12/2003 - The Police Officer's Sister !?
13th February 2004
¡Hola Amigos!
To reassure you it's not all perfection out here in Espana, you may take some perverse pleasure in knowing that we have had several days when the sun hardly appeared at all. After the warm, sunny day we spent with Shirley and Alfredo when we were staying near Guardamar del Segura last weekend, we lost sight of the golden orb for a while, as there was fairly heavy cloud and sea mist around the coastal areas. Can't say it was cold, exactly, but certainly not the warm days we've been complacently getting used to. Nothing daunted, we still managed to get out on our feet and the cycles, Jeni revelled in having the heated swimming pool available at that Camping and we got lots of reading and a lesser amount of chores done over the weekend too.
It was an astonishing site, really - huge, and just about every facility you can imagine for kids and adults. The indoor heated pool, a huge complex of outdoor pools with integral bars, animal sculptures in the water for the kids to play on, a gym, restaurant, bar, book-swap library, giant outdoor chess board, concert area - and, dog lovers, get this. It also featured a doggie bathroom strategically placed near the back gate where you could get out to the pine woods and down to the beach. Not only was there a work-bench height poocher bathing basin 'n' shower in there, but no discrimination against disabled mutts either, as one side was accessed by steps, the other with a ramp. Oh joy!
Unsurprisingly, the site was packed, largely with people who were there for several months over the winter. We counted 11 different nationalities at least (and - promise - that was without spending a Sad evening systematically combing the site with our 'I-Spy' notebooks!). The staff all seemed to have an impressive command of several languages each. (Sun)hats off to them, we say (as we continue to plough on with our Michel Thomas Spanish CDs and brush up on our basic greetings in five languages. So?? It's a start!).
There's a whole, previously unencountered, world out here and it's a bit of an eye-opener really.
So, from Camping Pristine Poocher, where next?
Jeni was Map Reader Del Dia when we set sail from Guardamar, and it has to be said, she wasn't quite up to her usual high, accurate standards. It didn't start too well as she wanted to divert us round a different side of the salt flats to try and see a few more flamingos, only we ended up crossing fields and fields of artichokes and red lettuce (well not quite literally, but you get the drift). Sorted that one out, then we were fine for a while until we got down near La Manga. Jeni got a bit over-excited both because she knew there was another big rrrrrrrally over in La Manga and because she was frenziedly texting a friend to say we were passing near where they're buying a house. Whoops. Lost concentration for a moment and - whoosh! - missed the turn-off from the main road.
Thus we ended up having an unplanned potter through Cartagena. Jeni still maintains it was no bad thing as it's a fascinating place (and again one on the list to go back and spend some more time in). [This is a huge list already, and we've only been on this side of the channel for 2.5 months. And we have a YUK and Ireland sub-list too!].
In order to wibble our way out to pick up the correct road without physically turning the Lorry round and heading back, Jeni then took us out of Cartagena through some strange outlying territory. The municipal car-tip looked interesting - don't see many of those on the average sight-seeing tour do you? - and several villages, including one where a guy cycled sedately down the middle of the road in front of us for a couple of kilometres, strangely slewed in his saddle in order to steady the huge box, labelled Incontinence Pack, balanced on his back wheel (we wondered what the bicycle clips were for!). It could only happen to the Grey Nomads.
And to prove that things do come in threes, our final, partly unplanned, detour was via a small town called Vera, as Jeni wanted us both to be able to say " 'Allo, Vera!" as we drove into it (and we did!). Trouble was, we then got caught up in its narrow little signpost-less streets, hardly even caught a glimpse of its 16th century fortified church before we ended up on a building site! Well, Dave's always interested in Spanish construction so that was quite a positive as well. [I promised I wouldn't mention Dave's collection of photos on the computer of various stages of building construction, but I just couldn't help it ... J.]
In between detours, we appreciated the scenery - great flat agricultural lands in the Murcia area, backed by the hills of the Sierra de Carrascoy, and even higher behind the town of Alhama de Murcia, the Sierra de Espuna national park. (Fascinating Fact No. 395: the name Murcia derives from the Latin 'murtae', mulberry, because for centuries this area was covered in mulberry trees as the diet for silkworms, and this was the key industry right up to the mid-20th century. Well, well - we were interested anyway!) And thus over the regional border into Andalucia. We both have a truly soft spot for Andalucia, and spent nearly three weeks here on our pre-nuptial honeymoon two years ago exploring what seemed like loads of territory but in reality was a very small portion, so we felt a particular thrill to be back.
From saying 'Allo to Vera, we dropped down onto the coast, as we'd planned to find one of three sites we knew were around Mojacar - and hoped there was a slot for us on one of them. As we came along the coast road past Garrucha we saw a whole colony of Camping Cars sitting on an area overlooking the beach. (Prizes for the best collective noun for a clutch of Camping Cars?!) To cut a medium-long story marginally shorter, following consultations with other Camping Caristes, about half a dozen of us went a little further along, down a slope onto the back of the beach and tucked ourselves in with the two or three other vans already down there. We'd been told by wild-camping veterans to stick with other people, but not too many otherwise you attract too much attention, and find yourself a relatively unobtrusive place to park up. Well this seemed to meet all those criteria. Lovely.
So up we set, Spanish gas bottle connected, nice cup of tea and we settled down for an early evening read and email-check before cooking supper. Marvellous spot - just us, the beach, the sea, the sky - and a police car. Ah. Totally charming - round they came to each van and politely told us (via their bit of English and our bit of Spanish) that we were most welcome to do as we were doing, enjoy the view, have a picnic, relax. But - 'no, you cannot sleep in your van here'. Futtocks. (Not that we said that to the Policia!) So our record breaking, intrepid wild camp came to an end after just two hours, and we drove back up the slope and a few tens of metres up the road to the Camping!
