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Published: January 22nd 2010
Such A Picturesque Town
Sagunt, Valencia, SpainRighto Spain, Make It Up To Me
Hello readers. This blog is coming to you live, a week and a half late, from a campsite near Gibraltar, on the Costa del Sol. Better late than never though eh?
If I didn't mention it already, the 7th saw us driving down to our next stop on the map, Tarragona. This was a little more low key than the thump and thievery of Barca, and was to provide a well needed reprieve from the rush of the previous two weeks. As we arrived we once again were completely lost in the tight, winding miasma of dead end streets and sharp corners, but somehow steered the longer, slightly less tight-street-friendly Toyota Emina Estima Grand Luxury Van (typical Japanese Import) to a parking space in front of the local church.
I had an interesting run in with a local on the way to the tourist office across the square. Somehow the ancient geezer had managed to fall up, then down the slope of the street, dropping his walking cane and his shopping trundle trolley, and was now laying in a growling, yelling heap in the rain. I started to help, but
Street Signs
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain a guy leaning casually against the wall near the tourist info told me in Spanish not to bother. “Pissed,” he said with a wink in perfect English. A lady who walked past also said to ignore him and kept on her way; obviously it was a regular occurrence, and so I wandered into the tourist office and found out what I needed to know. Fifteen minutes later he was still there, surrounded by cops and just as agitated as they tried to talk some sense into him.
The next day we woke up to still more rain, and a lower than average temperature. It wasn't exactly cold, but it wasn't exactly Cairns either. We parked the car in a garage (paranoid) and walked to the first point on our tourist map, which consisted of a stroll around the ramparts. It was at that stage that we were accosted by a Spanish bloke who I instantly disliked. Where are you from? Where are you going? Oh if you're around here, then go there, and see this. Where are you travelling to? Oh be careful, there's a HEAVY snowfall predicted and yellow warnings in Murcia and oh my God! A total
The Cathedral
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain flaming queen in every sense of the word, flapping his hands about, smoking fervently like the CIA were watching him, and generally trying to be the gasping harbinger of doom.
I had him picked from ten feet away and didn't listen to a word he said. I don't have time for people who thrive on bearing bad information to people for attention seeking purposes. Go home you fat, balding, lisping knobhead, and watch Oprah or something. Leave tourists alone... I don't care how well you speak English.
We strolled through town and checked out a model of the city and learned about the Roman background of the area, before having a look at the outside of the closed Cathedral and moving onto a couple of the main events: the Pretori and the Circus Roma. These are a couple of adjacent Roman structures built around the same time as all the Roman type stuff - somewhere between 0 and 100AD. It was only €6 for both of us to get in and see both of them, so that was a fantastic deal, and also included access to the local Roman amphitheatre. We had already been to Nimes though, you
The Amphitheatre
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain see, so the latter was politely ignored as it was naught more than crumbling remains. The tower of the Pretori, with lots of info regarding the defensive structures built around Tarragon and the overall significance of the colony in the time period was cool, and the Circus Maximus (where the famed chariot races used to be held) was also great.
It's interesting to note that, for some reason, I'm really not that interested in the whole Roman history thing. I don't know why; I'm certainly interested in the whole dark ages, middle ages, early renaissance period, but everything before and after that (excluding Greek and Roman mythology) is boring as hell. *shrug*
… Oh, and just so you know, there is a fox three feet away from me, licking out the frying pan we cooked steak in. That may or may not be bad, and he may or may not have rabies, but we'll soon find out.
We didn't dawdle in Tarragona too long there after seeing the bits and pieces that we needed to see, and hopped in the van and headed South. I was revelling booting the new 2.5-litre engine in the guts and flying
Tarrgona's Rooftops
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain along at 120km/h, but at a fuel station with a nice low fuel price... I found that I shouldn't boot it too much. 12.4 litres of fuel/100km. Oh dear... that's only a bit less than a new Ford V8 engine. The Ark used to do somewhere between 9.5 and 10 litres per hundred kilometres. That's a 25% increase over the The Ark. My warning bells went off and I did some quick calculations... it didn't look good: this could be the straw that broke the budget camel's back. I filled the car to the brim and drove out far more gingerly than on the way in. As at time of writing, the car is doing a wonderful 10.5L/100km, and I'm going to keep it that way.
