Spain

Mediterranean Cruise

Last November we went for a cruise with Helen and David. It all worked very well. Everyone enjoyed it. This November we thought we would do something similar but on a different ship and a different itinerary. First significant change was that we were sailing from Marseilles. To get there would be a short road trip. We like road trips. Helen organised this one. Diane and I had hoped for a gentle and relaxed journey. Not a chance. First day was a 6am start for a mad thrash down the motorways to Dover. Next morning saw us up at 6am, again, to catch the ferry. Toll motorways to Epernay. A short break to taste and buy champagne. Arrived at the rented bungalow late and crawled into bed. Next day things began to get easier. We had time for breakfast before a relatively easy drive to a lovely hotel in a big old, rambling building. The fabulous evening meal was a highlight but also came with a fabulous bill. And so, to Marseilles where we arrived in the evening and found absolutely nowhere to park. Fortunately, the hotel manager moved his car to give us space. This was a great relief because we were starting to wonder if we would need to a find a different hotel with enough space to unload David in his electric wheelchair. Seeing the progressive deterioration in Dave’s condition is always upsetting. There is also the very practical consideration that every aspect of his life just keeps getting harder. On the previous cruise we had been able to use a conventional wheelchair that could be lifted and man-handled. Now, David is totally dependant on his electric wheelchair. Great bit of kit but way too heavy to lift.

Next morning, we were welcomed onto our ship for the next ten days. The MSC Divina. Quite a bit older than our previous cruise ship, the MSC Virtuosa, but equally enormous. Our cabin was lovely. Nice sized double bed and a small balcony. Diane and I got settled in, Helen and David got settled in and then we all met for lunch and a glass of champagne. We were pleased that we had made it to Marseille with any real problems. Helen does not consider getting up at 6am as a problem. We were looking forward to some relaxing days with a little bit of indulgence. In the evening we sailed for Genova, all was good.

From the port, Genoa is a solid, pressing mass of buildings going up the hillside around the docks. We found ourselves constrained to a narrow strip close to the coast. Beyond that the streets were just too steep. No matter, there was still plenty to see. I was delighted to come across a Focacciaria, a small shop selling variants of Focaccia Genovese – a light and tasty flat bread baked in big trays. This was served with a local pesto sauce. Genoa is famous for growing basil, the key ingredient of a traditional pesto. The result was, frankly, spectacular. Back on board by late afternoon, we broke out the cocktails as the ship left port in the evening sun. I discovered a cocktail with chilli and dried orange that was surprisingly good.

Next day we arrived in Barcelona. Sunny, bright and colourful. We headed out to Las Ramblas street. Originally this was a sewage-filled stream forming an important drain especially during the heavy rains of spring and autumn. In 1440, the stream was diverted to be outside the newly built city walls and since then the street has become an increasingly popular hub of urban life. The street is very crowded but also wide and open. Since 1703 it has been lined with trees and although the open-air markets for birds and small animals have been banned since 2010 there are still a wide variety of birds, including parrots, flying around. Small stalls, market traders, entertainers and side shows abound. You can easily spend a full day wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds while nibbling at tapas from the enormous range of restaurants. This was exactly how we passed the afternoon before heading back to the ship to prepare for Africa.

We had a day at sea while we steamed towards Morocco. In the morning, I hopped out of bed with bare feet straight onto a wet carpet. Some problem with the bathroom plumbing apparently. I did not want to know the details and washed my feet anyhow. We moved to a fresh cabin on another deck. Of course, we had to pack up first and then unpack. This all took a couple of hours and was a bit irritating. In fact, irritation became a bit of theme for this ship. On the Virtuosa, the yacht club dining room was on a mezzanine level above the bar. Fabulous views and very convenient. Here on the Divina, it was at the other end of the ship. To get there with David meant taking a lift down nine levels, walking the length of the ship and then going back up nine levels. There were often queues for the lifts so this route could easily take ten minutes. Does not sound too bad until you consider ten minutes each way for three meals a day by which time you have wasted an hour. For all that, the restaurant was cramped and had no views at all.

