Home Again, Home Again

Well here we are back home and it's like we never left. I was kinda hoping the morons running the place would be gone but it seems like you just can't kill Krudd the Zombie. Fortunately I can wake up on September 8th and pretend it was all a 6 year bad dream.

It was hard to come back. We had such a good time and the weather and scenery were outstanding. So too were most of the places we stayed or travelled through. The only thing keeping us sane is the knowledge that we will be back there in 7 months.

Magnificent Mosel & Metz

Our next stop was in Koblenz at the confluence of the Rhine and Mosel. We stayed overnight on the site of the old campground we stayed at in the 70s but now it is owned by a German Motorhome Manufacturer – Knaus. They make overpriced Motorhomes and now it seems they own and manage overpriced campgrounds. We stayed outside on the Aire for the night then headed off down the Mosel. The river winds its way upstream and eventually into France. 

All along the river vineyards cling to the slopes. Every inch of arable land is covered with row after row of vines patterned like giant green patchwork quilts thrown upon the hillsides. On the thin margin of flat land bordering the river banks beautiful Medieval villages overlook the riverfront. With so little flatland many are terraced along the lower margin of the hillside. Some of these places are of outstanding beauty like Cochem, Berncastel, Trarbach and Trier. We spent the first nigh along the Mosel beside the river at Neef, a small village about halfway up the river towards France. It was a large flat grassed area with lots of other motorhomes right on the river bank. People who come to Germany rave about the Rhine but this leaves it for dead. This by far the most scenic river in Germany and it's less crowded with tourists. 

After running out of adjectives to describe just how beautiful the places we drove through were, we arrived at our next overnight stop in Trier. “Thirteen hundred years before Rome, Trier stood / may it stand on and enjoy eternal peace”. So reads a medieval inscription on the façade of the Red House in Trier market. This was an ancient Celtic city that became a major Roman outpost of the northern Empire. It wasn't as far north as Rome reached as the city of Koln (Cologne) was founded by Agrippa. 

We stayed in an Aire on the side of the river again and cycled into town across the Roman bridge. The city is a mixture of ancient and medieval architectural styles with the dominant Porta Nigra the main feature of the town. It is the largest Roman city gate north of the Alps. There are also the remains of three Roman baths here as well. 

From here the Mosel becomes the border with Luxembourg so we travelled along the Luxembourg side so we could fill up with cheaper fuel – its a tax haven like Andorra. From here the vineyards thin out and give way to forested hills. We crossed the border into northern France still following the river. This is  le Pays Trois Frontieres – the land of three borders (France, Luxembourg and Germany) and noted for its outstanding landscape. You can hike and bike all over the area and visit its four major cities – Trier, Luxembourg, Saarbruken and the jewel in the crown of northeastern France, Metz.

Metz is the capital of Lorraine – of quiche Lorraine fame, but don't expect to buy one here as they seem to be available everywhere in France but here. But that is not what makes this place special. What sets Metz apart is the fact that is has one of the largest Urban Conservation Areas in France with over 100 heritage listed building, one the largest commercial pedestrian areas, is a designated French Town of Art and History and is nicknamed la Ville Verte the Green City because of the extensive municipal parks and public gardens. To borrow a modern phrase that is entirely appropriate (see below for one that isn't) this place is drop dead gorgeous. Even the municipal campground on the banks of the Mosel we stayed in was lovely and ridiculously cheap given that it is the height of the summer holidays here. All the great adjectives apply here and then some. My personal favourite is and shall remain forever Saint Stephen Cathedral.

What is it about contemporary society that takes a traditional word and rebrands it as dogshit. So it is with the word “Gothic” a modern day catchall for everything from “B” Grade vampire movies past and present to “F” Grade pop culture with its tattoos, body piercings, and Ford model “T” wardrobe. But here standing in the transept of Saint Stephen's the word regains its true meaning. This is a place of “Gothic” proportions both literally and figuratively. I am dwarfed by the sheer scale of the place and overcome with a sense of awe and wonder. The gaudy ostentation of Paris, Amiens, Chartres and especially Barcelona are absent here. There is a purity, a naked beauty and an overwhelming sense of light. I can't help but think that gothic cathedrals like this one were the inspiration for Tolkein's Dwarf Hall of Moria and the Lonely Mountain. Here there are no shock haired, inky pincushioned, night-shades breaking dawn wind. Here “Gothic” is a thing of beauty and inspiration.

We finally dragged ourselves away and began the journey west to Reims the home of champagne. And just like Lorraine there wasn't a vineyard to be seen anywhere along the way. I'm beginning to think all this is just clever marketing. Though Reims has a pedigree far more distinguished than Metz, visually and aesthetically it is but a shadow of the latter. The Notre Dame de Reims may be the coronation site of over 24 French Kings, including the Merovingians and the Carolingians, but it lacks the raw beauty of Metz. The city is a mix of German and French architecture but is not as impressive as others we have been to. Unfortunately we didn't have time to visit one of the famous champagne caves.

Our time is up. The last leg to Calais was hard to take as we knew that it would be our last port of call in Europe until next year. Although Calais is just another working port with a rather unkempt atmosphere, it was still able to surprise us. After travelling around a lot of Europe's coast we finally found a beach with real Aussie-like sand. We took the early morning ferry to Dover and just to make sure we were back in the UK, within a hour of our arrival it was pissing down with rain. And just to make doubly sure we were back the prices skyrocketed. In Europe we gained admission to some of the world's finest cathedrals for FREE and in Canterbury they wanted £9.50 to see inside Canterbury Cathedral. They really have no idea here. The place is sinking into the mire and all they can think about is what Kate and William will call latest addition to the “Welfare State”.

Well it is almost over. We will be taking Dal and the family to Cornwall for two week then its back to Yorkshire to store the van till next year. It's been a wonderful trip and we are sad it is almost over. Hope you have enjoyed the Blog. Love to you all and will see you back in Oz.

Beautiful Bavaria

Italy was just a whistle stop this trip. We stayed overnight in Brescia. It was another Aire this one on the grounds of Cassini Maggia, an old hostel. The building was beautiful in stone and timber. 