We stopped for an orange juice somewhere North of Castello, and took a good look around. We were parked outside a restaurant that was closed, the windows taped up with newspapers from 2005. The nearby mechanic's garage was also closed, but still littered with the corpses of old cars and a big angry red sign that we took to mean, “Keep out, Senor! Or I keel jou and all jou famelee!”. There was
rubbish everywhere, and a yard full of savage, barking dogs that looked like they hadn't been fed in weeks. It was at that time that I realised that I was in the Spanish version of redneck country. It really wasn't nice at all. I got the shits big time at that point, as I felt I had been royally shafted; Spain was supposed to be full of sleepy towns where people danced in the night and slept in the afternoons, ate tapas in the evening and made love in the morning. Right then, I was not amused. We then did Macca's and had a tomate y queso snack wrap, WiFi'd, and did some shopping at Carrefours. I stayed up half the night doing blogs, and finally made it to bed at 1am. That's dedication for you 😊
The wind was like Cyclone Tracy outside that night, and we woke up in at 9am next to a bus load of Moroccans. That's a little too much encroachment into our personal space for my taste, so we moved to another parking space while Aleks talked to her parents and I slowly dragged myself out of bed. Once we got moving it
Roman Statue
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain was off to Sagunt, where we got stuck in some very tight back streets. Very tight. Like, Aleks couldn't get out of it, and I had a bit of trouble too. The new GPS is a Garmin Nuvi 760, and so far it's been correct about 60% of the time on 2008 maps with streets that haven't changed in 400 years. We eventually parked in the main square of town and had a late breakfast, before I went to the tourist info and had a struggle with local ATM. It did all the right things until it was supposed to spit out my cash, and then spat the card out and said “Transaction Cancelled”. I was instantly suspicious and went to the local internet cafe to confirm that we hadn't been charged, but it was all okay.
Sagunt was a bit of a hidden gem, as all of the attractions were free, and the Castell on top of the hill was very old but huge! It covered a whole hilltop and sat above a renovated Roman Amphitheatre, which lost a little bit of it's charm due to it's usage as a modern day theatre for stage productions. The Castell
Chariot Race Tunnel
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain itself, built of ancient sandstone and peppered with prickly pear plants, afforded us some absolutely stunning views of the country all up and down the coast - from the pastel blue of the Mediterranean to the white snowfalls on the parallel mountain range. The wind was insane though; it was threatening to blow us clean off the face of the Earth. I kid you not, there were times where I had to climb back down off the viewing platforms on hands and knees to avoid being blown down. The streets of the town were also what you would expect to be indicative of a classical Spanish town; streets where all the inhabitants washing was hanging out on balconies and little cafeterias serving bocadillos (sandwiches) and hamburguesas alongside the local paella were strikingly rustic. After more of a walk through we decided we were finished with the area, and jumped in the car to head off toward Valencia.
Yes, that Valencia. Like the oranges. I swear to you, the rural landscape surrounding the city and 40km in every direction is absolutely jam packed with orange trees. You look around as you drive along the highways and think that it's just
normal old trees, but it's ALL oranges. Aleks was driving at this stage, and after a little research we had realised that the actual town of Valencia was only worth a drive through and not several of hours of our precious time. Sorry Valencia, maybe next time. We continued the drive South with her majesty at the wheel, and did our usual afternoon stint of Carrefours and McDonalds. I would like to point out that we aren't actually eating out at McDonalds every time we go there. Sure we may have the odd Oreo McFlurry (which I'm very happy that you can actually buy in Spain) or a Mini snack wrap (which Aleks has developed quite an affinity for), but never the whole Big Mac meal deal kinda thing. We are simply WiFi whores, and are using the horrible chain restaurant purely for it's internet connection. It was sandwiches and reading books that night, followed by early bed.
