kettle jumped into my trolley at +Sainsbury's last week. It was just over £20 so not particularly cheap but looked perfect for Bailey! We tried it out this weekend just gone and it is much better than the full-size one we had taken to Bosham. It hardly takes up any room and boils exactly enough water for two mugs of coffee. However, the automatic cut-out when it's boiling doesn't work so whoever is brewing up needs to stay close at hand.

We also took our Kindle which I tried out for the first time. Dave's already read Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn which he says is very good and he likes that the Kindle is bright enough to read outside when it's getting dark. I've resisted getting one for ages because I love actual books, but a few titles I've wanted to read recently that are only available in this format so I've been persuaded and we went halves! I downloaded an Eastbourne-based thriller, Devil's Chimney by Tin Larrick which I'm about half-way though at the time of writing. I'll review it on Theatrical Eastbourne soon.

Not so much a new toy as a new way of cooking because I tried out pasta in the caravan microwave for the first time. We conscious that Bailey only has a limited gas supply and the supplied cylinders are UK specific. If we were only ever going away for a week or so, or were staying in the UK, this probably would never be a problem, but as we're planning an extended jaunt in Europe, replenishing the gas supply is going to be an issue. One way of delaying the inevitable, especially as we'll nearly always be paying for an electric hookup anyway, is to use the microwave a lot more than we do at home. I tried out both pasta and rice at home. 6oz of pasta penne needed 680ml water and took 8 mins on full with 5 mins standing to be perfect. It wasn't quite cooked after this in the caravan so I think next time '7 mins full, 5 mins standing, 2 mins full' will do the trick. It's boiling over at around 8 mins so just going for 9 mins straight isn't really an option.

My final new toy that I didn't start using is a posh moleskine journal courtesy of Glenfiddich Explorers. I signed up for their mailing list ages ago in the hope of winning one of the 500 they were giving away, but then totally forgot about it. The unexpected parcel arrived in the same week as I had finally confirmed to work that I wanted to take a sabbatical break. It is such a big decision that I was feeling quite nervous and wondering if we had made the right decision. Seeing your own job advertised is a weird experience! But then the blank journal arrived, ready to record our adventure and I took this as a sign that the fates were with us and we'd made the right decision. (Superstitious? me?) Perhaps there'll be a book in it by the time we get back!

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