My Bicycling Adventure

Welcome to Lubrin

2010-02-15T18:30:00.001Z

If you have visited our web site recently you may have seen our new logo. Ambrit also made us some "business" cards that look really good, so we can hand them out to people that we meet along the way.

One of the key things that we have come to realise since we started our trip last year, is that as well as enjoying the journey (always our motto), a large part of what we are doing is about stringing out our meagre finances. This is to enable us to continue travelling until such time as we have had enough and decide to settle again in one place, however, whenever and wherever that may be.

Europe is an expensive area to survive on a limited budget and we have already exceeded our planned spending

In our travels we came across the opportunity to "house sit" for zero rent in exchange for looking after animals or some other such service.

We have to stay in Europe until September 2010, as we have two weddings to attend during the summer, (Steve's niece Vicky and our son Ben).

We managed to get a house sit, looking after a Cortijo in Spain.

We arrived in Lubrin On Monday 18th January at around 5-00pm.

Lubrin is one of the small and typical Spanish towns in the Sierra de Los Filabres hills, about one hour's drive from and due north of the large, Mediterranean coastal town of Almeria. Unlike the "white villages" in the western part of Andalucia the architecture incorporates many stone buildings as well as the whitewashed Moorish style buildings.

We visited Lubrin in 2003 and apart from an increased sense of affluance, it has hardly changed in that time. The town is hidden in a fold of the foothills and as the locals say, if you blink you will miss it. Perhaps that is why it still retains that old world Andalusian charm, and has managed to retain its small shops, among them two bakers, a tailor, hardware, grocery, farmacia, bank and post office.

The tracks (Ramblas) leading out of the village act as a gateway to the Filabres hills, with miles of unspoilt walking and mountain biking, winding through the valleys and climbing to peaks in excess of 1000m. Throughout this region there are many almond and olive groves in terraces up the hillsides, interspersed with Prickly Pears, Aloe Vera and other cactus types. At this time in January the almond blossom is bursting giving the trees a pinkish hue.

The area is the only officially designated desert in Europe and hence there is little rainfall. When it does rain the heavens open sometimes lasting for 24 hours or so. Previously bone dry Ramblas are briefly turned into raging torrents, which gouge out deep cuts into the track surface, making it unpassable until the "grader" comes along to restore the surface. As anyone who knows of our reputation will have deduced by now, within one week of our arrival we have experienced the worst run for some seven years, accompanied by near freezing temperatures, sleet and hail.

The patron saint of the village is San Sebastian. We had arrived in time for the annual saints day and the Fiesta del Pan or bread festival. The exact origins of the festival are shrouded in folk lore, but it is known that it incorporates elements connected to the Christian / Moorish conflicts and the times when plague spread to the area. The following excellent description is taken from "Levante Lifstyle":

"Every year on 20th January, the town is the scene of a boisterous ‘bun fight’ - the highlight of the three-day day Fiesta del Pan (Bread Fiesta). The peal of the church bells and an explosion of rockets kicks off the no holds barred event following a special midday mass.The crowd roars as the image of San Sebastián, one of the patron saints of Lubrín, emerges from the church adorned with fake bread rolls, and trailed by the town band begins a slow parade through the packed, narrow streets of the town.

Young and old “rosqueros”, sporting red bandanas and bellowing football terrace-like chants, vie to catch “roscos” - large, doughtnut shaped rolls - which “lanzadores” vigorously hurl from the windows and balconies above. The successful catchers then triumphantly thread their snatched trophies onto cords and dangle them around their necks.

Once the noisy jostling for the roscos and processions are over, and the ‘necklaces’ have been proudly displayed in the streets, the revellers come together for snacks of bits of bread, tuna, anchovies and cold meats.

In May 2003 the Junta de Andalucía recognised Lubrín’s particular version of the Bread Fiesta with a Tourism Interest classification, the event attracting 8-10,000 intrigued visitors every year. The exact origins of the fiesta in Lubrín are not known for certain, but one version of the story is that centuries ago the area was blighted by cholera, plague, starvation and other natural disasters. The people appealed to San Sebastián for protection and salvation, staging a procession in the saint’s honour through the town. The threat of disease and blight lessened, and the good folk of Lubrín took it as a clear sign that San Sebastián had answered their call for help. In thanks for the saint’s intervention, the most affluent in the town began giving food to the neediest, throwing down their charitable offerings from the upper floors of their houses to make sure they didn’t become infected with disease".

Our "job" over the next 5 months is to manage the Fuenta -Arriba Cortijo with its three letting apartments and look after two dogs and a cat.

Fuenta-Arriba is a lovely restored, rustico cortijo (farmhouse). The apartments are let out through Responsible Travel. The web site is at www.fuenta-arriba.com

So if your interested get in touch through our web site www.my-bicycling-adventure.com by submitting a contact us form.

This is Floyd ( the little fat one) and Meg (the large shaggy one).......

.......and here is Sammy (the compliant cat).

At this time of year (February) the almond B

blossom is in full bloom .............

............and the rain is turning the hills from their summer brown to luscious green.

It seems strange that we were sat outside each morning eating our breakfast in January and now here we are in the snow.

More to follow.........

20th Nov 2009 to 18th Jan 2010 - Tavira

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Sitting in the mid-day sun outside the Café Anzu, overlooking the River Gilao, rhythmic Latin sounds ooze from the sound system above our heads. We sip our café con leite grande and savour the sweetness of our Bolos Arroz cake. “We need to do some shopping” says Karen, without any real commitment. “I guess we should….after all it’ll be beer time soon”. She gives me that “you’re incorrigible” look and giggles.

I sidle up to the bar, pay the bill and we walk slowly, arm-in-arm along the riverside road towards the Porte Romana, one of four bridges over the river. We lean on the bridge walls, surveying the town.

Tavira has to be one of our favourite places on the Algarve.

It was granted “city” status by King Manuel I in 1520. Don’t take this to mean that it is a large urban sprawl. Tavira is a fairly small, but bustling town where the historic industries of fishing, salt and olive oil production continue. It has sixteen churches, a castle, city walls and archeological evidence dating back to the Phoenicians.

The City is a great cultural center. As well as several museums, it has a very strong music academy, which each Saturday evening organizes “Music in the Churches”. We have heard piano, guitar and quartet concerts. There is a theatre and two cinemas. Just up the road from our apartment is the modern Municipal Library, which is housed in the old town prison building. It has free internet access and the best and cheapest café in town. We have made good use of both.

Remarkably, the town doesn’t possess any traffic lights, which are apparently unnecessary given the convoluted one way system and maze of small cobbled streets, but the traffic seems to flow just fine.

The white washed buildings huddle together seemingly in an attempt to hold up the numerous derelict properties that are often concealed behind apparently sound facades. A peek through the half open shutters reveals rotting floor and roof timbers, vegetation and general rubbish. There is a great temptation to buy and renovate these buildings, restoring them to their former glories.

The roof tops of Tavira are of an unusual hip construction, gently splaying to the eaves and formed from natural terracotta tiles giving the vista across the city a real warmth.

The River Gilao starts as a trickle up in the hills to the North, winding its way down to the Algarve coast. It divides Tavira in two and then flows through the salt pans before emerging at the Ilha de Tavira; one of a series of long and wide sand bars that run some 15 kilometers parallel to the coast as far as Faro.

Crossing the river we walk passed a local busker knocking out single string accompaniment to a sound system that appears to hold the whole of the Count Basie orchestra inside. “Here, we’ve bought this guitar chord book for you”. We walk on.

From the bridge we descend the half dozen stepped seats, which curve to make a small amphitheatre seating area on the river side of the Placa da Republica, with the archways of the municipal offices to the left.