Staying on toll roads in France had never been a problem, but on the morning of the 10th of January, we encountered our first batch of sour grapes. Upon exiting said toll road, we came across a rather young and unsure
A Painted House
Tarragona, Catalonia, Spain looking toll booth operator, who was having a little trouble working out what to charge us. The initial damage was €1.50, but upon realising that the ticket we'd given him was from yesterday, he had to make a phone call to one of his superiors, and consequently charged us a John Dory €9. Jesus tapdancing christ. Why don't we give you one of our kidneys as well? That's a day's food for us poor bastards. Anyway, we've vetoed the idea of staying overnight at the truck stops on tollroads for exactly this reason, and now our level of accommodation has subsequently degraded.
Licking away at the sour taste in our mouth, and cursing Spaniards all the more, we drove South and stopped at Playa de San Juan North of Alicante to bask in the beautiful morning sunshine. It really was an absolutely glorious day; there was literally not one cloud in the sky, and we were absolutely revelling in it. It was to be our first view of the unadulterated opulence of the shore front Mediterranean dwelling, and was like the Gold Coast (so Aleks reckons), but with less retarded Australians. We took a few photos and then drove
into the centre of Alicante and parked in yet another overpriced parking garage, before donning our warm weather clothing (it was toasty outside!) and heading for ground zero.
Alicante in the winter, at best, is nothing short of a retirement home for old, wrinkly, ugly people wearing furs and plaid shirts. It's just phenomenal. Take a walk down through the markets along the Explanada, and there are literally hundreds of ancient geezers sitting around in folding chairs. Really! They're just sitting there. And they all look like they need ironing. The women are dressed in full length furs, and have more make up on than circus clowns. But hey, I guess that's just the fashion when you're old and have to make up for it. Aside from the geezers, the area along the waterfront is scattered with a lot of sculptures and arty type things, some of which are really good... I think it's just great that this sort of thing is given prevalence in such a high visibility area, and it definitely adds to the feel of the place. Without it, it would be just another Noosa, or Gold Coast, as high rise apartment blocks, casinos and shiny
Orange Fields
Valencia, Spain white boats abound in spades. We walked down to the casino, and through the marina filled with trendy (but closed) nightclubs and cafes, and marvelled at how intense this place must be in the summer. Personally, I'd like to go back and check it out.
We then embarked on a small journey through the old town, where we tried to shove our way through the closed doors of a bunch of churches, but they remained steadfast. What the hell is going on with Spain? If it's not closed for siesta, it's closed for the day. If not that, then it's closed indefinitely, or under construction, or the building doesn't exist anymore. It doesn't matter if you have a map, given five minutes it will be out of date, and no one will give you directions anyway. Lazy Spaniards. Oh, and thieves, I forgot that too.
We decided that while we were in the region of Valencia, it would be rude to leave without sampling some of the fine local paella. Carrying this train of thought, we found a small backstreet restaurant and stood out the front, debating prices and whether we could find better elsewhere. Our decision was
swayed by the owner of the establishment coming out and telling us to get our asses inside in Spanish. Or at least I think that's what he said. We didn't need much convincing, and as we were the sole inhabitants of said restaurant, the waiter was very happy to take his time with us. His English was by no means Shakespearean but nonetheless, our broken combinations coalesced into understanding.
Our intro was a lovely seafood paella, matched with a local Alhambra lager. Aleks picked the prawns out of hers and unceremoniously tossed them at my plate, where I snatched them up and butchered them with reckless abandon. Then Aleks had a beef fillet whilst I had roast chicken, and those were both sided with some crazy Spanish coleslaw (that wasn't REALLY coleslaw, but I can't describe it) and some fries. After coffees we were done, and all for the low low price of €20 for both! What a lovely finish to the amazing day that was the 10th of January.
It may seem as if I'm writing an awful lot for such few days worth of events, but really I'm keeping it as trimmed as possible. We're doing
a whole lot in a really short period of time, and it's important that you know what we feel as well as just what we do.
Shit. That'll have to do. I have to go defend my camper from the starving fox. He's trying to eat a sealed bag of croutons.
Buenos noches, mi amigos.
- Fishy
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