07/2003 - Festivals and Rallies
8th January 2004 - Costa del Azahar, Spain
Hi Folks!
4th January 2004, a landmark day for Project Nomad! Today Dave's knees were exposed in public for the first time since we set sail from the UK. Yes, the shorts and the Factor 12 made debut appearances as we were bathed in the first nearly-serious heat so far. As you know only too well from our repeated tauntings, we've had lots of wonderful bright sunshine since we hit the South of France, which has been a great joy, lifted our spirits daily and given us fantastic sunrises and sunsets. Up to now, however, we've mainly had gentle, keep-the-light-jacket-on warmth - eminently bask-able, but not of the rip-the-clothes-off-in-abandon variety. Yesterday was deliciously warm and promising, then today the temperature crept a few degrees higher still. Ah! N.B. We can assure you that no positive international diplomatic relations were harmed in the exposure of these legs.
The weather has also brought us the most incredible clear, crisp, star-sprinkled nights with bright moonlight. It almost makes it worth suffering the age-related lack of bladder elasticity that makes those nocturnal pees such a regular feature (most of you know what we're talking about). There's something special (is there?!) about sitting on the loo gazing at a phenomenal night sky through the roof hatch. Ah, the little joys of motorhome life!
You last checked in with us on the vast site at Vilanova i la Geltru, where we spent a fairly quiet New Year. Well, the Old Farts' New Year's Eve was pretty low key and cosy - by choice - but we vicariously enjoyed other people's revellings. From the snuggliness of under-duvet-dom, we listened to the hooting of horns, crackle of fireworks and cheering of other motorhomers as midnight arrived. We considered rushing outside in our dressing gowns for international embraces but, perhaps unsurprisingly, Comfort and Cosy won out.
Once again we were in a dilemma about whether we wanted to stay on a bit longer as we really enjoyed it there. We got to know a number of lovely people (apart from the harmonious Dutchfolk) with whom we hope to keep in touch. On the very morning we left the site (Friday 2nd January) we also encountered two other English 'full-timer' couples who we wished we'd got talking to earlier. (Hi there Dave and Pat, Mike and Della, welcome to the Rollingfruitbat Bulletin! Look forward to going on your mailing lists too!) Guess where one of the couples comes from? Would you believe, near Polegate, which is just outside Eastbourne! And Dave (that Dave, not this one, if you get the drift) reckons he'd seen VeeJay the Van around in East Sussex over the summer. Cliches about small worlds come to mind, eh?
Anyroadup, knowing that we're heading down towards Orgiva in the next couple of weeks or so, we did decide to press South a bit more, to take the journey in smaller chunks.
For those of you who have huge maps of Europe on your kitchen/bedroom/office walls, with a little piece of red wool following our route (you mean not all of you do?!), we are now parked up on a site at the beach end of a small town called Moncofa, between Castellon de la Plana and Sagunto. It's on the aptly named Costa del Azahar - the orange blossom coast. At this time the trees are mostly still laden with ripe fruit, but the scent of the blossom must be amazing later in the year, as the orange groves stretch for miles.
Moncofa itself is quite a work-a-day little town. It has a small municipal market, which is always interesting, and maybe a dozen or so small shops scattered through the central area. The Correos (post office) is a little room right on the street, and is, to say the least, informally run. It has the sorting office pigeon holes in it that people seem to wander in and rifle through, willy-nilly, whilst chatting with anyone else who happens to be there propped in the doorway. The guy who took our letters bounced them around, weighing them with his hand, with a kind of 'well, roughly, sort-of, roundabout - oh let's say 0.52 cents' approach! Will they get to their destination?!
After the lush, park-like site at Vilanova our new site initially seemed rather stark, with its sternly pollarded, leafless trees. However it has lovely views to the hills behind, and is surprisingly birditudinous, given the lack of bushes and leaves. Loads of small sparrows, and sparrow-esque birds around, and one day Jeni could hear lots of what seemed to be pigeons. She spotted a great gaggle of them under a nearby caravan and indeed that's what they looked like. It was only when they took off, we realised they were pigeons with under-wing re-sprays - vibrant, almost fluorescent, greens, pinky-reds, yellows and mauves flashing past. We were unsuccessful trawling through the bird book, and remained perplexed about the identity of these strange feathered critters. It was only a couple of days later we discovered that our idea of re-sprays might not have been so fanciful after all. Apparently some Spanish pigeon-fanciers had a habit of painting their birds' undercarriages and wings for easier identification against the bright blue sky! The practice has been discouraged because of harm to the birds from the paints, but maybe it hasn't died out completely.