The pedestrianised area is finished in the same cream coloured limestone cobles that are used throughout the town, much the same as in Lisbon. Around the perimeter are pavement cafes, boutique shops selling up market clothing, shoes and magazines.

In front of the arches, a fountain plays on the surface of a modern, curving pool with stepping stones, where the children paddle on hot summer days. A street seller serves a couple with bags of roasted chestnuts as the smoke from his burner drifts aimlessly, choking the drinkers in the cafes on the other side of the square.

We cross the square. Another busker squeezes tuneless catawails from his mouth organ while he holds his hand out for “Ooma Euro”. “Here, we’ve bought you this -Your Hundred Best Harmonica Tunes”. We walk on.

Along Rua Alexandre Herculano we arrive at a small roundabout, which seems to be a central point for all of the traffic going through Tavira. On one corner a small Pastileria; punters sit at tables, people watching. On the other side the monstrous Antonia Pereria cinema building, built in a time when no thought was given to making buildings fit with their surroundings. We make our way along the Rua D. Marcelino Franco to Mini-Preco. This is like a Spar under a different name. We collect our usual standbys, bread, beer and cakes and saunter back to our apartment.

We were lucky to find a modern apartment in a tastefully designed, secure complex of about fifty similar properties, built around a court yard with a shared pool. A few are permanently occupied by British or Portuguese families, but most are second homes let out as holiday accommodation. At this time of year most of them are empty so the place is relatively quiet.

-///-

This doesn’t mean that we get a peaceful night’s sleep.

No matter what time our heads hit the pillow, the barking of the local dogs always starts soon afterwards.

The black lab on the balcony opposite, who would obviously rather be in bed with his owner, is the worst.

He sings the bass line, a low and hearty woof that gradually diminishes into a howl and finally a grumble, before finally coming to the realization that his mean owners have once again got the better of him and left him out in the cold.

Thirty meters further down the road his two tenor accompanists, Oscar the alsation and his great dane friend, join in at regular intervals forming a two part harmony.

To complete the ensemble, is the more distant and soprano yapps of a couple of poodles. The tune can last several minutes, before the last voice dies away and you finally drift off to sleep. You slumber until once again woken up as some passer-by inadvertently starts them off again on the next verse.

We have been waiting patiently for Christmas presents to arrive by post from the UK, one of which includes a sonic “Dog Dazer” with which we hope to silence the heavenly choir. However, the combined ineptness of the British and Portuguese postal systems has so far failed, (after three weeks) to produce the said parcels.

It is at this point, as the dogs are finally giving up, due to laryngitis, the lady in the apartment above comes home from her late shift. She commences to prepare a meal, clicking around in her stilettos, across the tiled floor, whilst apparently rearranging the furniture. She does eventually go to bed herself.

Next on the stage are “the bin men”. They do not come on until about 3 am. The bin men are like very bad children – not seen, but heard! It is worth explaining here a little bit about the refuse system in Portugal.

The municipal waste department also known as Tavira Verde, like other Portuguese “concelho”, is intent on meeting its recycling targets and has installed very discrete waste bins in various locations around the town. There are bins for glass, plastics, paper and organic waste. The bins are a little bit like icebergs. On the surface they are small neat bins, under the pavement however they are vast plastic containers into which unsuspecting drunks can easily fall and never be seen again.

Unfortunately the residents of Tavira are either uncooperative or illiterate and put any rubbish in any bin. We rather suspect that the reason the rubbish is collected only at night is that it all goes into a single vehicle, with no segregation and straight to landfill. But we are usually too tired to get up and check.

On one memorable night in the middle of December, after enduring all of the above, we were still awake in the early hours and both a bit tetchy as we had to be up early in the morning. As we were dozing off the bed started to shake violently. We each accused each other of fidgeting and eventually drifted off to sleep. It was only when we saw the news the next day that we realized it had actually been an earthquake registering 6.2.

-///-

Although we have been taking it easy over the last few weeks, we have been out on our bicycles a bit.

The Ecovia cycle route runs 210km from Sagres in the West, along the Algarve coast to Villa Real San Antonio at the Spanish border. It is an easy ride along unpaved tracks and side roads, across relatively flat farm land and through the white washed towns and villages dotted along the coast. It passes through Tavira from where we rode as far as Villa Real San Antonio (at the Spanish border) and also in the opposite direction to Fuzeta. It is well sign posted, although at Altura it abruptly stopped with no indication of where it went. We managed to pick it up on the other side of the town, with some difficulty.

There is a web site www.ecoviasalgarve.org, but it is only in Portuguese. There are a number of companies that offer self guided or accompanied rides along the Eco Via or on other mountain bikes routes in Portugal. A few are: Activity Algarve; Responsible Travel;

To the North the terrain is very hilly although at its highest it is only about 500 meters above sea level. It is a great area for mountain biking in the cooler months with lots of off road tracks, although they are not well mapped.

One day we cycled to Carchopo, about 45km inland, which lies on the Roue de Pao (bread trail). Along the route are a number of preserved windmills. Carchopo has a particularly good specimen. After a great local lunch (18 euros for dish of the day, wine, bread, etc for two) it was a long cycle back to Tavira, arriving back just as it was getting dark.

Cycling out of the town to south, past the new, but unsightly market building you can take the ferry from Quatros Des Aguas to the Ihla de Tavira. This massive sand bar forms a natural, tidal channel that runs between it and the coast. The channel provides shelter for the many fishing and pleasure boats that operate along the coast. During the summer, passenger ferries run from Tavira and from the Quatro-Aguas port, taking throngs of pleasure seeking holiday makers across to the Ihla.

At this eastern end of the Ihla is a camping site for tents only, as well as restaurants, bars and a lifeguard controlled beach next to the small lighthouse at the tip of the river outlet. Walking west, the sand stretches for miles and very soon you can be away from the crowds with only the sound of the Atlantic rollers as they fight and jostle with each other to see who can get to the shore first.

After a few kilometers you arrive at Barill Beach and the site of the old tuna processing plant, which is now a small development of bars, restaurants and beach huts. When the factory was operating it was common to catch shoals of tuna just off the beach. That has long since stopped and now there is a narrow gauge train, which for 1 euro will take you back across the sand bar at its widest point, to the foot bridge over the channel and at Pedras d’El Rei.

A legacy of the tuna fishing industry is the Anchor Cemetry at Barill Beach.

Alternatively, if you continue along the beach you are bound to see the sunburned bodies of naturist sun bathers as they enjoy their remote solitude away from the insensitive intolerance of those who don’t understand. The walk to the end of the Ihla is long and you have to walk all the way back as there is no way off the Ihla at the far end.

In the winter the bars, campsite and restaurants close down and there is only one ferry running, between the Ihla and Quatro-Aguas. At this time of year you can walk along the beach and be totally alone.

Christmas and New Year is a great time here, with many concerts and events.

On New Year’s eve, we had a lovely meal at the ‘Beira Ria’ restaurant at the Black Anchor, Irish bar and made some good friends.

At midnight there was the most wonderful firework display on the old military bridge.

The whole town was out to watch and afterwards there was a rock band playing in the Placa de Republica.

Karen on New year's eve in Tavira

We had such a good time that it took us several days to recover afterwards – enough said.

Like the rest of Europe, Portugal has been experiencing some unusual extremes of weather over the last couple of weeks. Here, we have had torrential rain storms with hail and thunder leading to some localised flooding. Further north there has been high winds and rain bringing down power cables and destroying large areas of polytunnel agriculture. In the mountains, roads have been closed due to blizzard conditions. It seems that our reputation for finding the worst of the weather remains unchallenged.