We left early and headed east for Lake Garda where we turned north near Verona and started the long climb up and over the Brenner Pass. Austria went by in a blink and we skirted Innsbruck and climbed over the the Zirlerberg Pass into Bavaria, winding down into the Isar valley. This is the river that flows through Munich. 

We spent the night in Garmisch-Partenkirchen with a bunch of wankers, literally. It was another Aire in the Wank Car Park. From here you can get the Wankbahn up to the top of the Wank or sit and relax in the Wank Haus. The view from our spot was spectacular. Towering over G-P like a silent white sentry is the Zugspitzes, Germany's tallest mountain. The twin towns are beautifully preserved Bavarian alpine history. The phrase picture postcard is bandied about to describe even average places but here the phrase is no mere cliché it is a living breathing postcard.

The trip from here to Munich was a real adventure. The five kilometre long road tunnel north of Garmish was closed and we had to detour over hills and dales and along valleys and over streams and through villages with main roads narrower than a Newtown backstreet. It was grim but no fairy tale. We finally reached Thalkirchen on the Isar, a souther suburb of Munich. It was here last year we discovered the kids surfing the standing wave created by the spillway next the camping ground. The kids were still there ripping and shredding but they had to give way to the river rafts. It's holiday season here and the rafts full of boozy patrons and live bands were floating down the river, down the spillways and ending their thirty mile booze cruise right next to the camping ground. We took some great movies and will upload them when we can onto FB. 

We rode into town this trip, a 15k round trip and we did it twice. The second time was around 20 as we cycled through the English Garden, the world's larges city park. It's here at the entrance to the gardens that the more famous standing wave is situated. It's larger but the atmosphere here is nowhere near that of Thalkirchen. It's just a wave for the big guys, no grassy bank with picnickers, sunbathers, campers, rafts or young girls and guys patiently taking it in turns to rip, crash and return. Although it was a bigger and better wave I was underwhelmed after seeing Thalkirchen. The return trip was through town and across the river by the Deutsches Museum. The cycleways here are outstanding, not just Munich but everywhere we have been. This is an outstanding city and another one that has integrated it's historical past within a modern framework without detracting from either.

We left Munich and headed up the Romantic Road, now a non romantic motorway for most of its length. We stopped at Rothenberg on the Tauber, another complete Medieval Walled City and another Aire just across the road from the southern entrance to the city. Now this is the romance we were looking for. Every Grimm Fairy Tale could have been set here. You can imagine Hansel & Gretel living over there, Repunzal's tower just around the corner and I expect to hear 'Hi Ho Hi Ho its off to work we go” echoing down the winding alleys. This is another living picture postcard. Nothing with a stamp on it could compare to this place in real life. Definitely coming back here. With heavy hearts we close the book on this fairy tale city but left a bookmark at the Rothenberg page. 

Our next stop was Wurzberg at the northern end of the Romantic Road. We stayed in a Aire in the city, a huge carpark on the banks of the River Main. It was a little crowded but we had a spot right on the bank looking out over the river and the town on the other side. This is a working river and part of the Rhine-Main-Danube system. Through a series of locks along these three rivers you can travel from Rotterdam to the Black Sea then through the Bosphorus to the Mediterranean. We sat and watched the incredibly long river boats slowly pass by before heading off into town. A short walk along the river is the Alter Brucke (the old bridge) the pedestrian entrance to the city. The bridge is beautifully preserved with statues of saints set on pedestals at intervals across its length, stoney stares overlooking the human bridge traffic passing by. The city has not however maintained its heritage architecture and there are many modern building mixed among the old. 

The next day we climbed winding road and pathway up to Wurzberg castle. We walked through the gardens full of colourful flowers and there is even a tranquil Japanese garden. There were so many winding pathways and steep connecting stairs it felt like we were in a game of Snakes & Ladders. We finally reached the top and entered the castle through a huge curved tunnel. Only two of the four gates remain, huge wooden doors mounted in a wrought iron frame and set in their original pivots. The portcullis is gone but this place had some serious defences in its day. The view from the walls is panoramic as it looks down over the city, the river, the vine covered hills behind and the valley stretching away in the distance. It would be worth taking a photograph except for the white monsters on the hilltops, wind turbines lined up on the ridges like ominous triffids. 

We left Wurzberg and headed west along the Autobahn. We passed Frankfurt and headed to Mainz and the little campground on the river where we stayed last year. It's beautiful set among the trees on an little island on the northern bank of the River Main. We can look out over the river and see the city on the opposite bank. Just outside the fence the bike track follows the river and now and then another river cruiser taking lazy tourists to the Danube or Rhine motors by. This place has a special meaning for me because it was here, using Caxton's invention that Gutenberg printed the first bible. It was here from this Reformation heartland that the stranglehold the Roman Catholic Church had on knowledge was broken and literacy became available to a wider world. The monasteries with their scriveners, copyists, illuminators, translators and secret libraries were to become obsolete. A thousand years of imposed illiteracy destroyed by a printing press - It felt good to know that in my own minuscule way I was a part of it. Their only secrets left were the making of beer and liqueurs and even that would would pass to newly literate.

We rode into town and wandered along the riverfront where there was a beerfest happening. The atmosphere was great then we walked uptown and sat in the main square and did our usual thing while eating icecream sundaes (hope Brett doesn't read this bit). The town is very pretty but the whole city center is being renovated and many of the buildings have scaffolding up for the workmen to refurbish the stonework. We left the next morning – today and headed for Rudesheim another of our favorite place on the Rhine. This post is coming to you from there. We are sitting outside at McCafe sipping coffee and contemplating our next stops. We only have just over a week before we are back in London. It seems like yesterday we were setting off. We have to go the Mosel awaits.

Paradise in Provence

Did you guess correctly that it was Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Picasso (Pablo is Paul in Spanish). Consider yourself smarter than a 60 year old. 

Arles is another outstanding city. I can see why so many artists came here. History asserts itself here like so many boisterous children vying for attention. “Look at me. No look at me. Over here look at me”. There is so much to take in. The centrepiece of the city is the Arena, a Roman colosseum that is smaller than Rome but much more complete. So much so they us it for open air concerts. The Gypsy Kings were playing on the night we arrived. Just around the corner is the remains of a Roman theatre again almost complete. The rest of the city is a mix of Medieval an later colonial styles. The narrow streets are cool beneath a clear blue Mediterranean sky. Shutters, climbing ivy and vivid flowers abound – on light-posts, balconies, plazas and parks. 