Casablanca, if I am honest, is a bit tricky as a tourist destination. The largest city in Morocco is also the country’s economic and business centre. The port is enormous, but it is a working port. Thousands of containers being moved around, bulk carriers getting loaded, a steady flow of commercial vessels in and out. In the distance the city, a massive commercial block, rises out of the dusty gloom. It is not very appealing. A handful of the more dedicated tourists booked trips although even then it is probably an hour or two of driving to see anything interesting. Morocco is a fascinating place. Golden sand dunes, amazing mountains, vest seascapes and ancient buildings. The trouble is that none of these places are anywhere near Casablanca. Quite why the ship docked here is anybody’s guess but I am fairly sure it was not for the benefit of the passengers. Getting David onto a bus was going to be impossible and when Helen and David first attempted to disembark, they were told that the tide was too high. They did eventually get off. David got to step foot (wheel) in Africa. They walked down to the security fence and got a stamp for his passport and then that was Morocco and Africa done. Next stop, the Canary Islands.

Tenerife is an immensely popular tourist destination. With five million visitors a year it is a major worldwide destination and one of the most important to Spain. The larger proportion of visitors are from the UK as it quite evident from the abundance of chip shops and Irish bars. The municipality of Adeje in the south of the island has the highest concentration of 5-star hotels in Europe and Spain’s best luxury hotel. For our part, we went for a walk round a park and ate some chips. Next day was supposed to be Madeira but a port pilot’s strike put paid to that so we had two days in Santa Cruz instead. This meant, come evening , that we could eschew the ship’s restaurant and sneak out for a curry. Turned out to be a properly excellent meal that we all thoroughly enjoyed. Next day Helen and Dave managed to have a fabulous day out in a taxi which was capable of taking the electric wheelchair. I don’t know the details, but they came back buzzing after being shown around the greater part of the island.

Late afternoon we sailed for Malaga. A two-day trip to the ever-popular Costa del Sun. Popular with the British that is. The trip was essentially uneventful. The sun shined. We explored alternative restaurants. Helen and Diane wallowed in the hot tub. I read a book.

We set off quite early to see Malaga and ended up on an open-topped tour bus. The pre-recorded commentary was desperately boring and delivered in a monotone. Rather than fall asleep I gave up with the earpiece and just looked as what was around us. Malaga seems to be quite a vibrant combination of beaches, bars, and restaurants surrounding a historic centre of narrow streets and old buildings. Having circumnavigated the city we hopped off near the port and attempted to find a restaurant, a tapas bar, that had been recommended to us. We did find it and so did several hundreds of other people. The queue was immense, so we gave up and settled for some perfectly delicious tapas at a smaller and less popular restaurant. The rest of the day was quite a long walk back to the ship where we started packing in preparation for returning to Marseilles the next day.

The return trip was easier. We even had time to stop off for a small tour round a champagne vineyard. Michel Fagot – possibly my new favourite champagne. We split the UK leg into a much more pleasant two days and all arrived back in Todmorden safely.

The ride down to Portsmouth was wet and cold. We had only been back from Thailand for a week and were enjoying the cooler weather. A change in temperature had initially been enjoyable but by the time we had ridden four hours in the rain we were like a pair of shivering, miserable drowned rats. We sat in the ferry terminal building and dripped on the floor while clutching mugs of tea. Half an hour later morale and warmth was restored and we chatted to some friends who were joining a large, organised trip to Morocco.

The ferry from Portsmouth to Santander takes 36 hours. We sailed in the evening and arrived in the morning, two nights and a day later. The ship is only a year old and of quite a modest size. About a thousand passengers and just two bars. We had an inside cabin with a rather fetching illuminated picture of window. The restaurant was French. The food was good. We spent a while on deck looking, in vain, for whales. We chatted in the bar, ate more that we really needed and watched a film in our cabin. A couple of valiant crew members attempted to provide entertainment in the form of quizzes, bingo and songs. I suspect many of the passengers thought this was not a good use of their time.

From Santander we headed fairly directly to Porto. No special reason for this. It was just somewhere both of us fancied visiting. As it turned out, Porto was a delightful place. We had a hotel a short way from the central area around the river and used the local, very efficient, metro system to get into town. The old part of town is a maelstrom of activity. Many, many people eating, cooking, buying, selling, sitting, running, dancing or standing like statues. It was fascinating to wander round and take in the full range of activities. Eventually we settled for a meal while perched on a tiny balcony overlooking the river.