A couple of days after the storm and the floods had subsided, we cycled up the valley to Pego do Inferno (Devil's Hole). It was clear that the water had actually been as high as the top of the waterfall, turning this normally placid little oasis into a raging torrent.

While the apartment has air-conditioning which doubles as a heater, we have tried to save money by sitting in our sleeping bags watching the TV.

This year we are also the height of style and sophistication in our new slippers bought for 4 euros a pair at the local Chinese Bazaar.

As we complete this part of our blog the rain has passed and for the last three days we have had clear skies and sunshine, but there is still a biting wind coming from Northern Europe. But, it is a good enough day for us to go with Terry and Anne (Steve’s brother’s in laws) over to Ilha de Tavira on the small train. We sat in the only open café in the warm sunshine, eating sausage, bacon, egg and chips!

This is our last week in Tavira and we have been doing a few odd jobs for Sue, our apartment manager. It's brought in a few extra euros - enough for a couple of meals out.

So where to next?

If you read our Lisbon blog, you will remember that we tried to arrange a house sit opportunity near to Almeria in Spain, which we thought had fallen through. In fact it was just deferred, so on Monday 18th January we are leaving to go to Almeria. Due to time scales and weather we are cheating and going by car.

Fuenta Arriba is a restored cortijo close to the small Andalucian town of Lubrin. It is owned by a welsh couple, John and Mia Vincent and has three single bedroom apartments for rent. We will be meeting and greeting guests and looking after John and Mia's two dogs and the cat. We will be there from 18th jan to March 29th. After that we will be going cycling around part of Spain for a couple of months. We then return to the cortijo to manage it for the months of June and July before we go back to the UK for Steve's nieces wedding in August and our son Ben's wedding in September.

We would love to see anyone at the cortijo and if you book it through us we have agreed a 50% discount off the published price.

So that's the end of our Tavira stay. Our next blog posting will be from Lubrin.

Adeus!

Friday 20th November 2009 - Beliche to Tavira 25km

2009-11-28T20:30:00.005Z

When you wild camp it’s a good idea to be up early and away from your site. Today was no exception. We dressed and breakfasted on the last of our porridge that we had brought from the UK, decamped and set off along the lovely, quite country roads through the hills for the last part of our journey to South Portugal.

It was a quite crisp morning, but before long the sun was up and our spirits lifted. We enjoyed the ride and managed to navigate our way through the back roads, travelling more or less parallel to the motorway from Vila Real west along the Algarve coast.

With a little help from a dutch guy on a bike who corrected us at one point, we eventually came down towards Tavira, along a pleasant flat road taking us all the way into town.

After exactly 12 weeks and 3500km we had cycled from Inverness to Tavira. We were ready for a rest and Tavira was the place we had chosen to stay for a couple of months.

All we had to do was find somewhere to live!

Thursday 19th November, Mertola to Belliche Reservoir.

2009-11-28T20:28:00.006Z

The following day we were less certain about our destination for the day. Initially we had planned to go west to Cachopo along minor roads, but we had real difficulty trying to find out if there was any type of accommodation there at all. We also knew that the area was very hilly.

The other option was to go east to Alcoutim, on the border with Spain where we thought there was a youth hostel. Karen had lost her faith in Portuguese youth hostels after Evora where we arrived planning to stay there and found it had been closed down 2 years ago, even though it was on the 2009 guide as well as the web-site.

However, before we left we wanted to see little more of Mertola. After a quick look at the Castle and the Roman Ruins we did a bit of shopping in case we had to wild camp that night and then we set off along the main road towards Vila Real.

Although it was a main road it was not very busy. It was quite a climb out of the town, up some 200 meters, but then got easier. There was little in the way of habitation, let alone cafes so we stopped at the first turn off to Alcoutim for our lunch.

Karen was concerned that by going to Alcoutim we would leave ourselves with a long ride the following day, so we decided to keep going to the next possible habitation at Odeleite. The road took us over three or four major ravines. We were thankful that we were on the main road with its high bridges rather than following the lesser roads into the depths of the valleys.

Eventually we got to Odeleite, but there were just two cafes and no accommodation. We asked where the nearest accommodation was and were told either Alcoutim or Vila Real. Curses! We didn’t want to go back to Alcoutim and Vila Real was too far. It was getting towards dusk so we cut off the main road to try to find somewhere to camp. After spending all day in lonely country, suddenly there were houses everywhere, all with a large and loud dog. We hunted around for about 30 minutes before we found a spot in the middle of a pine nursery overlooking the villages below and close to the Beliche Reservoir.

We pitched and had a scratch meal of sardines, rice and tomatoes and then emptied our tuck boxes of their few meager contents: a few squares of chocolate, some muesli bars and some cheese and biscuits.

The sun set and we were left with a biblical scene, the sky fading from bright blue to orange at the horizon and a new moon in the sky. By the time we had finished our dinner the sky was dark and filled with billions of stars. We looked in wonder and awe. It was getting cold and the mozzies were extremely hungry. Needless to say we had an early night. We read our books for a short while and tried to get some sleep whilst we listened to the baying of distant dogs.

By now however, Steve’s sore throat and cold were getting worse and he didn’t sleep well.

Wednesday 18th November 2009, Moura to Mertola, 88km

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The hotel was quite noisy during the night, so what should have been a good night’s sleep wasn’t.

We followed the hotel proprietor’s directions, which took us straight out of town and eventually onto quite roads again. The terrain was slightly hillier and we got back into the subsistence farming type areas, away from the intensive agriculture of the day before. It was a day of hill and vales. None of them too steep or too long, but there were just a lot of them.

We had agonized over which journey to make today. It was either a short journey to Serpa or continue on to Mertola. As we had an early start we made good time and arrived in Serpa before lunch. We had a coffee (and cake of course) and then circled around the town finding a shop to buy water and bread for lunch.

You would be forgiven for thinking that there is not much about the towns we are passing through, as we have hardly mentioned them. In fact they have all been lovely little towns, with cobbled streets, castles, churches, whitewashed houses etc, but having been through so many we are a bit “white washed” out.

The day was warm and sunny and after a short while, just passed Espirito Santo, we stopped at the side of the road to eat lunch.

We continued on through the heat of the afternoon. Steve was complaining of a sore throat and was drinking lots of water. We had been looking for a shop or bar most of the afternoon to get hold of more water. Eventually we reached Mina de Sao Domingos. We ignored the first bar, which was full of men and carried on to the next bar which, much to Karen’s delight was full of old women.

As Steve got of his trusty steed he said “If I get mentally undressed as I walk in, I am walking straight out again”. Guess what, they did, but the need for coffee and water was too strong to deter him. I think there was also a hint of enjoying it as well!

This small town had been a center for copper mining. Up until the Second World War, the mines were run by an English company that employed a private security firm which treated the workers very badly. The mines continued to operate until 1965.

The town lies on the Baragem de Tosada Grande (reservoir) which we saw as we left. There was a nice little beach there, but we didn’t have time to stop. The climb out of the town was quite long and hot. Eventually we reached a bit of a plateau and then it developed into a long and thrilling downhill all the way into the Guardiana Gorge, with Mertola standing above it on the hillside.

The view up and down the gorge was stunning, particularly in the cold morning as the mist was still rising and before the sun had fully risen.

Mertola was a very nice busy town that has been well developed for tourism, but retains its old world charm. There are Roman ruins, a castle, the usual churches and for the adventure minded, kayaking on the river.

Tuesday 17th November- Monseraz to Moura – 45km

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For the first time for weeks our accommodation included breakfast. Not a particularly early start and a nice leisurely breakfast.