The Café Terrace on the Place du Forum and quiet courtyard of the Hospital on Place du Docteur Félix-Rey are so strikingly untouched by time that Vincent could have been here yesterday. Even the Langlois Bridge is still as it was in 1888 when he painted views of both banks. It's like history has marked time so that those of us who felt his pain could see Arles through his eyes over a century later. There is something about Provence that touches the soul. The warm winds with a sent of lavender, the rugged pine covered hills and valleys, the bright blue sky and the distant blue of the Mediterranean make this place special. We left with sadness but we will return. 

We are once again here in Cannes in our favourite campground, we even have the same place we had last year beneath tall eucalypts. It's quiet here and the view beyond the trees takes in the coast and surrounding hills. If you want a place with narrow streets that wind their way up the side of the hillside then this is it. If you are a bus driver in Cannes you can drive a bus anywhere. I think the phrase 'threading the needle' was invented here to describe bus drivers. We wandered around the streets on Sunday when we arrived. Everything was closed but along the alleyways and in empty carparks there was the Trash and Treasure market. Well trash mainly. It seems like every house along the winding streets drag out all their unwanted nick-nacks (and that's being polite) to sell to anyone gullible enough to think their getting a bargain. “It's not hand painted Margie. OK so it was only €1”. You get so involved with the whole event that you turn around and find you are standing at the top of the hill in a cool shady courtyard of the Chapel and Tower of St Anne with its spectacular view of the city below and the distant coast as it stretches east toward Nice and Monaco. 

The next day we took the bus to Nice. We were amazed it only cost €1.50 until it took two hours and it stopped at every second street corner between Cannes and Nice. The payoff was we landed smack in the middle of Stage 4 of Le Tour de France. It was the team time trial on a street course around the beach promenade and city streets. IT WAS AWESOME. The pre-race “Caravan” was just amazing. The sponsors all have mobile floats that are driven around the course. There's music blaring corporate jingles, Spruikers rabbeting on like late night infomercial hosts, dancing girls and guys, people in mascot suits, and lots and lots of cheap give aways thrown from the vehicles. Although some throw aways are not so cheap, like the Le Tour Polka Dot jersey that Margie had thrown to her before all the hullabaloo started. €70 worth of official race attire. Nice one.

We found a spot by the railing next to two young Aussies one in a Kangaroo suit. He must have been boiling as it was 30º. Took heaps of photos and had a great day. The Aussie team Greenedge won the time trial and they also had the Yellow Jersey. Not bad for a team that only started in Le Tour last year. We decided to catch the train back to Cannes, another two hour bus ride was not an option.

We had to set the alarm for Wednesday morning and use the front gate code to get out of the campground early enough to catch the bus to Grasse and get there before they closed of the roads. You see we got to watch Le Tour TWICE in two days. Pretty neat huh. I'd like to say I planned it like this but I'd be a big Julialiar. Grasse was planned Nice was a total fudge. We wandered around for a while before the race was due. Sat and had coffee and a pastry under umbrellas in a street-side cafe then browsed in the local shops. We bought some fragrant soaps and placemats. Now we just have to find a nook or cranny for them in the van. 

This was very different to Nice. There we stood and watch as each team took turns around the track at five minute intervals. We watched the whole thing and it took around two hours not including the pre-race circus. At Grasse we watched the procession of the “caravan” which took over an hour. They do this for the whole length of the race route – nearly 200kms some places. The race itself took less than two minutes to go by. We we lucky this race had a half a dozen guys in a breakaway that went through first then it was a 10 minute wait for the pelaton. Luckily I had my camera set to take 8 frames a second. We waited two hours for two minutes of race, that's the Tour de France. It's the atmosphere as much as the race that drags you in. We are only sad that we won't be with Tony and Gaille when they see it. 

Today we spent just wandering around Cannes again, lunch at a cafe, lying on the cool grass in the shade of palm trees by the beach and watching all the hand squeezes go by. That's Margie Speak for grossly overweight people. She squeezes my hand to get my attention. Some days I have to rub it with Dencorub it's so bruised. We are sitting here now looking out over a beautiful twilight. The sun has gone down but the sky is still pale blue and fading into grey and streaked with high cloud. There is a faint pink tinge to the silhouette of distant hills and the town now is just pinpricks of light by the sea. Time to finish and welcome Morpheus' embrace. We head for Italy tomorrow, then across the Alps to Munich.

Over the Mountains and Far Away

We left Barcelona with unfinished business, though with the knowledge that just like Arnie we'll be back. We headed north literally through the coastal range via some of the most impressive tunnelling we've seen so far. The highlands didn't stretch too far before we were climbing toward the Haute Pyrenees. Eventually we emerged from the five kilometre long Cadi Tunnel to the sight of the spine that divides France and Spain. The sky had turned dark and foreboding as we settled into the campground at La Seu d'Urgell on the Spanish side of the mountains. It's a peaceful valley perched in the foothills of the Pyrenees with panoramic views of the mountains.

The night however wasn't so quiet. We were woken around midnight as night was turned to day by lightning flashing like paparazzi milling around some publicity seeking celebrity. The distant thunder was welcoming for us but not for those who heard it at its loudest. To the west all hell was about to be turned loose on unsuspecting residents on both sides of the mountains. Devastation visited two countries in one night as the thunderstorm poured its floodwaters down both sides of the Pyrenees.

We didn't find out about it though until we reached Andorra the following day. After parking in the border village of St Julia de Loria we went in search of our morning coffee and WiFi at Maccas. To our astonishment the plasma on the wall had the news on and the images were not pretty. Just to the west on the Spanish side a village had been hit with flash floods in the middle of the night. Houses and even a bridge had been swept away by the floodwaters. The French fared no better but it wasn't until we camped for the night in Andorra la Vella and got WiFi that we found how badly French towns were affected. The place where we were headed was Lourdes and it was one of the worst hit. The sacred grotto was flooded and parts of the town were badly damaged. Pilgrims had to be rescued and the water supply was damaged. The town where we were going to meet Tony and Gaille was also flooded and some of Le Tour de France routes were so badly damaged they will have to re-route part of the stage.

