Despite being only 120km from the bustling Port City of Santander you can still find the Cantabrian brown bear and the Iberian Wolf hidden deep in these forests. We meandered our way along the Rio Sil, a magnificent drive skirting turquoise blue reservoirs and forested hillsides, again rarely passing other vehicles. Venturing North from Algeciras on the Costa de la Luz we entered the Parque Natural Los Alcornocales. Visited mainly for its atypical Andalusian whitewashed hillside villages, this rolling countryside of flower meadows, oak woodland with roaming deer and waterfalls is a hidden gem. Winding back down towards the Costa del Sol, we weaved our way round hairpin bends through the Sierra de las Nieves park. We crossed several old stone bridges over clear, rocky rivers; the isolated road flanked by pine-covered slopes. We veered northwards from the coastline again towards Granada and the Sierra Nevada National Park and into Cazorla National Park, the largest protected area in Spain and second largest in Europe. The scenery was breath-taking; river valleys surrounded by white rocky Mountains and pine forest. An early morning stroll along the riverbank was rewarded with the flash of Golden Oriole flying amongst the trees, Griffon Vultures circling overhead and fish shoaling in the shallow margins. So give the Costa’s a wide berth and instead chuck some camping gear in your car boot and enjoy a leisurely drive and some beautiful sights and siestas through natural Spain, you might even spot some deer!
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Olive, almond, shrimp, potato, octopus, salami, chorizo, sardine, frittata, anchovy, peanut, manchego, salmon, pate, bruschetta, steak, croquette, sausage, calamari, chip. TAPAS Cerveza, red wine, white wine, rose wine, sparkling water, g&t, sangria, rum & coke, on the rocks, champagne, lime soda, cocktail, lemonade, fruit juice, ale, cider. TAPAS. Backstreet bar, corner café, five star brasserie, michelin restaurant, greasy truck-stop, fancy bistro, family eatery, fast-paced diner, hole-in-the-wall snack joint, trendy coffee shop, high-brow cocktail lounge, posh tea-shop, loud music bodega, cosy pub, city wine bar, sleepy village taverna, noisy nightclub. TAPAS.
Coffee with partners, brunch with chums, lunch with colleagues, tea with family, dinner with friends, supper with lovers, drinks with acquaintances, party with mates, dancing with strangers. TAPAS. Emma Restricted by wild camping ‘rules’ in built-up Europe we frequently succumbed to regimented official campgrounds. We discovered our single-night ‘touring’ system left us in the minority. Dominating these expanses of enclosed sandy lanes and numbered plots were row upon row of permanent pitches inhabited by holidaying locals. Fiesta and Siesta Shanty style. Every inch of an 80m² plot is utilised and fortified; gazebo poles, AstroTurf, wooden trellis and coloured gravel marking strict boundaries. Caravans, sheds, tents, Portakabins and even buses form the central homestead with extensions of shade netting, garden furniture and zipped canvas kitchen cubicles maximising the allotted space. Makeshift lanes of tarpaulin, vinyl, canvas, plywood and fibreglass form a haphazard, yet systematic miniature city. Yet there are touches of pride and homely detail adorning many of these temporary, den-like dwellings. Cerise geraniums in hand-painted pots arranged dotingly on wire fences. White ornate gates with ‘house’ name plaques. Lovingly tended hanging baskets, garden gnomes, candle lamps and even water features bring a touch of care and individuality. These personal ornamentations are, however, only a slight distraction to the rows of neglected pitches. Unloved plots of rusting caravans, torn green shade netting, ripped gazebos, corroding barbeques and broken plastic toys. What brings these hordes of Spanish tourists to what essentially is a shanty town camp ground aesthetically resembling a seaside refugee camp? Over-crowded, recurrently unkempt and at times visibly depressing in their cramped, repetitive narrow lanes. Perhaps an economical holiday home away from the crammed urban tower blocks of Spanish cities, this is comparably spacious and a much-needed outdoor escape. Nestled between gleaming 5 star hotels of Marbella and Malaga, this is a budget break. A seasonal pitch in ‘Camping Toremolinos’ costing roughly the equivalent of a fortnight family holiday in a nearby 3 star Beach Club Hotel. Same beach. Maybe less isolated. A united kinship and more chance of a friendly chat at the communal sinks than a silent brush past a stranger on a fancy carpeted corridor. Possibly a temporary immersion into a buzzing resort away from a sleepy remote village, swapping cobbles and echoing church bells for beach bars and night clubs. A safe, leafy enclosure where kids can cycle and play, whilst fellow fugitive neighbours congregate seasonally.