We left town and stopped at the viewpoint, where we bumped into Ted and Elaine again who were just heading off to Lisbon. By now the wind had dropped and the view was much better. So, a quick photo opportunity a good bye to them and it was down hill; all the way to the long bridge over the reservoir and up the hill to Mourao.

We stopped to look at the castle, which was in a very bad state of repair and disappointing. We bought some lovely meat pies and bread and headed out again on the way south to Moura on the eastern side of the reservoir.

We were into olive growing country with miles of olive trees. They looked lovely with the new green grass which was sprouting following the recent rain. As we continued we noticed an intensification of the olive farming with irrigation producing much larger, heavier, crops which bent the branches of the trees down to the ground. The harvesting process however appeared to be the age old method of beating hell out of the tree with a stout stick and collecting the olives on sheets spread underneath.

We continued along the road by the side of the reservoir and stopped on the shore for our lunch. It was the hottest day we'd had in Portugal, with the temperature up to about 24C..

We continued to Moura and found a room in a hotel which was recommended in the Rough Guide. We also had a lovely traditional meal of sea bream and macaroni in a local restaurant, again mentioned in the guide.

Monday 16th November Evora to Monseraz – 49km

2009-11-28T20:23:00.003Z

We woke to a grey and cloudy sky with a strong wind, which as Murphy’s Law dictates, would be in our faces. We set off without breakfast, hoping to find a cheap supermarket on the way out of town, but we were unlucky and in fear of finding nothing else, we stopped at a garage and brought petrol for the stove and water.
The road was straight and flat through featureless countryside, just cereal fields as far as the eye could see and little signs of habitation, let alone cafes. After about 15km, we passed a road side font which had a large perimeter wall and a circular cattle watering trough. We took shelter from the strong wind while we ate breakfast. It was not the nicest of stops as it was obviously used as a toilet and in the waste bin there were rabbit remains. As we had not been able to shop we ate what we had in our tuck boxes and quickly got back on the move.

After about 25km, the countryside became more interesting. It was moiré undulating with boulder strewn pastures dotted with pine and olive trees. The wind did not abate continuing to blow straight in our faces slowing our progress.

We passed through the town Reguengos de Monseraz, stopping briefly to look at the church, which was untypical of others in the region and came out into the countryside gaining our first view of Monseraz, standing remote and proud on top of the hill.

As we drew closer we could appreciate the full spectacle of Monsaraz; the castle on the right hand side, its walls stretching the length of the town and surrounding the white washed houses.

The road takes you around the back of the town and up a steep hill to a viewpoint where we stopped to look out over the Alqueva Reservoir, which seemed to fill every valley as far as the eye could see, right up to the border and beyond into Spain.

This controversial project produced the largest mad-made lake in Europe and provides valuable drinking and irrigation water to this arid region as well as bringing in new tourism to the area.

Due to the strong wind our stop at the viewpoint was brief and we continued up the hill into the small town, through the gate. The town has two narrow, parallel streets, paved in slate and traditional white washed buildings. Apart from resident’s vehicles, no cars are allowed in the town and it is a delightful place to wander round.

We found the tourist office and met a Canadian couple, Ted and Elaine, who were staying at the very nice Estagem Inn just outside the town walls. They invited us for a drink of wine before dinner and we were enchanted by their rooms which had a great view of the town from the rooftop terrace.

Later we enjoyed a meal with them at a local restaurant. It was nice to have other English speaking people of a similar mind to laugh and joke with.

We found a less expensive village house which had a nice little courtyard at the back, overlooking the plains below. It was very peaceful and quite. We had the best night’s sleep we had for a long time.

Saturday 14th & Sunday 15th November, Montemor to Evora – 42km

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We had to get an early start today as we had some serios sight-seeing to get through. We bought water at a local store and then ate breakfast at a café, with two huge “doorsteps” of toast. We shopped at our favourite Portuguese supermarket, Pingo Doce, on outskirts of town and then continued over the plain, which became inceasingly undulating. There was little wind and it was easy riding, paralleling the motorway for much of the route.

A few kilometers from Evora we took a detour, to Guadaloup and then onto a sandy rough track for about 4 kilometers uphill. Karen had insisted on seeing the Almedres stone circle, but was suffering from a painful knee. Despite this she soldiered on under these difficult conditions. The circle comprised some 100+ rounded boulders and differed substantially from the more well defined, squared off type rocks that make up many of the stone circles that we had seen in Scotland. From the circle we had a lovely view of Evora in the distance, but the haze prevented worthwhile photographs. We sat in the sunshine and ate lunch.

From there, we pedalled back down the track, realising only then how much we had climbed in the first place. We rejoined the main road and headed into Evora.

The initial view of Evora is disappointing,until you reach the city walls, which surround the old town. Cycling into town is hard, up cobbled streets. We used the Rough Guide to find economical accommodation, run by a lovely old lady, which we checked into for a couple of nights.

The following day we explored the town visiting the Cathedral.......

.... and the bizarre & macabre chapel of bones, adjoin the church of San Francisco.

We decided against eating in the tres expensive Pousada and settled for sitting in the square in front of the Roman Temple......

......watching a classic car rally drive through the town, with an eclectic mix of old vehicles. One of them didn't quite make it up the hill.....

We also took a walk to the municipal gardens where there is a reconstruction of the buildings where Vasco de Gama is said to have received his commission to find a sea route to India.

The final, fascinating, point of note was the Roman aqueduct where the local populace had built houses within its arches and which are still lived in today.

Evora is an enchanting town and well worth a visit.

Friday 13th November, Leaving Lisbon (again) to Montemor 80km

2009-11-28T20:18:00.001Z

We repeated the previous morning, this time without hiccoughs. We caught the fast boat over the river Boa to Montijo and having done some lunch shopping in the town headed out on the main road towards Montemor. The road was of good quality with a wide hard shoulder. It was straight and flat, but reasonably busy.

The first notable thing was that we were now into cork growing country and the road led through acre after acre of cork plantation. There were a lot of storks, their nests perched high on the telegraph posts.

Wherever there were cattle or sheep there were egrets, perched on their backs, presumably picking out ticks or flies.
We passed herds of black and brown bulls with fiery temperaments, possibly bred for fighting.

As we moved further inland, there were more small vine yards and strange dome shaped terracotta pots, perhaps 20 meters in diameter, that looked like large bosoms. We later learned that these were the tradidional containers used to hold the fermenting wine, instead of barrels.

At one point we were riding passed a herd of sheep on a section of unfenced road, when suddenly out of the undergrowth burst an alsation dog bounding after the sheep, quickly pursued by, apparently, a shepherd shouting at the top of his voice. We didn’t know whether he was trying to stop the dog or stop the sheep, but it certainly didn’t appear like the sedate “one man and his dog” that we are used to.
We arrived in Montemor after a long and fairly easy ride across the plains, but nonetheless we were still tired. The turismo helped us to find cheap and clean accommodation and also recommended a good restaurant, which was confirmed by the Rough Guide.

Before dinner we went to a local bar for a beer and got into conversation with a gentleman and his wife who were travelling back from his home town to Lisbon where he lived most of the time. He educated us about the horse festival, which was showing on the television news. It is visited by thousands of people each year and looked to be a really great event. Unfortunately it was to the north and not on our route. He also recommended that we should not miss the chance to visit the fortified, medieval hill top town of Monseraz, and invited us to visit his home town, Vila de Frades in early December for their own “new wine” festival. He explained that in this region they use the traditional method going back to biblical times, of fermenting wine in earthernware pots called Talha.