Jeni took an evening orientation stroll when we arrived at the site at Moncofa (since Isadora Trike had not been unloaded at that stage). Where we're pitched is obviously the quiet end. Nearby there are some semi-permanently pitched caravans and awnings, with the apparently compulsory strip of Astro-turf covering the remaining exposed gravel of the pitch. Such encampments we now know are likely to be owned by weekending Spanish families. (Paella pans akimbo over on Saturday and Sunday then!)
Down at the other end, beyond one of the (very nice and clean!) facilities blocks, Jeni noticed it was much busier - caravans, awnings, camping cars, people in each other's awnings eating meals, quite a crowd in the small restaurant-bar, etc. About 85% GB number plates. Hmm. Strolled on bit further. Ah, there was a unit with a FIRE BUCKET outside. Mmm, suspicions grew. Strolled on round the last corner and there it was, brazen as you like, swinging gently in the evening breeze - an A-frame sign by one pitch - 'Rally Stewards' - !!! Argh! We've gone and found ourselves a rally! And what's more it's one of the clubs we belong to, so - on an emergency basis - we started peeling the appropriate sticker off the windscreen so we didn't get enveigled in! We wondered why Maurice from Bristol came and introduced himself when we arrived and noted, from the discreet little logo on the back, that we'd bought our van from Marquis 'Oh, that makes six Marquis units here on the site'. NO! No! Not a sub-rally within a rally! Please?!?!
You may need to know that rallies have a particular place in our hearts. No, that's not strictly accurate. The concept of rallies strikes terror into our hearts is more like it. [The word rally always to be said in cod-northern accent with a very long leading rolling rrrrrrrrrrr ! With profuse apologies to our friends from 'oop north', no offence meant, it just comes out that way every time.]
You all know us well enough to be aware we're very (if not relentlessly) sociable, but exercise great discernment around who we mix with. (Well okay, a few misfits have crept onto these emailing lists and turned up for dinner with us occasionally, but we don't ostracise all society's rejects!) We just don't fancy what seems to us the enforced, jolly sociability of rallies. Sure, people undoubtedly meet folk who become good friends, but we reckon there aren't very many late-40 and 50-something, drum playing, red-clown-nose wearing, loon-swinging, similarly eccentric soulmates among the kind of people who take part in these things. Perhaps we're being snobbish, stereotyping and should do penance for our bigotry, but .....
Since we've been here, we've spoken to a couple of people who lost their rallying virginity down the other end of the site, as 'twere, and it's confirmed most of our prejudices - they're exhausted from a rigorous programme of unnaturally-enthusiastic activities and now need a holiday! We've also noticed that some of the Camp Followers spend an inordinate amount of time washing their cars and caravans, or striking up conversations about the particular model of Camping Car we have. Alan and Beryl, who we met on the Vilanova site, texted us in a panic to say that they too stumbled upon a rrrrrrrally and that they'd had to run away from the Games Mistress who was trying to lure them into the fold. So we're not alone in our narrow-mindedness! Phew! (Dave realises that the use of the term 'games mistress' has probably caused a little ripple among a certain quarter of our readership. These will be mainly, but not exclusively, men of a certain age who have forgotten the significance of that particular ripple anyway!)
Thus you see, rallies have a legendary status for us, hence on that first evening at Camping Monmar, Jeni had to return to the Lorry, make sure Dave was sitting down, then break the news to him gently!!
We have been sited alongside an interesting guy, also called David, who is a bit of a Spain-o-phile. He speaks the language like a native and what he doesn't know about the area and its history isn't worth knowing. He's been teaching Jeni some amazing Spanish insults and curses, as well as giving her some coaching in the kind of Spanish she can more usefully employ on a daily basis. He lent us a tape of music from the early sixties of some of the Catalan groups who were forced into hiding by the Franco regime, and Jeni reciprocated by lending him her tape of Velvet Fist, a socialist women's a capella choir of which she was once a member. He's been imparting useful bits of local information, so we've picked up on some things we might otherwise have missed.