We only stayed one night in Andorra before heading down the French side of the mountains. This side is much steeper than going up on the Spanish side. Fortunately we didn't have to go over the old high pass as they have built a five kilometre tunnel through the mountain. But there was still a zig-zag of spaghetti to get to the valley floor and the town of Ax-les-Thermes, where we stopped for coffee and a rest after the roller-coaster ride down the mountain. We stayed two night at Tarascon-s-Ariege just to gather out thought and decide what to do next. We decided not to go to Lourdes after watching the French News and speaking to some people who had just been there and we heading for Spain. We decided to head east to the French Mediterranean coast.

Carcassonne on the Aude river was our next stop. This ancient city has one of the best preserved Fortified Cities in Europe. It is an entirely preserved Medieval city inside the original walls, complete with royal residence and gothic cathedral, even the shops are in original houses and although selling modern wares they do not detract from the period setting of Le Cite. The Canal Du Midi also flows through Carcassonne. This is a canal system that crosses France from Bordeaux on the Atlantic all the way to Marseilles on the Mediterranean. It follows the ancient overland trade route that brought amber and tin and other goods to Mediterranean cities in the Iron and Bronze Ages and the canal remained a main trading route up until railways took over the transport of trade goods. Now days it is a major tourist route with canal boat hire serving a big international market. It's not cheap but it is a wonderful way to see parts of rural France you normally would pass by in a car or train. (Canal Boats are like Motorhomes on water - I'll check the prices when we get home).

We took the country road to the coast through rural towns where the house seemed to almost reach out and grab you they are so close to kerb and the streets so narrow you cringe as a semi crawls past in the opposite direction. “No more 'D' roads Paul”. We skirted Beziers and stopped on the coast at Le Cap d'Agde at Camping Crap d'Agde. This was supposed to be Four Stars but it was more like Two. It was cramped and the pitch was just dirt that became a dust storm when the wind came up. We cycled along the beach in the afternoon and walked along the promenade of the seafront. We even found a Luna Park – not much fun as it was closed as were most of the apartments and townhouses. We left the next morning, never to return.

The only notable thing about Agde is that it is where the Canal Du Midi reaches the Mediterranean, well not exactly as it exits into the Basin De Thau – a long narrow tidal lake that is separated from the sea by a thin stretch of sand dunes. The road runs along the dunes and the view is spectacularly boring. We kept going until we reached Palavas les Flots (don't you just love the names). We are camped in an Aire, another one of those special ones. It's like Puerto Gelves in Seville only bigger. We are parked in a marina which is on a canal that runs out into the sea 300 metres away. The town is on both sides of the canal at the entrance, five minutes walk away right on the beach. Heaven on a stick again.

The wind has been blowing a gale for two days but it has finally subsided and is now just a cool breeze. The weather is hot 30+ hot so the breeze is a welcome relief. We cycled along the canal all the way into Montpellier which is 10 kilometres inland. We rode into a 20km headwind all the way there and it was heavy going especially for little legs who has crashed as I write this. We wandered around for an hour or so before heading back. We didn't get the tailwind on the way back as the wind had dropped and the sun was beating down and turning us red as beetroots. Tomorrow we will be browner. We just don't seem to burn in the sun here. I've never seen Margie so tanned.

It's beautiful here and the weather is glorious but there is really nothing to do by lie on the beach all day and that is not out scene. Tomorrow we head for Arles in Provence, one time home of a famous Vincent and two famous Pauls – you can fill in the blanks, can't have me doing all the work.

Barca Barca Bloody Beautiful

Spain has saved the best for last. We are now in Barcelona and are blown away by how amazing this place is. There are no adjectives that can truly do justice to a fitting description of what is without doubt one of the greatest cities in the world. You turn any corner and the only sound that is uttered from your lips is Wow! This place has the WOW Factor in spades.

There is just so much to take in it is a bit overwhelming. The city is a paradise of classic Spanish architecture but even the modern buildings are stunning in their uniqueness. There was so much we wanted to see we took the 2 day City Hop-on Hop-off bus tour and spent the entire day on the two routes just sitting there gobsmacked and sunburnt. After the full tour which started at 10am we finally got back to the campground at 8pm. We then decided on where we wanted to go back to the next day.

We started with Gaudi's garden - Parc Guell. This is an architectural wonderland. His unique style is wondrous to behold. A combination of organic and ceramic with a touch of surreal fantasy. This would have to be the archetype for every fantasy artist. One can imagine goblins and elves and even hobbits inhabiting Gaudi's vision in physical reality.

We headed next to the old quarter, a series of maze-like streets that run off the wide boulevard called La Rambla. The area runs from near the centre of town to harbour and was the original city that was inside the old Roman wall. The dominant building here is the Gothic Cathedral. The exterior is almost threatening with its narrow conical towers, thick muscular buttresses and glaring gargoyles. The front is open to a huge tree ringed plaza where on Sundays the locals dance in typical Catalan style to the accompaniment of a small orchestra that plays from the steps of the church. The rear however is dark, gloomy, towering and full of foreboding. The interior is quite spectacular. The stained glass windows are some of the best we have seen, while the gilt altars and shrines are overbearing and really quite ugly.

We wandered along the cool narrow streets that followed the contours of the old Roman walls until we reached the harbour. The harbour-side is massive. It combines the commercial port, the cruise ship terminal and the harbour leisure and entertainment precinct in one integrated complex. It has everything, a 24/7 shopping mall, conference and trade centre, the largest aquarium in Europe, outdoor plazas and boulevards lined with trees and cafes and a casino. Did I mention we just love this place.