Refugees from an everyday repetitive reality. Or a back-to-basics, fuss-free vacation where true values of family, friendship and communal living override the modern trend of fast-paced, fancy holidaying. Whatever the case, we head off to the nearest remote forest to escape both. Emma As far as overland expo’s and festivals go, it’s not very often we find ourselves in the right place at the right time. So imagine our delight when we discovered that the Adventure Travel Film Festival (ATFF) was only one day away and then to discover it was located just 30minutes down the road! I nearly wet myself with excitement. Unfortunately due to the late notice (and lack of funds) we could only attend on Friday evening. Our ‘for one night only’ attendance didn’t dispel our enthusiasm for the event and excitedly we hit the road. On arrival we were welcomed by the naturally charismatic, overalled and recently named ‘Overlander of the Year’ by Expedition Portal, Austin Vince. Austin’s warm welcome set the tone for the evening. Austin however is only one half of the organising duo. Lois Pryce in her own right is a truly inspirational woman. Between them they have accomplished some great achievements. Austin was one of the first Europeans to traverse the Zilov Gap by motorcycle and reach Magadan after the collapse of the Soviet Union. This amazing feat predates Ewan and Charlie’s ‘Long Way Round’ trip by nearly 10 years. Lois is an accomplished writer, banjo picker and in 2003 rode a little Yamaha XT225 from the northernmost tip of Alaska to the southernmost tip of South America, solo! Clearly both Lois and Austin have a penchant for the vintage; this is reflected in Austin’s love of 70’s overalls and Lois’ love of historic expeditions and vintage British motorcycles. Something Emma can relate to as her late Grandfather (also a well travelled inspirational man) had three exceptionally clean Vincent’s; a Black Prince, a Comet and a little 45cc Firefly. This was the 3rd annual ATFF and it’s clear that Austin and Lois, along with an army of volunteers, know how to throw a party. The camping ground, full of adventure bikers, cyclists and a few overlanding 4x4’s was home to the 700+ crowd for the weekend; obviously, the audience sharing the same authentic passion for adventure as the organisers. Lois and Austin’s love of retro is also reflected in the appearance of the vintage cinema bus. The bus is a slice of cinema and automotive history, a truly unique vehicle. The festival is complimented with a schedule of workshops, seminars, displays, trade-stands and cooking competitions and demos. We attended Louise Wilson’s ‘Blogging from the Road’ presentation. The seminar was aimed at blogging virgins, albeit we managed to get a few new ideas to improve our own blog and website. We had the chance to have a little chat with both Louise and her partner David, you can download the interview here. Of the 15+ films that were screened over the weekend we only managed to catch Gaurav Jani’s very Indian ‘One Crazy Ride’. A tale of overloaded motorcycling camaraderie through the uncharted ‘roads’ of the Himalayan state of Arunachal Pradesh, in north-eastern India. The film is a touching story of brotherhood (and sisterhood) in the face of unforgiving terrain. On our return home we decided to purchase and download a few of the featured films. Tom Allen’s incredibly life affirming and at times raw and introspective ‘Janapar’ is an emotive story that gives the viewer a real insight into the struggles faced by solo long distance bicyclists. Beautifully shot, edited and with a well-crafted soundtrack this tale is more than just a travel film, it is a good old-fashioned love story that never fails to move! An unexpected late addition to the program was a talk given by an unpaid Ben Fogle entitled ‘The Accidental Adventurer’. Like many people attending I was unaware of the extent of his achievements. This quote from the synopsis of the book with the same name highlights some of his greatest.
