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Hola! Mucho Scorchio!!!!!!!!!
OK so there are no prizes for guessing where we are now!
No Gary, not Tibet, we are in Spain and predictably, we have arrived in a hot spell. It is so hot that even the flies have an afternoon siesta but of course that doesn’t stop us Brits and accompanying mad dogs from doing a spot of sightseeing.
We are in Aranjuez, 30 kms south of Madrid, a town famous for being the “Versailles of Spain”, with the added advantage of a distinct lack of French people. That last comment was of course a joke, we are looking forward to the cultural delights of France later in our Euro tour, it’s been a long time since we visited Disneyland Paris.
Anyway back to Spain. We arrived in mid June after a hectic couple of weeks in the UK with friends, relatives and officialdom, and sadly too late for the warm spell of weather that heralded the arrival and rapid departure of summer.
As mentioned in the last blog, Ralph Senior had kindly donated his motorhome to us so the first thing was to spend an eventful couple of weeks on the Costa Del Scorchio at Vera (Almeria) getting used to the finer points of chemical toilet emptying (don’t go there!) power showers, water tank refills and that perennial Euro favourite, driving on the wrong side of the road.
For our first taste of motorhoming in Europe we camped at the end of the beach road in Mojacar, a delightful spot with an incredibly warm Mediterranean Sea on our doorstep and a café 50 metres away. Even more delightful was the fact that there was no charge to camp; we simply recompensed the café owner by ordering coffees and plates of sardines for lunch.
The unexpected highlight of our beach “fly” camping was the impromptu firework display. This was not the bonfire celebration of Santa someone or other the previous night, but some enthusiastic locals letting off a sequence of fireworks that was more impressive than many UK official displays we’ve paid to watch. If only they hadn’t waited until 2.30am to start the show!
Regarding the motorhome, to say it was fully equipped would be an understatement; Dad had provided everything we thought we might need, everything we don’t know we might need and everything we may never need. The contrast to the Landrover and trailer could not be more stark, automation has replaced physical labour so I will have to ensure Angela gets her exercise in other ways (stop it Carol!)
Regarding our Grand Tour plans, Plan A had been to enjoy the cultural joys of Southern Spain (Cadiz, Granada, Sevilla) whilst we were in the vicinity but that was before the temperatures approached 40C! Plan B was to head north for cooler and fresher weather on Spain’s Atlantic coast. Plan B prevailed so we set off from Vera armed with enough maps, brochures, guidebooks and notes (thanks Dad), to open a mobile Spanish Tourist Information office.
Aranjuez, despite being a 500 kilometre drive, turned out to be only halfway up the country, our first indication of the size of Spain! The Palacio Real here, the old summer residence of the Spanish Royal Family, is a delight to walk round, especially on a Wednesday when entry is free.
The sumptuous staterooms are similar to British stately homes though with more emphasis on religion in the decoration. The revelation for us was the relatively small Moorish inspired smoking room. Designed by the architect of the Alhambra in Granada, it made us want to head back south again to see more!
The gardens, acre after acre of which follow the Rio Arjo through the town, are packed full with arboreal examples from the far flung corners of the Old Spanish Empire, and thankfully offered shady oasis in the stifling heat. This was just as well as we spent many hours waiting there, unable to get to grips with that old Spanish phenomenon, shop opening hours (or more accurately, shop closing times!)
Shops tend not to open before 10am, then shut anytime after 1pm to perhaps re-open at 5pm or 5.30pm or 6pm depending on how good the siesta was! Trying to buy fresh bread (a daily ritual given that the bread hardens to concrete faster than Steve’s wallet goes back in his pocket) requires meticulous planning. Adopting the British principle of buying bread at, say 8am, is no good, it’s not baked yet. Go early afternoon and the bakery is closed, go after 5 and they have run out. That is why we have 2 packets of par-baked loaves in our cupboard now, it’s easier!
The 500 pitch campsite at Aranjuez boasts in the guide that it is “quiet, day and night”. To the profoundly deaf this was possibly an accurate statement. Loud music welcomed you to the pool area where the holidaying Spanish (always a quiet race) rose to the challenge to be heard. The same music was relayed to the ablution blocks just in case you were irritated by the noise of the birdlife. Nearly every caravan had a TV going all day. At night though, things changed. The camp entertainer (I don’t mean he was camp, though he may have been!) started the kiddies’ show at 11pm (afternoon tea time for most Spaniards) for a couple of hours and then it was time to party!
The plus side was the stunning silence in camp in the mornings and the empty ablution blocks. Well, nearly empty ablutions; just the Germans in there, large bellied middle aged men with miniscule Speedo budgie smugglers easily hiding their Vienna’s. I could go on but having insulted the French, Spanish and Germans in my first Euroblog I am in danger of running out of future targets!
So we are up and running and in Europe for the duration. No idea where we are heading or when, except that we have to get the motorhome to the UK before 31 January 2012 for the dreaded annual MOT (roadworthiness) test. Apart from that the world is our limpet.
I’ll leave you with a “thought for the day” kindly provided by National Express coach services at Victoria Station, London. A large sign warns all drivers “No Reversing without rear-end supervision”
Thanks to everyone back home in the UK for making us so welcome, especially Jo, (Angela’s Mum), Alan & Jane and Bill & Lesley. Apologies for not descending on the rest of you but we will, so widen those driveways, the motorhome is coming. Special thanks to Dad in Spain for the boat trips (shame about the diving technique), the motorhome, equipment, advice, hospitality and the bikes, we will get on them, and hello and thanks to Anne, good to meet you.
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