No time to stop we're headed along Passeig de Colon to the Columbus monument and the trip up to Montjuic, the location of Barcelona Olympic site. Here on the hill overlooking the city there are the Miramar Gardens, the Montjuic Fortress, the Olympic complex, the National Arts Museum and the Poble Espanyol ( a exhibition of typical Spanish buildings from different regions) it was built for a World Fair in the early 20^th Centruy and was supposed to be demolished afterwards but it was so well liked the city decided to keep it. Unfortunately we couldn't get to see it as it had been taken over for the Weekend by a sort of Spanish Big Gay Day Out kinda thingy. Lots of Djs with names like Ivano E Magination playing Doof Doof Music.

We walked around the hillside and visited the Olympic Stadium. The exterior is the original early 20^th Century and very Romanesque while the interior is a counterpoint in concrete and steel. We crossed the road and wandered down through the park to the National Arts Museum that dominates the hill overlooking the western side of the city. From her you can look down over a wide panorama of the entire city. Steps lead down the hillside to the base and along a wide boulevard to Plaza Espanya. The entrance to the boulevard is marked by two huge towers and beyond the towers across the plaza is Arenas de Barcelona. This is the old Bull Ring that became too small so they built a new one on the other side of town. But this one was deemed so architecturally significant that they kept the original circular exterior facade. They supported the entire circular brickwork walls on a concrete plinth and raised the entire structure 20 feet. This allowed them to gut the rest of the bullring's interior and build a shopping mall inside. From the circular roof platform you get a spectacular view back down the boulevard with the magic fountain that cascades down the hillside in front of the Arts Museum.

We caught the bus from Plaza Espanya back to our little motorhome away from home and crashed. Well Margie has and I am just about to.

Tomorrow we take one last look around Barcelona then we head for the Pyrenees and Andorra. On the other side, in France, a 100 year old bike race and my brother await.

Benicassim - Not just another seaside resort town

Benicassim is another one of those unexpected surprises. The town is a popular place to stay with “northerners” but it hasn't been spoilt by over commercialisation and the weather is just as hot and the sea just as warm as it is down south. The campground was lovely with shaded pitches under gums, pines and mulberry trees. There was the usual bar and pool and the fresh bread was to die for. There was even supermarket straight across the road and another a block away. We bought fresh Atlantic salmon and had thick pan fried fillets for two nights. The price – €7.50/kilo.

We took to the bike again and cycled along the beachfront in the opposite direction to the Green Way. The cycle tracks run all the way along the beach promenade. There are several beaches all the way along the coast to the south but its difficult to tell where one ends and the next begins – bit like Northie, Elurea and Wanda but not. We cycled for over ten kilometres to the port of Castellion.

The beaches are clean and the water is crystal clear but there is no real tide here in the Mediterranean and the sand isn't white, or yellow for that matter (no matter what they say in the travel brochures or on travel programs). The sand here is a strange grey/brown and finer than the sand in most of Oz, although it is similar to the volcanic sand in parts of north Queensland. The predominant coastal mountain rock is shale not sandstone and I guess that is where the colour comes from.

The weather is hot and the water is warm yet the beaches are mostly empty. Most of the beachside apartments are shuttered up and even the weekend crowd of locals isn't what I expected. It's hard to believe that all this vacation accommodation can pay for itself during just July and August. It is only the camping grounds that are mostly full at tis time of year.

We caught the bus into Castellion de la Plana, the only major town between Valencia and Tarragona. It is a bit rough around the edges but the centre of town is really nice. The central market square is very old but quite charming with a beautiful fountain surrounded by an ancient church, the town hall and the magnificently preserved market building. The rest of the central district is full of pedestrian shopping streets all preserving that classic Spanish style. There are dozens of open plazas, usually with a fountain in the middle and shaded with trees, where you can sit in one of the many cafes or bars and relax.

Benicassim is now one of our favourite places and where we have stayed the longest. There is something about this stretch of coast that is so appealing to us.

Mazarron to Azahar

Isla Plana is a peaceful little resort town tucked away in a quiet little corner of the Golf of Mazarron just south of Cabo Tinosa and the ancient port town of Cartagena.

The coastal plain and the bay is backed by rugged mountains of many hued mineral deposits and scrub and stunted trees that clinging tenuously to every eroded terrace and crevice. The plain is covered with white meshed greenhouses, which are a stark contrast to the kaleidoscope of colours of the nearby hills. The mountains and the surrounding landscape has been warped and twisted over eons to such and extent that much of the sedimentary mountainside strata is almost vertical. Red, brown, orange and yellow bands streak the hillsides and here and there slivery seams of shale glisten in the noonday sunshine. The twisted landscape overlooks a shallow bay that is of outstanding beauty. White washed houses cluster in the lee of the hillside with the lower level spreading around the curve of the bay. The water is warm and crystal clear, the sky is bright and cloudless and the sea is azure blue. Palm trees line the beachfront boulevard and at random intervals along the shore beach bars, restaurants and cafes provide shade and refreshments from the heat of the sun.

This part of the Spanish coast has avoided the over-commercialisation of the Costa del Sol and to a large extent has kept its charm. It has not however avoided the economic woes of the rest of the country. Half finished property developments abound and most of the rental and investment accommodation is dormant. There is even a recently completed Hotel Resort lying empty – cyclone wire surrounds it like a wall of thorns with the sleeping princess within waiting for the wakening kiss of the economic recovery. A kiss that will be a long time coming. This is the peril one faces when an entire socio-economic-political system lives in a fairytale.

We took the buss across the coastal range to the “big smoke” - Car-ta-hay-na. Margie wanted to see it because she remembered the name from the movie Romancing the Stone, only the Cartagena in the movie is the Colombian namesake. It was another Madrid moment. Whatever glory, prestige and beauty it had in the past has been worn away over time like the crumbling ruins that overlook the harbour. Its ancient past has withered to dust, its moorish past has been reused and its colonial architectures is nought but cracked and broken brickwork and faded and peeling paint. Some of the building are empty shells propped up by scaffolding like movie facades - echoes of what was once a great city but now in decay.

We left it to its future fate and headed north and inland where we skirted Mercia and spurned the coast of the Costa Blanca with it high-rise apartments and British enclaves like Benidorm full of wannabe reality TV stars. We stayed just south of the Valencia near the small seaside town of El Saler. The flats behind the coast here have been turned into what looks like something from the Mekong Delta. Rice paddies stretch as far as the eye can see on both sides of the road. The only thing missing was the tanned Asian farmer ankle deep in mud with a conical straw hat shading him from the sun. Well this is the home of Paella. We are constantly amazed at what the Spanish have done agriculturally in such a barren landscape. Unfortunately Australian isn't learning any of it.