We went to eat at a restaurant across the road from our accommodation whose name was “8th of March” (the local patron saint’s day). We had octopus rice, which was really good and an expensive bottle of local wine at 6euros. It was the best wine we had sampled in Portugal. Towards the end of the meal our hostess presented us with a plate of what looked like bits of deep fried meat, which was a local speciality. She tried to explain that it was something to do with the innards of the pig. Exasperated she returned from the kitchen with a sample of the raw material. It was in fact the connective tissue from around the intestines. Karen thought it was very tasty, but Steve was not over impressed.

After dinner we walked over to one of the squares where the townsfolk were having their annual “New Wine” festival. This new wine was not a nice smooth wine, but rather coarse and raw. However we joined in and downed a glass full along with a bag of roast chestnuts, as we stood by the roaring bonfire listening to the local merenge band and watched the dancing.

Lisbon

2009-11-26T18:06:00.002Z

Tuesday 10^th & Wednesday 11^th November, Lisbon

In the morning we took the Metro down to the Placa de Commercial to find the Turismo. On the way we spotted a bike shop called “Without Stress” so Steve called in to buy some new cycling glasses having broken his a few days before. Whilst there we took the opportunity to talk with shop staff about the best way out of Lisbon for our departure and built up a good rapport with the guy running the shop, Bruno.

However, the prospect of our house sitting assignment in Spain was paramount and we spent all day Tuesday finding out how we would get us, our luggage and our bikes to Almeria. The main problem that we had was trying to find free internet access in Lisbon. The local WiFi provider seemed to have tied up all of the hotels and cafes etc with a third party, paid for service and when we tried to buy time on it we couldn’t get into the system.

After a fruitless foot aching search we stopped at a café for a coffee. The coffee was awful and we were both in bad moods. When the bill arrived at 6.80 euros Steve was livid and complained to the waiter, ultimately raising it to the manager’s attention. Despite Steve pointing out that the coffee was “sh**” and way over priced the owner would have none of it and gave us nothing.

Anger vented, we had to resort to using Western Union for internet access. We were amazed at the large number of Africans that live in Lisbon, using the Western Union to send money or simply to call home.

We spent a lot of shoe leather and got full value from our Metro day pass going to train and bus stations, only to find that neither would provide what we needed to get us and our bikes to Spain. We even looked at shipping the bikes, but that was also prohibitively expensive and would have required boxing the bikes. Eventually we reserved two hire cars from Europcar: one to travel to Vila Real on the Portugal / Spain border and then, having crossed the river with bikes on the ferry into Spain, a second car to travel from Ayamonte to Almeria.

Everything sorted, we arrived back at the hostel exhausted and sent an email to the property owner to tell him everything was in place. Within minutes he called back to tell us that the plane was off. The people currently managing the place wanted to stay on so we were not needed any more.

To drown our sorrows we found an Indian restaurant and had the first curry since leaving the UK. It was so good.

The following day, as we had no jobs to do we took the day to go sightseeing. We bought the Lisbon all day Viva pass, which gives unlimited travel on bus, Metro, tram and local ferries.

We started with the Cathedral, the Castle and assorted churches and then took the tram down to the Belem area on the river front, where we saw the monument to Henry the Navigator, the Belem tower and the stunning monastery.

On the way back to catch the tram we stumbled across the amazing and famous Belem pastelaria, a traditional Portuguese tea shop. This place is a must. It spreads over several rooms of blue tiled walls, waiters in black and white and the most delicious cakes and pastries. It also serves Port wine. Considering that it is such a tourist attraction, we were surprised that the prices were reasonable.

After all of this we were bushed, and we headed back to the hotel for dinner at a nice little restaurant almost next door, that served a menu which was more cosmopolitan and a change from the usual traditional Portuguese fare. We were the only customers so we could chat to the waiter and the owner who both spoke good English and were very interested in our ride.

Thursday 12^th November, trying to leave Lisbon

The next day, we woke early, excited that we were back on the bikes again. We packed quickly and headed off to follow a route that we had researched the day before, taking us down back roads to avoid the major traffic routes. The route was easy and downhill all the way. However, fate was due to strike again.

Steve had been concerned about a “pulsing” feeling on his back brake for a while, but it seemed to be getting worse. He stopped to investigate further and found that the wheel rim had a split in it and was very dangerous. We couldn’t continue on our journey without getting it fixed.

Fortunately we had to go right passed the same bike shop that we had been in the day before to get to the ferry, so we continued into the town and stopped for a coffee while we waited for the shop to open.

Bruno was very helpful and whilst we waited for advice from the MD at Thorn bikes, he was looking into new wheel rims. Robin rang us from Thorn and suggested that we swop the front wheel rim to the back and then just buy a new wheel for the front.

We had to get Steve’s bike up to their other shop in the North of Lisbon. This meant going back to the pension with all of our gear, checking in for another night and then getting the bike onto the Metro to go to the shop. Bikes aren’t actually allowed on the Metro until after 8-00pm, but the official relented and let us on. However, we did get told off at the other end as we left the station.

The technician at the shop was also called Bruno and he “pulled out all the stops” rebuilding Steve’s wheel as well as cleaning and polishing the whole bike. We collected it at 7-00pm , went back to the hotel and to the same restaurant that we had eaten in last night, to their great surprise as they thought we had left already.

So I would just like to say "Thanks Bruno and all your staff for helping us out of a hole. You did a great job!" www.biclas.com

Porto

2009-11-24T17:56:00.000Z

Saturday 7^th & Sunday 8^th November, Porto.

The apartment that we found was on rua St. Catarina, one of the main shopping streets in the town. It was on the first floor, overlooking the street which allowed us to watch the action in the street. While we were there we had a South American Andean band playing its haunting flute and drum music, a young mime artist and clown making balloon sculpture for the children and the many sellers of lottery tickets and roasted chestnuts filling the street with smoke.

More disturbing than this was the large number of beggars and homeless people, many of whom were disabled. There was the old couple selling lottery tickets by day and at nights sleeping in a shop doorway. There was a guy with three or four dogs, one of whom had a litter of puppies. He drew large crowds and probably raised more money than any of the beggars or street artists. It was very hard throughout the weekend to keep walking past these people and not give any money, but our budget also was lean and we simply couldn’t afford to give them anything. We suppose that this will help a little for when we get to even poorer areas with hundreds rather a handful of homeless beggars.

In the apartment above ours, were a couple of local lads who we never actually met. We only heard them. First on the Friday night when they returned home and apparently started exercising in a “gym”. At first we thought they were “making out”, but soon realized that they were running on a treadmill and bouncing some sort of ball. Their sense of humour came out later during the weekend. We had left Steve’s bike shoes outside the front door due to their foul smell. . After the smell had dissipated we took them in. That afternoon when we returned there was a another pair of old sneakers left in their place. We assume by the lads above. Karen spent a good half hour making up a little message in Portuguese to leave on them.

The area around the apartment was well served with cafes and bars as well as a wonderful old market building. The building had seen better days and parts were held up with scaffolding. That did not deter the traders who set up their stalls anyway. There were two levels. The lower level had stalls all across the floor selling veg, flowers, meat, fish, bread and non consumables. The upper level was a balcony all the way around selling mainly fruit and veg. the scaffold also served as good perches for the many pigeons that frequently dive bombed the stalls trying to steal a morsel, much to the annoyance of the stall holders. We chose a stall at random to buy our vegetables. The two old ladies running the store were overjoyed as we bought so much stuff.

Our initial view of Porto was not a good one, arriving late, in the dark and rain, with the first views of derelict buildings and run down areas. However over the weekend our views changed and we came to really like the place.

On the south side of the river Douro are the many Port Wine producers. Such famous names as Grahams, Croft, Porto Cruz and others and the most famous of them all Sandemans. The Sandeman brand is said to be the longest enduring brand image in the World. We walked along the south side which was, bustling with tourists and locals as well as many Africans selling artisan type goods.

