028 - In Convoy over the Border
12th November 2004
¡Hola Amigos y Amigas!
We alluded to our Last Hot Night in France (meteorologically speaking you understand!) at St. Jean de Luz, which reminds us of another silly domestic story. Some of you know that we were waiting in yUK for six months for a cancelled hospital appointment for Jeni to be rebooked. Well it happened, a couple of weeks before we left. Nothing major, just that Jeni was due to get a machine to help her night breathing, as she has sleep apnoea (not desperately serious, although the consequences are unpleasant). Hurrah, the funding came through and the sleep clinic were once again able to distribute these little air pump machines.
Happily, Jeni had no problems adapting to hers and was able to use it right from the word go - strap on the nose mask and hey presto, a good night's sleep for her and for Dave, since it meant he didn't lie there anxiously worrying about her episodes of stopping breathing. However, he developed a whole new set of anxieties when he woke one night after a Star Wars dream, turned over and thought he was in bed with Darth Vadar! It was made all the more real by the strange voice that comes out when the stream of air is pumped into Jeni's airways! He now calls her Martha Vadar!
Now where were we really? Ah yes, heading South.
It was rather tempting to have a couple of days lazing in the sun and seeing the area, but we were also all keen to get on into España to see what was in store for us there. So a last French supermarket stop at Eric the Cleric's (as we once heard a fellow Brit calling the E. Le Clerc supermarket chain!), and on we went, taking the N10 southwards.
Experienced travellers that we are, we had alerted Sean and Daisy that they'd need their passports at the border - and all Gypsy's pet passport papers, since she has to travel with far more documentation than her human companions. Through the border town we went looking out for the border post ... looking ... looking ... and gradually we realised that the French N10 had turned into the Spanish N1 already, and all the signs were bilingual in Spanish and Basque, without so much as a 'What is the purpose of your visit and how long are you staying?'. Curious.
I think by this stage, Sean and Daisy must have been having serious doubts about our Seasoned Traveller Credentials - non-existent border posts, getting stuck in the mud on Camping sites and mistaking half hour ferry crossings for bridges. And that's without mentioning the half dozen variations on the stated route which occurred when we were driving in convoy at various times, due to slight mis-readings of the map. But as we always say, flexibility is a Fruitbat phenomenon.
Roads
So suddenly there we were on Spanish roads - what a contrast! There are fewer of them than in France and - often due to the topography - there is often only one possibility for getting from A to B, the main road, which of course may have lots of lorries and be quite a fast road. Gone the opportunities, as in France, to say 'Oh, let's go the quieter D roads and dawdle a bit more' since we would know that the quality of that D road would be excellent and still offer a pretty direct route through lovely scenery and villages.
As lots of you know from your own travels, in France black silhouettes of people (including small ones for children) are put at the sides of roads where fatal accidents have occurred (one for each person killed there). It's a very effective and sobering reminder, and certainly always makes us pay better attention to the road. We've often wondered what effect it would have on the wild driving on Spanish roads.
Culture Change
The transition from France to Spain is always dramatic to us, and remarkable really. Immediately there's all the informality, untidiness, rough-round-the-edges-ness and laid-backness, after the neatness and practicality of the French people. We'd forgotten about little, but important, things like differences in business opening hours. Generally in France (we're not talking big cities here of course) things might shut for 2 or 3 hours from 12.30-ish whereas in Spain the pattern is more likely to be closing at 2pm (maybe 1pm in the summer) and re-opening after the siesta break about 5 or even 6pm and sometimes staying open until 8 or 9 or even 10pm (not that you'll often get anything as helpful as a note of opening hours - you're just expected to know really!). Given that most of our travelling is done away from big towns and cities, remembering things like this is crucial.
Viva España!
So South East we headed, through the Big Mountain scenery of the border, West towards San Sebastian (called Donastia in Basque, which language in turn is called Euskara to be proper ... oh it all gets complicated and it's a minefield for Jeni, whose timid Spanish is limited enough, but layered with not wanting to offend local sensibilities... ). The route towards our next stop took us near the Sierra de Cantabria, through Rioja country, and it gave us one of those happy guidebook moments to learn that the name comes from Rio (River) Oja, a tributary of the major river Ebro which creates a fertile valley through the region.
The Rioja province boasts not just fine scenery, vine production (and naturally bodegas to accompany) and agriculture, but also towards the Southern part, a remarkable area of amazingly preserved dinosaur footprints.
At one point in the journey, however, we hit another of those Spanish phenomena which a few months away had pushed to the backs of our minds. Those infamous Big Winds that one often encounters on stretches of exposed road, or road bounded by mountains, creating a huge wind tunnel. Alas we hit a Big Wind on the stretch of road coming down to, around and just below Vitoria, South of Bilboa. Poor Sean was personfully grappling with Rusty's steering wheel and having a hard time of it. They had to stop at one point for him to rest, and because Rusty's pop-top got lifted by the giant winds and slightly damaged. It was pretty uncomfortable and scarey in The Lorry too and we were considerably buffeted ourselves.
Haro there!
Our destination for a couple of nights was Haro, which is the major town of the Rioja Alta. It's got the feel of a wine town, with several large bodegas on the outskirts, a number of wine shops in the centre and of course a Museo de Vino. A couple of the best local bodegas apparently retain their commitment to all the traditional processes - fermenting and aging the wines in wood, no stainless steel in sight there - using actual egg white, lovingly separated, for the filtration rather than the powdered albumen used by most producers. One of the bodegas still has its own on-site cooperage to produce barrels.
Haro is a really interesting town with a very old and highly explorable central area full of alleyways and small streets with many buildings so ancient and decrepit, it's hard to believe they are still standing! Actually one major building we saw had a square tower which was obviously splitting down the middle and was pinned together with massive steel bolts! There's an imposing church with an elaborate and impressive doorway at the top end of town, high up (of course), which we could see lit up at night from our Camping just on the edge of the town.
One of the ways we get to know places, it seems, is on the inevitable hunt for the post office for Jeni to get stamps and mail letters, pics and packets she concocts for The Patriarch and the Gorgeous Grand-daughters, among others. Finding the Correos is always fun, since they're rarely well signed or in obvious places like in France, and ploy enables us to see more of the town/village we're in. It also develops Jeni's language skills as she invariably has to ask several people at different points, and sometimes multiple people at a similar point until she can find someone she vaguely understands! The fact that most people in Haro speak Basque as their first language added to the challenge, and made her squirm even more about her limited imperialist Castillian Spanish. But, yes, we found the post office which is probably more testament to persistence than language skills!
We had a couple of days at Haro to have a look round the town, rest up after several days on the move (tough life this, as you know!) and of course catch up with some chores. Happily the Camping offered Dave the chance to indulge in a laundry fest, for as you may remember, he does enjoy the chance to get the smalls pegged out in the sun! Once the laundry was dry and re-stowed we were ready for the off again, planning just one more night's stop before we had to tackle... [build up of dramatic tension]... driving round Madrid!
On that alarming note, we'll leave you for now, wishing you fun and frolics in good measure and enhanced fruitiness in all your activities.
Lots of love
Dave y Jeni
xxx
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