Valencia is a jewel. It's like Seville on the Mediterranean. There are wide shaded streets with palms and orange trees lining the pavement. The architecture is outstanding both classic and modern. The city centre is a maze of pedestrian streets and alleys lined with typical classical buildings with their shuttered windows and wrought iron balconies. Below at pavement level the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Familiar storefronts line either side of the street with the centre given over to pavement cafes and bars. The plazas are broad and lined with palms and fountains, and here and there along the route an ancient tower protrudes above the buildings, a medieval church shares the street with classic buildings and then just around the corner the central market, a masterpiece of wrought iron, glass and stone. This city is breathtaking.

The dried up river that once surrounded most of the city has been drained, levelled and turned into parkland. One can walk or bicycle around the city along pathways lined with, and beneath canopies of, botanical variety and shaded splendour. The focal point of this river of greenery is the modern architectural marvel that is the Museum of Arts and Science, the Oceanarium and Hemisphere – an audio-visual experience. It glistens white and modern in the sunshine and is a perfect contrast to the riband of natural beauty it overlooks. The city we could never remember is now one we will never forget.

We are now in the seaside town of Benicassim on the Costa Del Azahar. The nights are getting cooler as we move further north. The days are still sunny and mostly cloudless. It is hard to get used to the sun setting so late here. It is still light at 9:30 – and we're in Spain.

Today we rode our bikes along the Via Verde. When the Spanish modernised their rail infrastructure in the heydays of the EU's spending spree much of the old rail lines were torn up and new lines created and placed in more advantageous locations. The old line that wound its way along the coast and through the centre of the seaside villages has been turned into a Green Road. The old shingle ballast has been paved over and turned into a bike and walking track. The road isn't green at all. The name stems from the fact that virtually every dedicated bike path created in the last ten years everywhere in the world is painted green. Worldwide it's local and state government's arse kissing to the enviro-mentally challenged.

This one winds along the coast passing through fifty foot cuttings, across bridges over defiles and dry riverbeds and through the old railway tunnels. The ride offers outstanding views of the coast and rugged hills that overlook it. The Mediterranean laps against the sheer rocky shore between coastal fishing villages that are almost hidden. Tiny sandy crescents where buildings crowd around a palm lined shore or cluster around a small protected harbours. These were once just whistle stop on the coastal rail journey to somewhere bigger and more populated. Now they are served by a modern rail network that has bought a new prosperity. The only fishing done now is for new ways to relieve gullible tourist of their spending money.

Just Another Day In Paradise

Beyond Malaga the coast returns to days of old – white washed fishing villages carved into secluded inlets like ancient limestone sculptures now stained and crumbling with the passage of time and a neglected serpentine road capturing each town in its coils as it twist and turns along the rugged contours of the coast. Gone are the beach bars, the stained deck chairs, the military regiments of beach umbrellas, the coastal high rise apartments, the gaudy hotels and the over-commercialised real estate that stretches from Malaga all the way back west to Gibraltar. Here there is normality that is only safe from modernisation because the money and patronage ran out.

We are whisked along by the modern marvel that is the Spanish Autovias. From the heights above, the black ribands of progress carry us speedily on our way. We burrow through mountain tunnels kilometres long and traverse dizzying gorges hundreds of feet deep on viaducts that defy gravity and imagination. High above like Olympians looking down on the mortal world below.

As we near Almeria the hills subside and we cross a plain that runs from the coast to the foot of the mountains. The contrast is unforgettable. The plain is virtually flat for miles and miles and meets the mountains in a abrupt transition. There is a defining line where the plain stop and the mountains rise shear in some places for hundreds of feet. What was once undulating in places has now been scoured flat as a table top and it seems every square inch of the plain is covered with giant green houses. Row upon row, mile upon mile of plastic and shade cloth covered frames. The REAL Greenhouse Effect in operation. Here vast amounts of rubble from the plain have been graded flat and the tailings formed into huge reservoirs – three squared sides backed by the hard edge of the mountains. Each reservoir filled to capacity with water feeding all the greenhouse by gravity alone. At first glance it is an ugly sprawl of white blighting the land but this blight produces crops year round in a climate that has over 280 sunny days in any given year. It not only feed a nation but the rest of Europe and the UK as well. The other blight on the landscape here are the rows of wind turbines that cost a fortune, are hopelessly inefficient at producing electricity, kill and maim thousands of birds each year and have been one of the contributing factor in Spain's economic woes.

Our camping ground was tucked into one of those little forgotten coves just outside Almeria. An old bridge that was part of the old coast road divided the camp in two. We were only metres from the lapping waves of the Mediterranean and were lulled to sleep by the sound of the tide. This campground was old and faded like the villages we passed and must have been here when we were here 40 years ago. We walked across the now disused bridge and along the old coast road no longer in use. We couldn't believe how narrow it was and wondered how back then we had traveled along this very road. 

We caught the local bus into town and spent the day wandering around the town. This is an ancient city like most along this part of the Spanish coast and it's name is a clue to it's origin. Spanish towns and cities with Al, Ben, Gib, Guadal are all of Phoenician origin. Historian like to portray these places as former Moorish enclaves but one only has to go back to Roman and Greek writings to find that this part of the Mediterranean was firmly in Phoenician and Carthaginian control for thousands of years before the Moors invaded Spain in the 9^th Century AD. The Moorish conquest could be said to be a homecoming rather than an invasion. The Arabic language is but a 2^nd cousin to North African Punic and is but a later version on Ancient Canaanite the father of Ancient Hebrew and Berber.

We made our way along the streets of the old town to the Alcazar, a Moorish fortress built on the hillside overlooking the harbour and city. It is one of the best preserved pieces of Moorish architecture in Spain even though much of it has been rebuilt after an earthquake in the middle ages.