Each of the wine lodges operates its own river tour on one of the old Port wine barges that were used to transport the wine along the river Douro.

The views across the river to Porto are stunning, being ideally suited to make “jigsaws” out of.

The river itself was teaming with fish. At one drain outlet there were so many of them that you couldn’t tell water from fish.

It is crossed by six bridges and on Sunday morning we visited the art gallery (its free on a Sunday) which had an exhibition about Porto’s history and the importance of the different river crossings in forming that history.

In the evening we took the opportunity of visiting one of the Port Wine lodges to be educated about the different types of port. We rolled home.

Whilst we were enjoying Porto, we were also struggling with trying to facilitate travel to Spain to take up a possible housing sitting opportunity. The day we arrived we had an email alert about the prospect, which was to sit a house for four months near Lubrin, near Almeria, Spain. We couldn’t believe the coincidence as this was the place we had holidayed with our friends, Phil and Krystyna at the old Cortijo, El Modrano. In fact the guy who posted the advert knew El Modrano and it seemed to us that this was an ideal opportunity. We committed to make arrangements to get there asap.

We had already planned to travel to Lisbon with our bikes, by bus or train as we suspected that the journey by road out of Porto and down the coast would be a difficult one. The train authorities said we would have to try on the day and check with the local station before we bought the ticket and even then the bike would have to be in a bag, but there was no charge The Renex bus station told us that we could take our bikes, provided the bus trunk wasn’t full with luggage, but there was a charge for the bikes of euros 9.40 each. We also had to enquire at bike shops about bags in case we couldn’t take the bikes as they were. Finally we opted to catch the bus at 13-00, (the least busy time).

Whilst we were looking into bus times we also passed what is the thinnest house in Portugal, which existed apparently due to an obscure law in the past that said two churches could not share a common wall. the house is the bit in the middle, with a single doorway. Apparently it is (or has) been lived in.

Moncau to Porto

2009-11-06T17:28:00.000Z

Thursday 5^th - Monday 9^th November - Guimaraes to Porto – 80km

We woke to on and off rain. We packed and ate breakfast in the hostel and planned our departure from the town. Following Tuesday’s awful entry into the city we wanted to find less busy roads for our way out. We took the N105 in a south westerly direction, which we would follow due west to the coast and then down the coast into Porto, avoiding the main roads.

We now realise that the strip of land some 80km wide down the western side of Portugal is densely populated and industrial and as a consequence has a lot of traffic. They all seem intent on being the next F1 champion and have little regard for anything like a highway code, let alone bikes. Unlike the Spanish roads, most of the Portuguese roads don’t have a nice wide hard shoulder that can be requisitioned by cyclists.

The road was busy all the way until we got nearer to the coast, but even then on the back roads there was a lot of traffic. To make things worse the back roads down the coast (for 15km) were all cobbled making the riding very uncomfortable and slow. The beaches were impressive with massive Atlantic rollers breaking over the rocks and onto the sandy beaches, but the towns were rundown and unattractive.

The ride into Porto seemed to take forever. We rode through the last town before Porto, Matosinhos, which had an impressive new bridge, other than that not a lot going for it. Once over the bridge, with the help of a local bike shop, we picked up a bike track that took us all along the sea front to the mouth of the Rio Douro. We stopped to take pictures of the Atlantic waves breaking over the lighthouse jetty.

The track continued along the river. By now it was dark and raining (again). It was a struggle to read the map and navigate our way through the one way system and up steep cobbled streets. However, we did manage to find the Pension that was recommended in the RoughGuide which turned out to be clean, reasonably priced and with English speaking staff.

We checked in, exhausted, but quickly showered and went out for a meal in a traditional Portuguese eating house.

The following morning (Friday) it was pouring with rain. Our shoes that we had left on the balcony (because of the smell) were soaking wet. We snuggled under the duvet and didn’t want to get up. We decided that we needed to take a few days in Porto and decide what we were going to do over Christmas and therefore our travel plans for the next few days.

Our room was already booked by someone else for Friday night so we had to find an alternative. The tourist office told of some apartments let out by the Hotel America. They sounded expensive at 50-60 euros, but we went to see the owner and negotiated 40 euros for what turned out to be a very nice apartment.

It was nice to walk around the old market in the next street and buy fish, meat and proper vegetables for the next three days and think about cooking some of our own food again.

As there was no internet we spent the afternoon finding a suitable internet café to complete our blog.

Tuesday 3^rd and Wednesday 4^th November Ponte de Lima to Guimaraes – 63km

It was a fairly cold morning so we had cycling tights and fleece tops on. Shortly out of town we stopped to buy provisions and then continued on the long drag hill, along the main road which was busy with heavy lorries and cars. Although there was a motorway running parallel, it seemed that nobody wanted to pay the toll fees.

The road seemed to go on and on, so it was head down to cover the 33 kilometers to Braga, which was to be our lunch time stopover. Braga is a large city, which initially seemed like just a big urban and industrial sprawl. We asked some students how to get to the old town and were directed “up and up and up the hill”. It was a steep climb and as we came to the old town we stopped at the first bit of park we came to and got out the picnic. The usual strange looks accompanied it.

We had a look around Braga old town and shopping area, purchased a Portuguese SIM card, visited tourist information and set off out of town to visit Bom Jesus, which we had read about in the “RoughGuide”. It was a hard climb up several hair pin bends, but well worth the effort.

Bom Jesus is one of Portugal’s most famous images. It was commissioned by Archbishop Maura-Teles in 1723 and took 60 years to complete. It comprises a church at the top of a series of ornate granite stairways and fountains down the hill side and standing out from the forest around it. It is an extremely popular tourist attraction, but as it was November there was hardly anyone else there, except for this rather attractive, well bodied babe.

From there we carried on up the hill, stopped at the top for a coffee and on towards Citania de Briteiros.

This is Portugal’s most ancient and best preserved sites of celtic village remains.

We were really pleased that we took the time visit the site.

It is quite amazing to realize that these early villagers were very sophisticated in their organization and architecture.

The pictures show how well built the walls were, every stone being carefully fitted to its neighbour.

There was a complex network of water channels running throughout the village and a communal bath house with steam room and cold water bathing area, (the aluminium channel of course is not part of the original).

The reconstructed houses seen on the site really did not fully represent what it must have really been like.

The caretaker of the site was also a keen cyclist and was very interested in our bikes and our ride. He treated us to a coffee before we left the visitor center and also helped us out with route finding to our nights stop. However, we had left it too late and we knew that we would be completing our ride in the dark.

The road to Guimaraes was very busy and narrow in places with nose to tail traffic in both directions. We stopped to put on our fluorescent jackets and switch on our lights, but we still felt very nervous as Portuguese drivers are not as tolerant as their Spanish counterparts. The final part of the ride was a 1^st gear climb up under the busy motorway into the town. It was awful and by the time we got to the square in the old town we were both very tired, fed up and short on temper. We gathered our wits, ate a banana and found the Pousada de Juventude (Youth Hostel).

The term “Youth Hostel” didn’t do it justice it was better than some hotels that we had stayed in. We booked in for one night, but followed that with a second night as we just needed a day off to dry our gear properly, do our washing and do some admin. Oh and of course to do some sight seeing and enjoy the local fare.

Guimaraes was the original Portuguese capital and has a lovely old centre and an impressive castle that has been largely rebuilt from its previous ruinous state. At one point in its history, the castle was only just saved from being torn down so that the stone could be used to pave the streets.

Monday 2^nd November – Moncau to Ponte de Lima – 56km

The sky was cloudy and the temperature had dropped significantly, but at least the rain had stopped. Our gear and clothing was still quite damp as there was no heating in the room. We packed, paid and said goodbye to our friendly host and went to the café in the square for breakfast.