Actually we now have a theory. One of the police officers has a sister, who just happens to own the Camping. She rings him. 'Hey, Manolo, I have a few places empty on the Camping tonight. What can you do to help?' 'Don't worry, there's about ten of them down on the beach. Sound about right?' 'Ah, Si. ¡Gracias, Manolo!' Surely it wasn't the bonnet of the Policia Local patrol car we saw round the back of reception after we drove in, was it?!
Anyroadup, Manolo seems to have done us a bit of a favour as this little site is rather a find. It's much more Spanish in its ad-hoc-ery, its informality, its rag-tag-and-bobtail-ery, its slightly tatty round the edges look. Unlike the pristine hedged pitches and well-marked roadways of our last stop, there are no clear demarcations of individual pitches, the shade-providing nets are roped wantonly from the trees and the municipal refuse lorry roared onto the site at 10.30pm on our first night to collect the recycling. Our Caravan Club site directory lists it with a thoroughly tight-lipped comment from someone who's used it 'Rather untidy site' - untidy? It's a bloody shambles, but it's marvellous! It has a great atmosphere, wonderful views straight into the hills from the back and a little secret tunnel under the road onto a fantastic beach.
We went off a-wandering one day, intending to try and walk up to Mojacar pueblo, the old town. We got captivated by the beach, though, and somewhat distracted. It was a good day, sunny but an exhilarating wind blowing in off the sea, making for huge breakers on the sands and the spray whipped up into the air. As many of you know, both of us were born near the sea (and thus have salt water in our veins and the pulse of the waves in our beings), so we seem pathologically unable to walk along a beach without being seriously enchanted. Now this was a great beach.
First thing we noticed was the amazing technicolour variety of the stones (and thus of course the sand) which ranged from deep reddy-browns, through russets and oranges, yellows to deep greens (yes) and pale creams, virtually translucent whites and greys. Quite wonderful. There was also a kind of natural pebble-dash phenomenon. No, no, that doesn't do justice to the great slabs of stones of various sizes welded together with sand and smoothed by the sea - perhaps proto-marble was more like it. Jeni, running out of wittering superlatives, ended up inanely saying 'Oh, it's enough to give you inspiration for a kitchen work surface!' - ! Meanwhile, Dave was doing his usual beach-combing number that resulted in the pockets of his body-warmer becoming heavier and heavier with shells, stones and assorted objets trouvés. By the time we got back to the site, he was almost on his knees with the weight in his pockets!
At one point on our progress along the beach we saw a young, dead porpoise being washed up by the breaking waves. Turning round a couple of minutes later we noticed it had been pushed onto some rocks on the shoreline. Moments later, the doors of a Camping Car up on the roadside opened and half a dozen Brits of a certain age sprinted down the beach pulling their anoraks on in haste as they headed for the water. There they posed in twos and threes to have their photo taken in front of the dead porpoise. Hmm!?! Dave was going to offer to prop it up between them and put a hat on it but we didn't think they'd see the irony! At least we were only trying to take arty-farty shots of the stones and sea.
We spent so long on the beach we inevitably needed a sit down with a large cafè con leche and donut at a bar which appeared, as if by magic, adjacent to the beach. By then had decided that the old village was (a) rather further away than we thought and (b) decidedly steeper than was feasible for us, given we had already walked a long way along the beach, so there's another one for That List! Our clothes, hair and skin tacky with salt, we headed back towards the Lorry.
Sadly, fairly close to the Camping, we spotted Mr. UK [Shouldn't that be Mr. YUK?*], an English supermarket. Argh. In our defence, we would just say that we went in there because we thought we'd get some fresh milk, which isn't always available in Spanish supermarkets and shops. We do confess that one or two other items fell into our basket (come on! Surely you don't begrudge us Quorn pieces and a few veggie sausages?!), but we slinked through the store, heads down, muttering 'Can't believe we're doing this!' as we passed catering size drums of Heinz baked beans, Mother's Pride in the freezer and tins of Haggis (duh? Thought this was an English supermarket!). Just hoping no-one from the Camping Car Colony would notice our Mr UK carrier bags on the way out!
* ©Pikey Enterprises Ltd purveyors of fine pegs to the gentry
So there we frolicked for a couple of days, Fruitbats turned sandboy and girl. A phonecall with our friend Star near Orgiva and an email from pals who are coming out for a long weekend Inspection Tour at the end of the month, indicated that it was time to press on, otherwise the hectic schedule of commitments we have between now and early April won't be met. You have to realise that we are now so chilled out that knowing we have (a) work to do for Star on house and land, (b) friends to meet in Malaga to take to Granada for a few days and (c) Jane and Averil, Jeni's sister and partner, coming out to visit in early March further back up towards Barcelona - this is high stress stuff for us now. You lot just don't seem to understand the pressure we're under!
Sorry - must go now, busy, busy - so much to do ...
Hasta luego! Or as our friends Mike and Della would say - Hats off to Lugo!
Jeni y Dave
xxx
PS. For those of you who remember our references to Gill and Pete, aka Pikey Pete and Gippo Gill, you may be amused to hear that since our derogatory remarks about them, our "solicitors" have been exchanging energetic emails. We've now agreed an Out Of Site Settlement regarding their copyright of the term YUK (see earlier asterisk) and the sale of pegs. On our side, part of the bargain involves supplying quantities of cheap Spanish plonk, and bags of cakes from Mercadona. This is in exchange for a good pitch when we visit them over the summer in the New Forest where they are still serving part of their Community Service Order!
PPS. Dave has now managed to gain a little headway in the Boggle Challenge, the score now being four sets (Jeni) to two sets (Dave). Must be all the oranges he's been eating?!