“He has rowed across the Atlantic, walked to the South Pole, run the Sahara and skated across Sweden. He has encountered remote tribes-people in deepest Papua New Guinea, caused a Boeing 747 to dump £100k of fuel before making an emergency landing in Sao Paolo, and been mistaken for Prince William on numerous occasions.” Despite his Royal doppelgänger I think he missed the irony in denying he was posh as during his talk he “poo-pooed an idea” and “had blisters on his bottom”. Despite my internal sniggers, Ben Fogle has an endearing character and is a great public speaker. After hearing him talk I had a newfound respect for him. We also missed a great photo opportunity with him as I was in the queue for the burger stand! On its own admission and to its credit the ATFF is by no means a big Hollywood affair, I’ve certainly never heard of long-drop compost toilets in Cannes! And that is what makes this event so great. The 5-point manifesto states one of the aims of the ATFF is to bring together the adventure travel community. This criteria is certainly met. The festival has undoubtedly inspired us to think more about increasing and improving the quality of our own films. Our time back in the UK will give me a chance to catalogue and edit the hundreds of hours of footage we’ve shot so far. Maybe we’ll see our names in LED camp lights at next year’s event! Incidentally if you missed this festival you don’t have to wait a year before the next one just hop on a plane, jump on your bike, paddle your canoe or fire up your 4x4 and head to the Australian or U.S. leg, the latter being part of Overland Expo. If not, see you next year in Dorset! Andy Patricio Martinez is the larger-than-life character who owns El Valle Hermosa ‘the beautiful valley’; an eating and drinking establishment at the centre of a criss-cross sprawl of apartment blocks in the Eastern Madrid suburb of Barrio de la Concepcion. We met him by chance and were instantly taken by his personality and kindness, so much so that we recently wrote an article about him for Gallery magazine (click here to read it). Below is an extract of an interview we did with him… What is the most important aspect about running your business and what do you enjoy the most? I like people to enjoy being here and to take notice to my attention to detail. I like to be generous and spend time with the customers and hopefully they appreciate that. Do you think that this is important to the success of your business, especially in this economic climate where other bars seem to be closing? I believe in three things: Good quality food at the right price, sacrifice and quantity. This has been the key to success for the restaurant, now and when my uncle opened it in 1968. I’m not really good looking so people must come here for other reasons!! What changes have you seen in the area, the community and the bar since you’ve been here? When my uncle started the bar it was a typical Spanish bar, workers from the community with low incomes would come to eat greasy meat dishes: testicles, heart, tongue. 7 years ago the restaurant was decorated and I changed the menu, since then the restaurant attracts more families. Are the majority of the customers from the area and do you know all your customers? I have regular customers from the area who come everyday for a drink and I have local families who come for food at the weekends. I am always looking for new customers, when I see new customers I try and make them feel welcome and hopefully they’ll come back. I use my charm and sex appeal. Do you feel the bar is important to the community and how do you see your role in the community?