The place is astounding with its high walls, corner towers and the beautiful gardens. It is amazing how people from a desert climate went out of their way to produce gardens of such outstanding beauty. I guess every caliph or suzerain was trying to reproduce his vision of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The dominant feature is water - ponds, spillways and fountains abound. To a desert people 'water is life'. 

We also visited the Cathedral of Almeria which looks like a small fortress. Its plain exterior belies a rather splendid interior. It is built in a very Gothic style with huge vaulted ceilings that are supported by massive external buttresses. While not as imposing as Notre Dame or Amiens it was none the less a very special place. The U shaped choir was notable for its double row of stepped seats that were a double for the one in The Name Of The Rose and I could even imagine Venerable Jorge reading from the spiral stepped pulpit. The organ was also intriguing as several banks of pipes were aligned horizontally – very strange. Needless to say we enjoyed Almeria even though to borrow an adjective from Douglas Adams it looked (like much of the rest of Spain that we have visited) a little squalid.

Our next leg took us into the desert of Tabernas, the only desert in Europe and the setting for many “B” Grade movies that became classics. It was here 40 years ago we discovered quite by accident the movie sets of Sergio Leone. The Dollar Trilogy staring a then unknown Clint Eastwood was made here in a desert landscape that could be the background for every western ever made. Here also the Spaghetti Western with Bud Spencer and Terrance Hill were made. Other notable classic that used the local area and the sets were Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Once Upon A Time In The West, Lawrence of Arabia and many Italian and German westerns. Although it wasn't filmed here one can imaging the Magnificent Seven or Gunfight at the OK Corral as you walk around the now ageing and shabby sets. I don't think they have made a movie here for a while as westerns have fallen out of favour these day.

We left the sets and our fond memories behind and headed for the northeast coast. The barren landscape continued until we crossed (went under) the coastal ranges and ended up on another coastal plain even larger than the one we left with even more greenhouses. If you thought Asia was into intensive farming this beats it hands down. The Motto here could be “You name it we grow it”.

We are now settled into a very nice campground in the coastal town or Isla Plana just south of another Ex-Phoenician port of Cartagena – pronounced 'Car-ta-hay-na'. That's Carthage or New Carthage. We've decided to stay a while and just chill. The campground is beautiful – shaded terraced plots with sea views, quiet with a cool sea breeze, huge swimming pool that is replenished every day with warm clear sea water – heaven on a stick. Not sure where we are headed next but it will be further north when we decide to move on. For now we are happy to stay a while and enjoy the sunshine and peacefulness of Isla Plana.

Costa del Sol and Costa Stupidity

We camped at a coastal town of Puerto de Santa Maria just across the bay from Cadiz. The campground is just across the road from the beach. The beach is beautiful with clean fine sand and crystal clear water. The waves are tiny though due to it being on the northern side of the bay but it faces the Atlantic and the sea breezes are cool and bracing especially as the days are hot, around 30ºC with mostly cloudless skies.

We cycled around town and sat and had a cool drink at one of the bars on the quayside. It was relaxing after the drive across the plains from Seville to just kick back and let everything just pass us by. The next day we caught the Catamaran to Cadiz and were once again pleasantly surprised to find one of the places we missed when we were here so long ago was still relatively unspoilt.Cadiz is one of the oldest settled places in the world and at least as old as what historians mistakenly call Jericho. There were sailors in this port when they were building Babylon and it probably the longest continuously inhabited port in the world.

When Odysseus lived here the Bay stretched as far north as Seville and even today the triangle of land that encompasses Huelva/Seville/Cadiz is barely three metres above sea level with random knolls marking out where former islands dotted this once shallow sea. In fact Cadiz and all the surrounding towns were all once islands that have since been joined by the natural silting of the bay and humans draining and filling to create arable land just as has happened in the Fenlands of Norfolk and most of the Netherlands – same guys, same technology just different time frames. 

No Odysseus wasn't Greek nor Macedonian nor any race that came from the Eastern end on the Mediterranean. He was an Iberian Celt and one of the worlds greatest navigators. The Odyssey recounts his travels from the battlefield of Troy in ancient Britain to West Africa and across the Atlantic to the Caribbean and back to Northern Europe via what we now call Cuba. 

Don't believe me then read the book – Where Troy Once Stood. 

From Cadiz we headed south across the wide flat former flood plains then over the coastal hills to the entrance to the Mediterranean. Gibraltar has had many rulers and when you see it in the flesh you can understand why. Nothing passes through its straits without it being noticed by whoever controlled this 'rock'. The view from the top is spectacular. A 360º view of Sea, Ocean, Africa and Europe. When the Celts controlled it they kept the Mediterraneans out of the Atlantic for 500 years and when the Phoenicians (just Celts by another name) controlled it they controlled the Sea and Ocean. Masters of their Universe.

It may be owned by Britain and disputed by Spain but the dominant language on the Rock is Spanish. It is the cheapest place to buy fuel, booze and ciggies but nothing else. It may be a tax haven but don't expect to get a bargain if you don't smoke, drink or own a vehicle. The prices are no different to the UK and the food is dreadful just like the UK. And the discount stores are all run by Indians and Chinese just like the UK. Spain is cheaper and better value for everything else. We spent two night there and then headed inland.

We left the flatlands of the Atlantic coast and headed for the mountains and the ancient town of Ronda. The town sits astride a gorge that drops sheer for over 300 feet and a narrow bridge connects the two halves of the town. The area around Ronda has been inhabited since the Stone Age but is was the Celts (that would be Odysseus' Celts) who first established a city here. It was subsequently ruled by Phoenicians, Romans, Suebi (Celts again), Christians, Visigoths (another bunch of Celts), Moors, Berbers, (the source of the word 'barbarian'), Christians, the list goes on. It has had a turbulent history and in more modern times was the setting for Hemingway's “For Whom the Bell Tolls”. It appears to have been one of the most strategic pieces of real estate in South Spain for a very very long time. 

The city is a patchwork of ancient and colonial styles with Roman wall perched atop older Phoenician foundations underlying the boundary of a Christian church. Most of the city though is of classic Spanish colonial design, with hints of its ancient past down the narrow shaded side alleys.