Next morning we visited Henry the Navigator. Prince Henry was famous in the 15^th century as a figure central to the expansion of the Portuguese Empire. In particular he was an innovator in practical and theoretic marine navigation. Back in 1996, my great friend Andy also became a business partner in the fledgling company I had started a few years before. Together we improved the marine navigation system that I had been working on ready to bring it to market. After long and tortuous discussions, we named the system “Henry”. Over twenty years later we sold the company on but Henry was still going as a core product. Visiting one of the very few statues of Henry in the world (there may only be two) felt like a bit of a pilgrimage and was very gratifying.

That done, it was time for some port. We crossed the river on a small ferry to the side where all the great Port Houses are located. Sadly, we rapidly discovered that tours around these places are all booked up days in advance. We were actually quite happy just looking around the area and then down a very narrow back street, we came across a bar offering not just port tasting but also a selection of local cheeses. The combination was genuinely irresistible. There was quite a lot of port and we enjoyed every last drop of it. Then we rode a cable car up to the top of the bridge, walked across the bridge, found yet another port bar for one last bedtime drink and finally hopped on the metro home. We did not sing on the train but it was quite a relaxed trip.

Back on the bike, we had planned to head south to meet friends. However, reports of high temperatures from the guys heading to Morrocco and the weather forecast suggested we would be cooked. So, sorry guys, but we turned tail and headed back north along the cool coastline. We came across some delightful small Spanish coastal towns and life for the next few days settled into an easy rhythm. We would arrive in the afternoon, shower, change and wander down to the town square. After a bit of pottering, and possibly a beer, we would settle on somewhere to eat before heading back to our hotel and a welcoming bed. Next morning we would breakfast, pack the bike and set off to do it all over again. The rhythm of the road can be an immensely satisfying way to spend some time.

All too soon we crossed through the Picos de Europa mountains, where it was briefly cold and raining. There was snow on some of the peaks. As we were admiring this, a black storm cloud, complete with thunder and hail, descended on us. Carefully, we made our way down the mountain pass to the north where the skies cleared, the air warmed and the roads were dry again. Right down on the coast we arrived at the final, but very delightful, small town of Comillas. Here we enjoyed a particularly good sunset and next day got the ship back to Portsmouth.

Pyrenees (West)

Descending a quite road on the French side of the Pyrenees, we came across a dam. There are many dams in the area but what caught my attention about this dam were the bear prints. Someone had painted bear paw prints all the way up the main dam wall. With a little bit of manoeuvring, I managed to park Baloo so that the prints on the wall lined up with the bear paw prints on the side of the truck. Many would regard this as a complete waste of time but I found it immensely satisfying.

Further down the road, the clouds and mist settled down around us. It began to lightly drizzle. I observed, as I have observed many times before, that when the cloud is low over the hills and it is raining that pretty much everywhere starts to look like Borrowdale in the English Lake District.

We parked up at Les Forges d’Abel. This is a disused railway station just on the French side of the border to Spain. It served the now defunct Pau–Canfranc railway and was the last station in France just before the Col du Somport tunnel. From here we took the motorbike over the Col du Somport to Canfranc. In particular, we wanted to have a look at the Canfranc International railway station. This rather remarkable station was opened in 1928 and is immense. It was intended to serve the border crossing and was built as a joint venture between France and Spain. Although cooperating on building a station, the two countries could not agree on a single railway gauge, so part of size of the complex comes from the need for extensive shunting, customs and goods handling area. The actual station in 240m long and has 365 windows. In 1970 the French side of the line was closed following a serious derailment that destroyed a major bridge. It was never re-opened. The station suffered years of neglect with only a couple of trains a day arriving from the Spanish side. Then, after much campaigning from various sectors, it was announced in 2020 that the EU would make funding available to restore the station and re-open the international line.

When we visited, the restoration work appeared to be well underway. There are no through trains yet but the main station building is coming back to life. Part of this will be a hotel and international conference centre. Should be a very sumptuous and interesting place to stay one day.

On the way back we explored a couple of narrow roads that turned into tracks. Eventually we came back over the Col du Somport to our disused railway station. The main road here goes through a tunnel under the col. It is long, straight, dark and boring. We saw several groups of motorcyclists heading through the tunnel. Don’t do it guys. Take the high road. Over the Col du Somport is a lovely scenic road that winds it way over the mountains. There are some great bends but nothing too serious, even a Harley Davidson could make it. Then down through the lovely village of Canfranc. Even if you do not care about railway stations there are some terrific cafes.