Another bonus of the good weather is that, apart from indulging in his usual washing frenzies ("Oh it's only three o'clock and they're dry already!"), (our) Dave's also been able to construct our full 'encampment' a la music festivals. This involves multi-coloured windbreaks around an outside cooking area, rainbow windsocks on long poles, a turquoise woollen Algerian blanket as an outside carpet (though Jeni's lusting after a bit of Astro-turf now!), and of course the comfy chairs and tables. As we want to welcome rather than screen the sun at the moment, the Indian bedspread, which we often use as an awning, is currently doing service as a modesty screen across the back end of the pitch. Those of you who have been to some of the music festivals with us can imagine the scene we're sure. This set up definitely not approved by the Caravan Club!!
The outside cooking area has also been put to good use already with our gas hob and grill giving off delicious smells to compete with the wafts of paella odours that often drift our way. Jeni's always very relieved when we can cook outdoors as the smell of Dave cooking 'dead' (a vegetarian term) doesn't pollute the van!
Now for a little technical interlude regarding gas (groan!). It wasn't until we were miles down the road from having purchased our first supply of Spanish gas that we realised that their bottles are about a third bigger than our usual ones. In other words, too bloody big to fit into the gas locker! Nothing daunted, Dave has simply fitted the required regulator (this being the third different type since leaving the UK) and now the bottle stands outside the van with it's hose disappearing back through the locker - very Spanish! The bottles will travel in the garage when we hit the road, so Dave hasn't had to construct a Heath Robinson-esque trolley to trundle along behind. Jeni did notice, however, that he was busy sketching out some ideas for re-using the now empty locker that seemed to involve taking a hacksaw to Isodora Trike. The offending sketches were quickly confiscated!
In common with most places in Spain, and other parts of mainland Europe we guess, our local town had its traditional Twelfth Night (Reyes Magos) parade on the evening of 5th January, preceding a public holiday on 6th. It's the time when the children get their presents, coinciding with the supposed arrival of the Three Wise Persons (! - or translated literally, Magic Kings) in the Christian calendar. So there were indeed three, suitably disguised, local dignitaries on horseback with their entourages, coming through the town, fronted - much to our delight - by the local drum band. Dave was heartily impressed with the base rhythms, and it sent frissons of camaraderie through us!
Much throwing of sweets to the local children by some of the entourage who were in cartoon-character gear (see above!). The rest were more traditionally 'eastern mystic' clad. Into the church (without the horses!) for the wise men to deliver their gifts, and then most of the townsfolk piled into the Cultural Centre building for the children to get more pressies. As darkness was falling and we didn't have lights on our bikes for the return cycle, we decided not to try to join the partying throng, alas.
So, on that note of local lore, we'll leave you for now - time to set off for the Supermacardo. Dave has made an adaptation to his bike in the form of a bungeed-on, yellow plastic supermarket type basket. Jeni assumed that this was for sharing the weight of the shopping on the way back to the site, but what it's meant in practice is that we now simply buy more food!
We've had our first 'wobble' about not being around when people needed us. A couple of friends have had bereavements and we would have liked to have done more than administer cyber-hugs and text cuddles. Also Jeni's dad, Cedric, was taken into hospital last weekend with a nasty chest infection and one or two other problems. Despite reassurances from Jerry and Jane (Jeni's siblings) that he is being well looked after in Eastbourne hospital, it is difficult for us being so far away. We have therefore decided to return to help out for a couple of weeks. We knew things like this were likely to happen whilst we're travelling, but it still made us feel somewhat helpless that we weren't on the spot to provide practical support to those friends and family, hence our decision to travel back for, hopefully, a fortnight from the 10th January.
So, an unexpected turn of events, but Grey Nomads are nothing if not flexible, so let's see what happens next ...
Love to all,
Dave y Jeni
xx
P.S. We realise that we haven't been able to fit any reference to Egypt or Weymouth into this Bulletin, although we did manage a passing reference to the Moon, albeit not very scientific. We will try to put this right for the next Bulletin - promise. (This will only make sense to Immi who is currently working on a very varied school project!)
P.P.S. No truth in the rumour that our brief return to the UK has anything to do with escape from Hot Pursuit by the Rrrrrally Stewards mentioned above !!