I feel the bar is important to the community, it’s a useful meeting place; it’s social. I feel I always try and give the best and hopefully the people appreciate this. I know everyone but I try and remain out of everyone’s business, I’ll try not to interfere in other people’s lives and will be careful and respectful of the community. You can follow Patricio at El Valle Hermoso on Facebook here. In 1956 the French left Morocco after 44-years of occupation but recent times have seen a new invasion; from the Southern Spanish Ports they come in their thousands, a campervan cavalcade marching to a victory of sunshine and low-cost campsites. Throughout natural history, species with the means (ie-wings) have wisely selected to spend their winter months in the sunshine of North Africa, returning to the lush landscapes of Europe during the warmer summer months. This mass-migration of sleek, shiny-white motorhomes starts around December; armies of retired French couples cross the straits of Gibraltar and spread strategically across Moroccan camping grounds. Rigorous behavioural routines can be observed; departure to the next site is at 8.30am sharp, with arrival around midday for lunch. Males typically drive, with females directing the fibreglass monsters into position through a series of bizarre hand signals. Yellow plastic wheel wedges level the automobile to perfection, the satellite dish rotates into position, astroturf is rolled outside the doorway, a miniature dog appears on its lead (or even cats) and a pot plant completes the picnic table and two chairs. Territorial behaviour is intense, parking is unidirectional with an unwritten rule of personal space encroachment; an awning overstretching into a neighbours pitch will be met with fierce aggression. On one occasion we witnessed a ferocious altercation culminating in a couple spraying a hose over a man and his wife that refused to move their car from slightly blocking the communal tap. Morning sees a parade of males carrying ‘Vide cassettes’ from their on-board toilettes, followed by a mass-grooming of vehicles; vertical mopping maintains the pristine gleam while females polish the windows and hoover the 3.1m2 of interior carpet. But surely this kind of mass tourism is great for the struggling Moroccan economy? Not so much when these vehicles represent Carrefour-on-wheels; stocked to the roof with Cotes-du-Rhone and Camembert they remove the need to shop or eat at restaurants locally and hotels, buses and taxis are unnecessary when you travel in your accommodation. Behind high campsite fences on the fringes of towns, there is little integration with local communities or absorption of culture; essentially these mobile home ‘cocoons’ are miniature replicas of their French apartment equivalent (only with winter sunshine). French is Morocco’s widely-spoken second language so communication is effortless and at around 5 Euros per night, pitch fees are a fraction of European sites. Some campervans will move around the country but many take root in a single location for the entire duration of their 3 month visa. On the outskirts of Taghazout a miniature city has grown on a stretch of coastal wasteland; hundreds of campervans congregate in groups, encircling areas where Petanque is played and Christmas trees and lights dot the rough ground in December. On the flip side of the dirham is the possibility that maybe a season in North Africa is an avoidance of ridiculously high French winter fuel bills. Retired couples removed from the social circles that employment brings are possibly seeking new communal interactions. For overlanders, this influx of motorhome tourism has provided an infrastructure of convenient campsites throughout the country, yet the immaculate, meandering, camping car convoy can be escaped in minutes via any road with a slightly rough surface.
In a country that once saw transportation and movement over its deserts and mountains via a Camel Train, there now comes the Campervan Train. Emma The transition from European familiar to African unfamiliar is only a 90-minute sail across the Straits of Gibraltar. As with the arrival to any foreign country for the first time, there is always the excitement, yet slight trepidation of the unknown; language, money, people, food, culture, roads and everyday life. Our initial route in Morocco took us down the Atlantic coast; after a very chilly drive through France and Spain the days were now warmer but by sunset the temperature fell sharply. A wild coastline worshipped by windsurfers, big waves crash along rocky shores and small towns nestle in sheltered bays. Our first stop, Asilah, was our introduction to a Moroccan town; the medina (the walled part of an Arabic town) is a labyrinth of narrow lanes and alleys dotted with doorways encircled by intricate, colourful tiled mosaics. Tiny, wobbly, wrought iron balconies overlook streets so confined you could reach across and shake your opposite neighbours hand. Flowerpots bursting with vibrant geraniums adorn the small windowsills. Revving scooters veering perilously through the alleyways break the silence along with a chattering group of neatly uniformed children rushing to the cramped grocery shop to buy sweets after school.
