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Published: March 15th 2008
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Interior of Van Goose
This is looking towards the front of the van with Will enjoying a classy mug of wine. I'm looking out over the sand dunes into an azure Atlantic. Heat rises from the road and a cool breeze tickles my skin. We've made our way to southern Spain, abandoning our plans for a ramble through Portugal in favour of Morocco and the sun.
Van Goose got us down here with no problems. She's maneuverable, fuel efficient and spacious. Choosing a newer van was a good idea. The only issue is the fuel tank which is slung below a long wheel base. It got caught when mounting a deceptively wonky pavement. Nothing was badly damaged but a chunk of plastic was gouged from the tank. We'll just have to watch out for oddly cambered pavements and speed bumps in the future.
First stop at Mimizan plage, south of Bordeaux was pretty grim - just a tourist town by the sea. Headed southwards instead to Messange of green bus fame. There's a great little park up by the beach just for campervans. Arrived just as the sun was setting so headed down to the sand. The air was so warm for February and everything glowed. The sunset merged with the fresh, ozone tasting sea mist. It was hard to
Interior of Van Goose
Looking towards the back and our boudoir. tell where the beach ended and the sea began.
The inflatable canoe was tested at Souston lake and she sailed fine although Will left the self bailing valves open, unbeknown to us at the time. We just kept getting mysteriously wetter and wetter! Dotted around the lake were ramshackle sheds used for farming. Ducks and geese were kept in tiny cages perched above the water line. I don't know what's worse. Birds farmed in view of their natural habitat where their fellow's fly free, or cooped up in sheds. I'm just glad I'm not a duck.
The misty mountains and Ebro River in Castilla Leon, northern Spain are beautiful, but the mornings damp and cold. It poured for 24 hours and although I don't mind a bit of rain, clothes and towels have a tendency to stay wet. We changed our plan and headed southwards.
The drive to Anadalucia took about two days. Will drove so I sat back and observed. Spain's renewables are on a small commercial scale considering the size of the country, but they are there. Wind turbines stand majestic along ridges and solar farms follow the sun on the plains. Unfortunately litter is
The Ebro Valley - Castilla Leon, Spain
The mist was rising cool and damp from the lake, craggy cliffs peeping through. an issue. No-mans-land reads 'rubbish dump' to the Spaniards. Normally when we stop, we pick up litter. Just past Madrid on the A4, we were astonished to see what looked like shanty houses constructed out of waste plastic, set amidst what was clearly a rubbish dump. What was even more surprising were the new cars parked outside.
The flat, featureless expanse of the central plains eventually gave way to the rolling hills and vast olive groves of Andalucia. If you ever wondered where your olive oil comes from, wonder no more. The acres and acres of olive trees stretch out over every spare inch of land, planted precisely in uniform rows, the red earth mostly bare beneath. Tyre track marks furrow the soil around the trees giving the slightly unnerving uniformity further definition. Conventional farming methods dictate that the spraying of undergrowth beneath the trees is necessary so that they have access to maximum water. This is in contrast to organic Permaculture gardening which mimics the natural environment. In this system, ground cover provided by low level plants is considered an essential element for retaining water in the soil, particular in arid landscapes. Here and there the farmer has
Graffitti Action
Further along the beach at Caños de Mecas. The rocks were treacherous along this stretch of beach and this boat had washed up on the shore - never to sail again. been less vigorous with his weed spray and where the soft green grass has been allowed to grow, the contrasting deep red-orange earth is vibrant.
Sadly, it seems the olive trade has a darker side. Lined up in the garden centres are huge trunked, gnarly old olive trees. Ripped from the ground, their roots torn and unceremoniously wrapped in black plastic. Greatly prized by those who can afford them, the trees are sold as ornamental specimens. Because of this trade very few ancient olive trees survive in the wild. On balance however, many old olive trees may be dug up and sold on because they are no longer viable as a working crop. However, it is unclear whether they survive the transplant well. Some may be so shocked by the experience that they never recover.
We visited the coast south of Cadíz, just past Roche beyond Chiclana de la Frontera. It wasn't exactly what we were expecting. Tourist overload seeps across the area; a captured coast line of commercialism. All we want to do is wild camp but for miles the Euro rules. Tourist bungalows, apartments, restaurants. The full deal. We eventually found a spot next to the
Plume of factory smoke - Central Spain
We saw the smoke rising from this factory for miles over the central plains. rugged coastline and steps leading down to a small cove where Spanish locals sun themselves; some clothed, some not.
The heat exuding from the orange burnt cliffs is incredible for the beginning of March. The rocks act like a sponge, earthen extensions of the sun itself. I have grave doubts over the comfort of this spot come the summer though, particularly as the hottest temperature in Europe was recorded in Cadíz. A veritable 56 degrees. Sizzlin'!
We've been chilling a bit further along the coast near a little village called Los Caňos de Mecas. Off season its perfect for us. Its quiet with a good park up by the beach. Its a surfing hot spot that's rife with Soul Surfers, lone men whose home is their van, and their life lived for the ocean swell. Most of them are in their thirties and forties, tanned to their bones with sea-salty sun flecked hair. There's a great thatched roofed bar - Las Dunas, which must heave in the summer. Its got a weird massive sudo-ethnic alligator thing in there most probably made out of tropical hardwood and lots of other odd artifacts and curio. Even a couple of old
Bicycle Bodge
Saw this imaginative bike on the beach at Caños de Mecas. hand sewing machines are thrown in for good measure. Further into the hills on the road to Barbate are Recreation areas in the National Park. These too, are good places to park up for a night or two. The forest is stunning and at this time of year, early March, the spring flowers are just starting to bud.
On the road between Zahara de los Atunes and Facinas was the most enormous wind farm we've ever seen. There must have been close to a thousand generators stretching over about 6 km or so. Vast. Will took some pictures from the roof of the van, but it was really cloudy and they didn't come out very well.
We drove on, moving ever closer to Algeciras and our crossing to Morocco. A split second decision on the road brought us to an amazing little hideaway in the stretch of coast between Zahara de los Atunes and Tarifa. The small town of Bolonia is enclosed within a sheltered cove. The long stretch of white sand curves concave along the bay, ending with a stretch of rock, clad in wildflowers that reaches out to the sea. Paths criss-cross over the hill and
The African Continent
The Cliffs of Morocco seen from Tarifa. the towering cliffs of the African continent loom in the middle distance. A massive sand dune heaves itself up and over the hill, a dramatic interjection in the landscape that has caused untold numbers of trees from the adjacent forest to tumble into oblivion, roots left to dangle free. The ruins of a large Roman settlement and its striking modernist archaeological museum add a sense of timelessness to this little village that's hard to shake off.
The local Guardia aren't so accomodating however and we've been moved twice now along this coast. Met a couple of German lads travelling about in their huge 7.5 tonne removal lorry. Getting that thing manoevered round small lanes must be a total nightmare! They're on their way to the Dragon Festival in Orgiva, near Granada on the 21st March, just down the valley from where we used to live. Get there early to avoid disappointment!
Now in Tarifa we're aiming to be in Morocco in the next couple of days. We will sail from Algeciras. I'm not sure what the Internet situation will be like there but when I can, I'll get in touch.
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