Finally leaving the Pyrenees, we headed to Bordeaux and stumbled across a Chateau which invited motorhomes to park for free. Of course you were expected to taste the wine and maybe buy a few bottles. This was not really a hardship. We found out about another place (thank you Davide) that also offered water and electricity. Thus began a short but fun tour of Bordeaux vineyards.

Meanwhile, I have been trying out the new oven. The oven story is very long and expensive but the endpoint was a new Gaggenau steam oven. This is turning out to be really very capable. First task was making bread. I often use this as a test of a new oven. You can tell a lot about how even the heat is. With a steam oven you can use moisture to loosen the dough initially and later to create a crispy crust. First attempts were good and then I went on to make a sour dough loaf that was possibly one of the best I even made. Really good solid crust while light and properly textured inside.

While shopping in Lidl, I came across a very cheap vacuum packing machine. The oven claimed sufficient low temperature control at high humidity to be good enough for sous vide cooking. I never tried this before. The principle is that you vacuum pack the food and then cook it at a relatively low temperature. These two conditions combine to preserve the flavour. First attempt was mushrooms. Cooked at 45°C for over an hour. They were spectacular. Simple brown mushrooms with garlic, butter and fresh coriander. Next came asparagus. Fresh asparagus, since it is that time of year, with butter and a little seasoning. 85°C for 25 minutes. Also very good. I can see why it is so popular with some chefs. Can be a bit of a fiddle getting everything arranged in the bag and sealing it but appears to be well worth the effort. More experiments will follow.

Spain

We crossed into Spain and pretty much made a straight line for the beach at Mazarron on the Mediterranean coast. The route was mostly about olive trees. Lots and lots of olive trees. Eventually we ran out of olive trees and arrived at the seaside.
The coast of Spain here is a bit of an odd place. It has something of a micro-climate that keeps it warm and sunny even when a little further inland the weather is less clement. It is also strangely attractive to Brits. They are everywhere. Some parts really feel substantially more English than Spanish – albeit in a ‘Brits on holiday’ sense. At this time of year, much of the place is shut down so it is quiet although the weather, especially by UK standards, is great. The cost of living is pretty reasonable too so I can see the attraction. We, however, still have many places to go and next on the list is Morocco.
The reason we were in Mazarron was to meet up with Unicat owners Davide and Franca. A lovely couple that travel with their three pit bulls. We know them of old. They are Morocco veterans so we wanted to sit at their feet for a while to learn some wisdom. And indeed they were a font of useful knowledge. We also ate some great food (thank you Franca) and visited some interesting places.

Roger Dean inspired erosion
Cent is happy to pull me along
Unicats on the beach

Picos de Europa

East from the Pyrenees are the Picos de Europa mountains. A small but spectacular range comprising several magnificent peaks (up to 2,650m) and some of the world’s deepest caves (down to 1,589m). We didn’t see anything much of this because of rubbish weather and many of the roads being closed for maintenance. We did camp in a massive and empty car park where, on other days, it is possible to travel up to a very pretty lake. We also visited several ‘road closed’ signs and did a lot of backtracking. Eventually we gave up and exited to the south. Spent our last night on top of a pass at 1500m. Just after we had settled down for dinner and some wine, the local police arrived. Three of them in a very smart police car. Looked like we might be in trouble. Maybe get moved on. Possibly worse. We heard the footsteps coming round to the door side. Then two of them took out phones to snap a few pictures and they left. This vehicle attracts a bit too much attention at times.

Man at work
When we get diesel we can often get water as well
Promising weather just before we get to the mountains
Playa de Franca beach
Windy
Empty car park
Ready for inspection

East Pyrenees

At the far left hand end of the Pyrenees we found a wonderful little spot perched high on a ridge. The road up was thin and precipitous so a pause at the top for a few deep breaths was called for. A small restaurant and tourist shop straddles the border between France and Spain but presents itself as being totally Basque. Here you can buy bells for cows (big ones), hats, knives (also big), preserved meats and other paraphernalia purporting to be regional. We climbed a hill. Watched vultures slope soaring. Drank a beer and admired the sunset. As darkness fell, everyone went home and we were left alone. We camped there for the night and watched a properly spectacular sunrise in the morning (best time for them). The road down the other side proved to be equally exciting and took a couple of hours so we were pleased that we had opted to take a break.