We set off out of town onto the main road towards Valenca, about 16km west down the Minho valley. We were not looking forward to another long ride on the busy main road. A few kilometers out of town we passed a sign “Eco Pista” with a bicycle symbol on it, pointing down into the river valley. We stopped, about turned and rode the wrong way down the hard shoulder back to the turning and followed the signs. It turned out to be a fantastically surfaced, old railway line, all the way to Valenca. It passed through the Costa Verde vineyards. The sun came out and for the first time for several weeks, we saw other cyclists.

In no time at all, we were in Valenca.

We climbed up the cobbled streets into the old citadel with the most impressive city walls and fortifications.

In the town were many old traditional Portuguese buildings with wrought iron balconies and blue and white exterior tiled facades. We had the obligatory visit to sample the coffee and cake, walked around the walls and then got back on our trusty steeds to cycle out of the town, stopping to buy lunch on the way.

We took the back roads out of Valenca to avoid the main roads, which were a lot less developed than those of Spain. It made us realize just how good Spain’s roads and signage are. After a short while signs disappeared or were to just local places that weren’t even on our map or to “autre directions” that seemed to encompass anywhere else. We managed to find our way through the maze of back roads onto the old main road, which wasn’t too busy as the new motorway took most of the traffic. The climb was pretty gradual through many different villages. On the way up we passed an old man with a hand cart full of big rocks. He must have been in his eighties at least and could hardly walk unaided, but he was determined to push this cart up the hill and one of the wheels was almost falling off. If we hadn’t been intent on getting to our destination before dark, we would have stopped to help, but we had no doubt that he would succeed as he clearly was used to hard work.

Finally we crossed over the motorway at the watershed. The ride down was, to start with through a lovely wooded hillside, but as we approached half way, we came to a massive granite quarry. All down the road for several kilometers were small independent businesses making objects from granite purchased direct from the quarry. These objects ranged from simple paving stones through to ornate religious statues and edifices. The quarry stretched for kilometers and it seemed like they were ripping the whole side of the mountain apart.

As we rode further down towards the Lima river, the traffic got busier and the final part of the journey to Ponte de Lima was unpleasant and the place itself didn’t seem very nice.

Until that is, we rode into the old town which straddled the wide Lima river.

Most of the town was on the south side and had an old historic center where the old castle keep was situated overlooking the river. From there the old multi-arched bridge stretched across the river to the north bank, where the Albergue de Perigrinos was situated. The Albergue was the best we had stayed in, being modern, clean and the staff were all really friendly.

The town has a long history going back to before Roman times.

Legend has it that the waters of the river were magical and anyone who crossed it would lose their memory of their home and family. When the advancing Roman army arrived at the river, the troops refused to cross because of this superstition.

The Roman general had to cross first and call out the names of all his generals to prove to his troops that it was safe to cross. This scene features in the town’s history, with re-enactments of the event and a permanent, but tacky model of the general and his army on either side of the river.

We asked the advice of the Albergue staff where to eat, but the place they recommended was shut. We searched around and it being Monday night, most places were closed. We finally found a little street bar / café overlooking the river. There was just one little old lady running it and no other customers. The choice was soup or soup to start and meat or fish for main. We chose soup and meat with house red wine. It was a delicious home-made meal of braised beef, fries and fried rice. Strange combination, but it was just what we needed.

Into Portugal

2009-11-02T21:11:00.000Z

Sunday 1^st November, A Caniza to Moncau (Portugal) – 53 km

During the night we had heard rain, but we didn’t realize quite how bad it was until we looked out of the window at mist and pouring rain. Our shoes which, because of their appalling smell, had been banished to the balcony outside where now soaking wet.

We didn’t rush to get up, hoping that the rain would pass. We then went for breakfast, hoping that the rain would pass. We packed out things hoping that the rain would pass. Needless to say it didn’t, so we put on our waterproofs and set off. The ride was down the valley just about all downhill, 14km to Arbo and the Minho river which forms the border between Spain and Portugal. It had rained most of the way, but it was warm rain. We stopped briefly to look at the river and crossed over into Portugal heading west towards our planned destination, the town of Moncau, which was reputed to be very attractive.

At this point the rain became torrential, but we had no choice but to continue as there was no shelter at all along the main road which by passed all of the villages. The rain never stopped for the whole 22km. We were washed down into Moncau and we fell into the first bar that we saw, soaked from head to foot. The proprietor welcomed us in and was not at all perturbed about the liters of water that spilled onto his floor. We struggled, not speaking any Portugese and pointed to what another table was eating. We had a lovely meal of Bacalau (salted fish), fries and vegetables accompanied by a bottle of the local red wine, which has a slight secondary fermentation.

We stayed for a couple of hours before asking about accommodation. The barman’s in laws helped as they spoke French and we could manage to converse sufficiently well to get our message across. They man walked with us through the town in the lighter rain to find us a lovely room in a private home for 30 euros. Still more than we wanted to pay, but we just needed somewhere dry and warm. It was so kind of him. Luckily, the house owner’s son spoke very good English and could interpret.

We deposited ourselves and all of our wet gear in the room and hung stuff to dry as best we could. After a warm bath we went out for a quick look around, in the rain and to find an internet café.

We had a light tea in our room and tried to understand Portugese TV. The main thing of concern was that the weather looks appalling for the next seven days. With snow in the mountains, lots of wind and rain and unseasonably cold. Merde!!!

Saturday 31^st October Random road side place to A Caniza – 43km

We didn’t sleep very well for several reasons. Firstly we had to stop sliding down the slope. Second the road was busier than we had thought it would be and a number of cars, obviously surprised by seeing a tent at the side of the road, stopped and reversed back to have a second look. This was a little worrying, but nobody bothered us.

So at first light we got up and made breakfast (porridge) and packed our stuff. It had rained during the night and there was now a slight drizzle. We set off and after a while the rain stopped. We kept climbing up the lovely valley to the first pass at about 500 meters. Traffic was light and the ride was enjoyable. We dropped down into the valley and started to climb again. As we climbed the villages became more traditional and the poverty level seemed to increase somewhat. There were a lot more dogs. It is amazing how they can hear you from such a long way off. We came around a corner and there was a gated cemetery. There was a dog at the steps to the cemetery, which started barking at us as we approached. As we drew parallel, Steve barked back at him and he must have decided that we were his best pals so he tagged along for the ride. He was desperately in need of a good meal, was mangy and just wanted a pack to be part of. He could run fast and going up hill we couldn’t shake him off. We were just discussing how we could afford the vet and feeding bills, when we got close to habitation and he must have decided that was as far as he could go for fear of being persecuted by the villagers.

We went on for at least another 4km before we reached the second pass and started our descent down the other side. It started to rain so we stopped to shelter in an oak wood and brewed up for second breakfast. There was a hunting party going on across the valley with a pack of baying dogs and lots of shouting. As we drank our tea acorns kept falling from the trees all around us. Fortunately none hit us. All of a sudden all hell let loose across the valley as the hunters found their quarry. There was rapid succession of rifle shots followed by a whooping and hollering of young hunters having killed their prey. Then all went quite.

We started our third climb of the day and were conducting our own hunt, for a shop. We came into the village of O Covelo and Karen’s keen nose picked up the aroma of baking bread, but we couldn’t see the Panadaria. In the center of the village we stopped at a bar for coffee and asked where the Panadaria was. We were pointed back down the hill a couple of hundred meters and found an old tatty shed in a rough yard. There was a young lady making the bread. The smell made our mouths water. She had just taken some things out of the oven that were made of pastry, about 15” in diameter and looked tantalizing. They were filled with minced meat and onions. Sort of like a Cornish pasty but flat. We bought bread and one of these things that we think were called “Panadilla”. She cut it into quarters and still warm, we packed it into our panniers.