Outside this enclosed, peaceful hive of habitation, you step onto the main street and are met with an immediate sensory onslaught. Donkey carts, cars, bikes, horses and people jostle rowdily for position on the road. Men wearing the traditional wizard-like overcoat, complete with pointed hood, congregate noisily in busy cafes lining the streets drinking mint tea and playing dominoes and backgammon. Women barter for fruit and vegetables from piled-high, rickety market stalls while chickens peck blissfully unaware of their fate on poultry ‘death row’. Distorted Arabic hip-hop blares from the stereo of a make-shift stall selling pirate CD’s, inharmoniously clashing with the Muezzin call to prayer of several nearby mosques. Locals clamour round snack stalls selling hot fried sardines, snails, smoking charcoal-cooked kebabs, sizzling, oily flatbread and sweet sticky doughnuts. As the sun sets over the harbour, the medina walls glow varying shades of red in the fading light and we settle down into our roof tent… we’re going to like it here. *Welcome Emma A wet, drizzly morning in Weymouth and Bee-Bee is having the last couple of boxes loaded in; map at the ready and the 11pm Portsmouth - Le Havre ferry booked. With our family situation currently stable and itchy feet so bad we are practically doing the river dance, we are swapping our sunset chase for a longitudinal course. A quick drive through France and Spain (it is winter and we’re camping!) and a sail across the straits of Gibraltar to Morocco and the start of our North-Western Africa adventure.
An interlude to ‘Rock the Kasbah’ with family in Marrakech will be followed by a meander to the Western Sahara by which time we should have warmed up considerably. Limited by a closed border to Algeria in the east and an increasingly dodgy pass to Mauritania in the south we are land-locked by civil unrest and political restrictions. However, with around 450,000 km2 we should have plenty to explore with the Sahara desert, Atlas Mountains, wild Atlantic coastline and nomadic Berbers. We intend to explore rural Portugal and Spain on our route back north; keeping plans minimal and simply going with the flow. Emma Up until now, only facebook users have been fortunate (?) enough to view our ongoing Video Diaries or “Vlogs” (as modern technology terminology now calls them). Some of our experiences are simply not justified through still photos and writing. Take for example Andy’s depth-checking wade across a Mongolian river in his pants, off-road mud sliding or bone-shaking driving across corrugated Siberian roads.
From the rooftop of St Sofia’s Cathedral and the depths of ice caves to the glaciers of Norway and shore of Lake Baikal, hopefully these will reveal personal snapshots of our journey and allow another dimension into our adventure records. You can view all our ‘Vlogs’ on our very own 800days YouTube channel here; http://www.youtube.com/user/aroundtheworldin800/videos Emma After a 4-hour ferry ride we arrived in Norway: land of the midnight sun. In stark contrast to a very flat Denmark we soon arrived at a hill, a hill that soon turned into a mountain. In a very short period we climbed 1250 metres to above the tree line and into the snow. For Emma who lived in the Middle East for the last 9 years and whose last experience of Snow was at Ski Dubai, this was a real treat. Our driving experience in Norway has been like our very own episode of ‘Top Gear’, it is a motorist’s paradise. The roads are relatively devoid of traffic, the views are stunning and it is like each turn has been lifted from the Nurburgring. It’s glaringly obvious that the Roman’s never made it as far north as Norway; they probably turned up at the border, realized their ‘Roman Road’ ideology wasn’t going to work and turned around. The Norwegian’s however took a different approach! If something is in the way stick a road to the side of it, if that fails dig a tunnel straight through the middle of it…or in the case of the extreme descent from the summit of the Folgefonna Glacier down to the Hardangerfjorden, cut a disorientating 2km spiral tunnel that descends corkscrew like through the cliff edge. This marvel of engineering isn’t a concrete super structure lined with fluorescent lights but more resembled a 19th Century mineshaft filled with lingering exhaust fumes. The reward for enduring such a disconcerting rollercoaster ride was well worth it as we emerged at the jaw-droppingly beautiful fjord. Round every corner in Norway is an even more astounding vista than the previous one, framed perfectly by the edges of our windscreen. Due to the commonplace nature of these views we soon became fairly blasé and the en-route in-car photographs mounted up. Occasionally some of the views warranted actually stopping the car and getting out, normally in conjunction with some kind of extreme hill climb that had pushed Bee-Bee’s overloaded cooling system to the limit. For some reason I can’t fathom, Norway has a huge amount of classic American cars. I saw 3 Mustangs, A Dodge Charger, Trans-Am’s, two Chevy Impala’s and countless 70’s Chevy Vans and Pick-Ups. The American muscle made up for the lack of bear sightings; we did however see plenty of reindeer as we travelled through Scandinavia, we also ate some too. The elusive Elk also remained unspotted, apparently if you are driving the Elk is the last animal you’ll want to see. They stand at least 230 cm tall and when you hit them they spin over and their heavy feet smash through your windscreen. For countries so full of stunning scenery there was a serious lack of wildlife. Emma spotted a Pine-Martin (I know, I’d never heard of one too!) and that was about it! Travelling north through Norway was a real treat, you dip and climb from frozen ice caps to crystal clear, mirror-like Fjord waters that morph into brilliant-white snow-covered ice-fields again. The melting ice waters are transformed into powerful torrents of milky blue river water that cut through the landscape creating dramatic ravines; crashing over harsh rock rapids downwards towards the next tranquil fjord.
