Final Journey

To all the people who followed us on our trip around Europe, laughed at our antics, envied us and got exasperated with me and my moaning, I have to add one final postscript, which is that I lost my beloved travelling companion, David, to cancer on the 18th November 2012.

We had no idea David was ill, as he had no pain or symptoms other than weight loss, which began in July 2012.  It was under investigation and David was sent for various tests and scans.

On the 16th October 2012, David was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer, and we were told he had a life expectancy of around 9 to 12 months.  He was tested, and found to be suitable for a new form of chemotherapy/drug treatment being used for stomach cancer after its success in prolonging the length of life, and also improving the quality of life, for those suffering from breast cancer.

David was due to start that treatment on the 21st November 2012 but, sadly, he died on 18th November 2012 after the disease went “viral”.  I was with him when he died, as was his adored son, James, who made it home from Australia in time to spend a last afternoon with his beloved Dad.  It was peaceful for David, but we are left with a huge hole in our hearts, coupled with a deep joy that we were so lucky to have this wonderful man in our lives.

David will make his final journey on Thursday 29th November 2012.  However, he wanted so much to spare other people and families what we all went through in the last four weeks of his life, that James and I have set up a page dedicated to him on the Cancer Research UK website, so that we can help David achieve his wish of doing something towards helping to fund work into finding a cure for this dreadful disease.

Please visit the page at http://donateinmemory.cancerresearchuk.org/0003356 and on Thursday, raise a small glass of something to this inspirational man.

Update

Just a short post – internet has not been any good for anything other than checking e-mail, but thought I had better let you know that we are still alive and well, and presently in Granada!

We ended up staying 5 days in Mataro, then moved on to Valencia.  Valencia was our next destination as we had arranged to fly from there to Ibiza for a few days visit with family.

Our campsite in Valencia was in the Albufera National Park, with easy access by bus into Valencia itself.  However, a degree in geography with a major in cartography was required to actually find the darn site in the first place!

We drove straight to Valencia, went to the airport and checked out the long-term parking, then made for the campsite.  If anyone has ever tried to drive around the ring road within a ring road within a ring road in Valencia, they will know EXACTLY what I am on about.

It took us 3 hours to find the campsite – 5km from the airport!  That was longer than it took us to drive to Valencia from Barcelona!  As it turned out, we were not the only ones who had trouble finding it! Everyone did, including one guy with a sat. nav. who ended up in a rice field!  We were, of course, rather hampered by the fact that our campsite book is in Dutch to begin with, but, we made it in the end!

I will do a sort of travelogue when I get back, there are some interesting tales to tell of our stay in the National Park – it’s not called a Nature Park for nothing!

Valencia airport was our next destination, on Monday 26th September for our Ryan Air flight to Ibiza.  Bit apprehensive – not only were we leaving Nancy all alone, but we were going with THAT airline.  We found Nancy a nice spot, in between a blue Mercedes van and a white Transit, so she could practice her Spanish, and set out for the terminal.

We had an easy time of it – bag dropped, checked in, through security and away on time.  20 Minutes after take off we were on the ground again, in Ibiza.

Ibiza is a whole story in itself, so again, watch this space!

Flight back to Valencia was similarly hassle free, Nancy started first turn and did not seem at all unhappy to be leaving her new Spanish amigos, so it was onto the A7 and heading towards Granada.

Left Ibiza at 08.25am and by 19.00 we were in Granada, after having driven 350 miles though nothing but olive groves and mountains!

Today, we plan to go into Granada to the Alhambra – me thinks the camera will take a pounding this afternoon!

Mataro

After our wonderful meal, we woke early and were faced with reality – we had just spent the night in a car park and paid for the honour of doing so.  Time to move on.  We made full use of the facilities, had a good shower, emptied the grey water and the other bits and pieces that are essential in a van, then it was back on the road.

We were heading to Mataro, just outside Barcelona which was a tip we had had from an English couple we met in Carcassonne.  We determined to avoid toll roads and motorways where we could and to just pootle along in the hot Spanish sun and the dust.

I can now see why all those so-called “Spaghetti Westerns” from the 1970′s were shot in Spain – the scenery looks like nothing so much as where my brother lives in Phoenix, Arizona.  All that was missing were the saguaro cacti and I am sure they were there if only I had looked hard enough.

What were out in “full flower” and which took me by surprise, were young (and not so young) “ladies of the night”!  Each little patch of shade seemed to be home to a “lady” dressed in as little as possible apart from high heels and sun glasses!

I have to say, I found this immensely sad and not a little distressing – some of them only looked about 12 years old.

I kept my eyes firmly on the map until we arrived at Mataro.

The campsite at Mataro proved to be a little gem.

The girls on reception all spoke at least four languages, including English, there was a pool, the sea was just over the road (minor inconvenience that it was a four lane highway AND a railway line – there was an underpass 20 yards from the campsite entrance), a pool bar and a bar and restaurant.  As it was an ACSI site, it was again 15E a night including electric and would normally have been 33E if we had paid full price.

Plenty of facilities, including a free bus into Mataro and back, and a free bus into Barcelona and back, twice a day.

We decided to stop for at least three nights, coupled Nancy up and headed for the pool!