We only spent the day here wandering then headed off back down the 35 kilometres of spaghetti that keeps getting dropped on our route. It is a motorcyclists heaven and they were passing us in both direction. Their acceleration and change downs echoed up the valleys. There was no sound of babbling brooks or mountain streams though. Most of the water courses are dry or just pools of stagnant water. The only green on the hillsides are the forests of spanish Fir trees, the only things that seem immune to the drought they are having here in Andalusia. 

We are now camped in Torremolinos. A short bus ride from Malaga. We spent the winter here in Malaga 39 years ago and have very fond memories of this place. The campground we stayed at then has gone now, turned into a beachside park. But the city is much like we remember it. The good burghers of Malaga have taken a lead from Seville's design plan and have modernised the city centre without destroying its soul and character. The old streets have been turned into pedestrian walkways and everywhere there are trees and a colourful riot of beautiful flowers. The squares and plazas are shaded by orange trees and the familiar jacarandas. And everywhere along the highways, byway and parks the good old Aussie gum trees provide shade and hints of home.

So far we haven't found anywhere we want to stay for more than 3-4 days. Most of the coast here is unrecognisable. It's like one big suburb only they are apartments and hotels. It's like Surfer's that stretches for a hundred kilometres. But many are empty and there are dozens of half built apartment blocks and townhouse enclaves that look like they just downed tools and walked away. The fencing still around the perimeter with grass and weeds growing up through the mesh. We have passed at least a hundred abandoned bars/restaurants/petrol stations/factories/offices, as well as holiday and domestic real estate. 

A British couple we met had just sold their townhouse and managed to break even after owning it for 5 years. They know of others that weren't so lucky. Most of the abandoned apartments and townhouse estates were built for foreign investors not domestic ones.

There is a thin veneer of affluence and prosperity here but scratch the surface and you find that Europe in general and Spain in particular is hanging on to the precipice for dear life. I have seen Australia's future and it's not a pretty sight. If you think the Green Dream is the future then come and spend some time here. Europe is now living with the consequences of its own arrogant environmental stupidity. 

We head further East from here towards Almeria. The weather has been brilliant – hot days with cooling sea breezes and cool nights. Hope the winter there isn't too cold and wet.

Seville is astounding.

If anything they have made it more beautiful than we remembered. The tree lined streets and plazas are cool and shaded in the heat of the day. The main avenue has been turned into a pedestrian area with only the tram running down the middle to dodge. It winds and twist but its length is broken up with a sprinkling of plazas where you can sit beneath the green and purple canopy of jacarandas and orange trees before your next sojourn. Running off this main artery is a matrix of cross streets and parallel avenues to explore at your leisure.

The street level shopfronts are all new and a mix on contemporary designs but above that the blend of spanish colonial and moorish architecture that distinguishes Andalusian cities in general and Seville in particular is alive and living in the 21^st Century. The whitewash, the earthy colour pallet, the wrought iron balconies, the brilliant colours and designs of the ceramic tile surrounds that accentuate a window here, a doorway there and a balcony there, are a wonder to behold. 

Then you get to the old part of town around the Moorish Alcazar. Here the streets are narrow and labyrinthine. There is no Minotaur at the centre but you could certainly use some of Ariadne's string. The colours of the plazas and avenues are gone. Here in the narrow alleys there are cobbled greys at your feet, then washed whites to the rooftops interrupted only by the solid browns of doors and shutters and above that vivid blue Mediterranean sky.

The Minotaur's relations reside down the road aways at Plaza del Toro – the bull ring. Yes they still have Bull Fights here in Spain despite the bleating of PETA and the usual suspects. When are theses Bozos going to learn some evolutionary theory. Humans haven't spent all this evolving to end up eating tofu and mung beans and drinking wheat grass. Honestly have you ever met a healthy looking vegan, most are emaciated scarecrows whose friends call them “Rattles” because of the number of vitamin supplement pill they take.

We are camped in a Aire, a very special Aire. It's a marina on the banks of the Quadalquiver River. A little gated community that welcomes motorhomers. The apartments overlooking our little spot are typically Spanish but cast your eyes in the opposite direction and you could be excused for thinking you were on the banks of the Murray River. The chirping of sparrows and native birds, the brown river slowly meandering by and the ever present gum trees lining the river banks make this place homely and special. There's even an outside dunny, how much more Aussie can you get. The Port of Gelves deserves a pat on the back for this place.

Well its time to sign off for now. We head for Cadiz next, the 'real' home of Odysseus.

Homer got it right, History got it wrong.

Reality Bites

Sooner or later the expectation of idyllic past memory is bound to be confronted by the cold hard edge of the present. Madrid was one such awakening. This place is nothing like we remember. Nothing seems the same. It's like the infrastructure giant dropped his bowl of spaghetti all over the map. There are more junctions here than street corners in Manhattan. The 21^st Century has not treated Madrid well. The centre of town is gaudy to put it mildly and sitting at a pavement cafe enjoying a beer and wine on the Grande Via while the local hookers plied their trade was only part of it. It's sad as it was such a beautiful city – well that's what we remembered. The camping ground was ancient and it showed. The giant wasn't the only one to drop things from above. It took over an hour and some cast iron swearing to remove the bird shit from the solar panel and roof of the van the day we left. Not happy Juan. 

Toledo was the next stop and we were going to stop overnight but after finding the city much like Madrid were having reservations. The pseudo “local market” full of tourist rubbish and the dozen bus loads of touristas was enough to spoil the day. So we headed west for Portugal and ended up in one of the best kept secrets in Europe. 

The place is called Caceres. It lies directly north of Seville in the centre of Spain. A 600 year old city left untouched by the rabid dogs of time. It's roots go back to the Romans in 45BC and has been inhabited by both Moors and Christians. You can walk around the Old City and barely see another soul, except for the main square Plaza Mayor were locals and a handful of unexpected tourists sit under shaded umbrellas and sip coffee or something a little stronger during siesta. We wandered the narrow streets and marvelled at the melding of Eastern and Western styles. If your lucky you'll find someone has left the front door open and you get a glimpse of the interior. 

We are now ready to head south. We have decided to give Lisbon a miss and head for Seville and the South Coast – the Costa del Sol.