We saw distinct changes with each day as we travelled directly north towards the Arctic Circle; the Midnight Sun became more extreme to the point at our most northerly the light barely dipped for an hour. The Arctic Circle was a milestone for us, back home in the UK it all seemed so far away and to actually get there felt like a great achievement. It was not quite what I was expecting though; I envisaged maybe a signpost, a polar bear and some kind of native fishing around an ice hole. Instead we got hoards of motorhomes, a massive tourist information centre and a wealth of tourist tat at exaggerated tourist prices. Sweden is like Norway’s ugly sister; Don’t get me wrong, I still would it’s just she’s a little flat and featureless in comparison (well the North at least). The real problem with Sweden though is due to it’s flat nature it doesn’t have much running water, in turn a lot of still lakes; everywhere we went in Sweden we were hounded by mosquitoes. Like Norway’s American muscle car mystery Sweden also has a few motoring anomalies. I spotted at least 5 trucks, 1 mini van and a late 80’s Merc with some awesomely bad airbrush work. This isn’t really surprising considering the size of the country but when you discover that we just drove across the Northern part (Norland) in an afternoon the figures seem rather high. The other observation that was made during this short period of time is that the Swedes love a spotlight, not surprising when you consider that it is dark here for about 70 days straight in winter. Every car has spotlights from the latest BMW’s to the oldest Volvo’s (of which there are thousands)…But the Swedes don’t just have one extra pair of spotlights or subtle little LED ones hidden away in the bumpers, the chosen amount is three massive individual lights placed in a row between the two main headlights. The larger the diameter the better, 8 inches is not unusual. With the dark winters, forests and snowy conditions it’s easy to see how this ‘neck of the woods’ creates so many great rally drivers. Sweden was a bit of a blur as we motored straight through towards Finland and Russia. Travelling east we noticed a distinct change in the people, the Fins are much more serious than the Norwegians and Swedes. In Finland we stopped at a city called Oulo to get a taste of Finnish living. The market there sold a delectable display of traditional Finnish foods including ‘Elk in a Can’ and every kind of Salmon you could imagine. The city also has an odd mocking statue of a rather portly policeman, I had the obligatory photograph stood next to the little fella. We randomly came across a great campsite near the Russian border and decided one last shower would be needed before our crossing. The campsite was so great in fact that we decided to stay two nights so we could really kick back and relax. The hammock got an outing and as we were in Finland we decided to test out the campsites Sauna followed by jumping naked into the freezing lake. It was at this campsite we met a lovely Finnish couple who gave us all the advice we needed on Russia. The advice didn’t actually make me feel anymore confident about our impending crossing. The area we were about to cross into was bear country, we’re likely to get robbed; possibly at gun point and no one is going to talk English. On the plus side though the area we choose to cross was a quiet border and so it would likely take just a few hours… Andy |
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