Spain

We noticed a change as soon as we crossed the border from France into Spain – the roads worsened and the road signs disappeared!  Even the rather splendid AA map of Spain we had bought for this trip was of little or no use, so we turned Nancy’s nose in the general direction and went for it.

If you have read my earlier posts, you will know that I was less than impressed with some of the so-called “A” roads in Scotland.  Let me say that I now take back all that I wrote about those roads, they were sublime and comparable to motorways compared to the roads we now found ourselves on!  Two anorexic lizards would have had trouble passing side by side on these, let alone two cars, or two motorhomes or a motor home and a tractor…………need I say more?

We negotiated our way though tiny villages, all deserted, and stumbled, more by good luck than judgment, on the camp site we were looking for – Camping Aquarius.

You need to bear in mind that the camping season in Spain finishes early – most sites are closed by the end of the first week in September, so we have had to pick our sites carefully.

So, it turned out, did the rest of the population of France, Spain, Germany and Holland – the site was, the charming Dutchman on reception informed us, full to bursting!  He blamed the bad weather in the rest of Europe for the mass influx of caravans and motorhomes, but I am not so sure……..I still think there is some plot by certain areas of Western Europe to take over the known world!

He could, however, as we were such a “small” van offer us a plot in the staff campsite for the night – 9E and full use of all the facilities, including electricity.  We took it.

Parked up, connected to the electricity, we did what any sensible people would do – took refuge in the restaurant and a couple of glasses of the local red!

Feeling suitably calmed, we then proceeded to demolish some divine local bread, olives and several plates of tapas, including mushrooms in garlic, gambettas, patatas bravas and the local “Aquarius” plate – goats cheese, figs in Serrano ham and spicy sausages.

Nectar!

Baby’s on the road again………….

After our sojourn at Mas Peyre, sampling the wares (the little vineyard apparently produces only 100,000 bottles a year and NO – we did NOT sample all of them, David had to drive), it was hot-foot to Spain.

Before that, we had to negotiate the coast road around Perpignan, down to the border at Portbou.  After the gentle pace of life we had experienced driving through Pays Cathar, this area came as a bit of a culture shock!  Think Blackpool crossed with Benidorm and with lots of sunshine and you just about get the idea!

We had not seen so much traffic or so many people for almost two weeks, so it was a bit fraying on the nerves.  A swim was called for, so we parked on the sea front at Argles sur Mer and took the plunge!  Amazing what a quick dip in the Med will do!

Back into Nancy, and off into the sunset, determined to reach Spain before it got dark.  We crossed the border at Portbou - the border post looked very sad and lonely – and headed towards Roses and the little town of Sant Pere Pescador which was to be our stop for the night.

One for the road……….

After our stop at Puilaurens, we hit the road again.  The heat and dust were incredible, but then we began to climb and the scenery changed.

Vineyards appeared on all sides of the road, with grape vines clinging to any little patch of ground that had soil adhering to it.  More and more billboards littered the verges, advertising independent wine makers, so, never one to ignore a sign, we decided to stop at the first one we came to at the side of the road.

On the way, we passed fields full of grapes being picked by hand, in what must have been hundreds, if not thousands of kilos.  Men and women with big tubs on their backs, picking by hand in temperatures in the high 30C’s with no shade in sight – not my idea of a holiday job, I must confess!

We finally pulled into a little vigneron in St Paul de Fenouillet, called Mas Peyre and spent a very pleasant half an hour trying most of the stock!  Our host spoke not a word of English and his French was decidedly local which hampered me more than a little (my French is rusty at the best of times but my patois is non existent), but between us we managed to exchange the important information – we were English, from the Country of Robin Hood (Robin du Bois as he is apparently known in France), that mine host had a cousin who played football for a team in the Catalan League and that he had recently played in England against Hull!

We left with some a lovely light white wine, a red, a sweet red intended as an aperitif or to have with chocolate (!) and some rose.  The rose was limited edition, dedicated to the footballing cousin and bearing his photo on the front, wearing a dragon on his head!

I am afraid that we never got to the bottom of the dragon, but the wine was excellent!  Pity we could not have brought more, but my French just was not up to asking the delicate question of how mine host’s wines would travel!

Sante!

The Road To Spain

We are heading towards Spain, following minor roads this time, to avoid paying tolls! We have some time and can afford to meander a little through the hot and dusty French countryside, and take in a little more of the Pays Cathar.

One detour we took was an absolute gem, and one I would not have missed for the world, to the Chateau Puilaurens:-

Perched like an eagle on a rock, it dominates the countryside and the sky around it.  This is more like my very romantic version of a Cathar stronghold – only it wasn’t!  Apparently, there is nothing to link these gorgeous ruins with the Cathars other than that some of the sect took shelter there during the Crusade against them organised by Pope Innocent and led, to a large degree by Simon de Montfort (now of university fame!).

It’s most famous visitor, apparently, was Blanche de Bourbon, a niece of Phillip le Bel who was packed off, at the age of 14, to marry Peter the Cruel, King of Aragon, and who was assassinated for her trouble at the age of around 22!

I can feel the stirrings of a long dormant desire to write a book here – so, watch this space!

Well worth the 3km hike up the side of the mountain!  Again, more pictures will follow on Flickr.