We recommenced our climb, which went on and on and on, above the tree line and above the clouds. The best way to get away from the rain in Spain is to get above it for as you know it usually falls on the plain (in the words of the famous musical. )We still hadn’t reached the pass and both of us could stand the thought of the Panadilla any longer, so we stopped, brewed up and ate the whole lot. It was fab.

It certainly put some power into Karen’s legs, because she was off up the hill like a rocket, leaving Steve struggling to catch his breath after the weighty meal.

Finally after four hours of toil we reached the Puerto de Moncelas pass at 800 meters. We had only covered 28 km, but we had climbed a total of about 1600 meters. As we started our descent, Karen had to negotiate the rush hour traffic. The descent was much easier than the climb, but the ride had been hard so we decided that we would stop at the next sizable town, A Caniza.

We passed one dodgy looking hotel on the way in, passed an even dodgier looking place calling itself a hospedaria and drew to a halt at a bar in the middle of the town. We drank a cold beer and asked about accommodation. Basically there were the places we had passed and another hotel on the road out of the town in the other direction. We went to look for it but gave up after a kilometer and turned back. We went to the hospederia and a young, pleasant lady took Steve up the first floor to see the room. As he went in the girl shouted to someone that we were entering. It turned out it was an old lady who seemed to live there. The place stank of urine. One quick look was enough and Steve politely told the girl “thanks, but no thanks”. We went to the first hotel. The charge 43 euros + tax + breakfast. We felt like we were being ripped off, so left and cycled back through the town to look for the other hotel, which we duly found. This one was better, but still cost 46 euros including tax and breakfast. It was the only choice we had, so we booked in. That night we ate in the hotel restaurant and have to say the food was good.

Friday, 30^th October – A Estrada to random roadside wild camp at Entidad Ponte on the PO-255 - 45km

We had a really good night’s sleep in the comfortable hotel beds and were up about 8-00 for breakfast. We asked the waitress if there were any shops in the direction that we were planning to go. “No, only single shops, nothing much”. Going back into A Estrada was uphill and besides, backtracking is not in our plan. So, fortunately we ignored her and decided to continue in our travel direction. There was a Carcineria next to the hotel. We bought some chicken (real chicken not the watered down stuff we get in the UK), chorizo and Piri Piri sauce with, which to cook our dinner.

We set off along the main road, PO-2003, which was fairly busy. There was a lengthy climb up gentle gradients. We stopped in the village of Codeseda to do some shopping and managed to get everything that we needed for a night wild camping. We continued climbing and reached the top of the hill. Steve said "this is the sort of place you would expect them to put a picnic place.... sort of like that," and pointed across the road. It was one of those "meant to be" sort of moments.

Complete with granite setting area and table and a full size granite cross. Was it faith, fate or what? We sat and ate our lunch.

A couple of kilometers further on we turned right off the main road to take the lesser PO-7101, mountain road to Cerdedo.

This was a delightful road through a wide valley with a lot of small scale farms still based on single strip type fields, single milking cows and a few sheep. Surprisingly there were still new born lambs at the end of October. The whole valley was irrigated through an intricate network of water channels and streams, which reminded us of the irrigation systems that we had seen in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. There seemed to plenty of opportunity to wild camp as there were a number of well covered places by the road. It gave us encouragement that we would easily be able to wild camp if the terrain continued like this.

Cerdedo is on the main N-541 that runs from Pontevedra to Ourense, but we only followed it for one kilometer towards Oursense before cutting off right and south on another mountain road along the valley to the west of the Serra De Conda, which rises to 1000 meters. Although the sky was overcast, it was warm and we got quite a sweat on as we cycled up the steep, granny gear hills.

We reached the watershed and a couple of kilometers further on we came to the village of Caroi. It was a nice little cross road village with a village square, sitting and barbeque area and from the tourist information it was also the center of several hill walks. It was absolutely deserted. There was a little bar with nobody in it. The guy running it couldn’t serve coffee as his machine had packed up. So we bought cans of coke and ate our muesli bars.

From there the ride was more was more downhill along the valley. About half way along, the road changed from the nice new surface that we had enjoyed till then to a rough, old, narrow tarmac road, more like we had expected to see. The dogs were also free running and we had a couple of threats, but nothing serious.

The farm buildings were old and decrepit and several of them were for sale. Eventually we came back onto good road surface and came down to a bridge of a the crystal clear river Verdugo. As we cycled further up out of the valley, we saw a brand new prison building in the middle of nowhere, with huge impenetrable walls and guard towers.

We arrived in a village and stopped for coffee and cake. We had a bit of trouble discerning exactly where we were and which road to take. A van driver told us we were in Caritel and sent us in the wrong direction. Fortunately we noticed the road number on the kilometer post and asked a lady. Whilst she was helping us the puppy she had with her nearly got ran over three times. Karen was more worried about the puppy than our direction. We turned around and this time set off the right way, passing the van driver who had realized his mistake and shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

We reached Caritel and turned left and south down the PO-255 towards A Caniza. It was now about 5-00pm and we needed to be finding a place to camp. The terrain had changed and was back to steep sided valleys with a bank on one side and drop off on the other, so there was no level place to pitch. We were getting anxious. After about 7km we took a turn to the left and found a place on the side of the road where we felt there would not be very much passing traffic.

Karen started to cook our meal whilst Steve pitched the tent on frankly, a bit of a slope. The road turned out to be a little busier than we had at first thought, but nobody seemed to bother us. After a good meal we felt a lot better and before we bedded down for the night we parked the bikes inside the tent awning. It worked out really well and we felt that they would be safer away from prying eyes.

The most remarkable thing was that we sat eating our dinner at 7-00pm in the moonlight, in shorts, T shirts and flip-flops and it was really warm. We hoped that it would stay that way and not rain overnight.

We zipped up the tent, wrote the blog and listened to music. The most challenging thing would be preventing sliding down the slope on our sleeping bags. See how we got on tomorrow.

Adios Santiago

2009-10-29T16:54:00.000Z

Thursday 29^th October Santiago to A Estrada – 28km

It was yet another warm and sunny morning. We still hadn’t made a definite decision as to our route into Portugal. We went for breakfast at the hostal across the road and spent some time looking at accommodation on the internet. After we packed, we tried to pump up out tyres as it was several weeks since we had done any pumping. We realized that a vital piece of the pump had fallen off so it was useless. On the way out we also had to go to the post office to post our Camino certificates to Simon.

We struggled to get out of Santiago, it was like the city didn’t want to let us go. We eventually found the right road and stopped at a garage to try to blow up the tyres with the air supply. We couldn’t get our adapter to work and the result was that We lost a lot of air out of the tyre. We stood in the garage forecourt looking through the phrase book to ask where the nearest bike shop was when a very British looking gent walked up and asked us in English where we were from. He suggested we try the hypermarket next door to the garage which sold bikes and accessories.

New pump purchased and tyres pumped up we were at last ready to leave and it was already midday. By now it was really hot but initially the route was mostly downhill. We knew we must have some climbing to do soon and the road didn’t let us down. Eventually we reached a point by the side of the Rio Ulla where we could sit by the old bridge and have lunch.

Replenished, we continued climbing. It was hot and sweaty. The route was of no specific interest and we finally reached the town of A Estrada. We stopped in what appeared to be the center and it was. It was so unremarkable that we hadn’t realized.

We looked around for hotels or some form of accommodation, but there was nothing. We finally saw a sign to the Don Juan hotel. We followed the route and checked into an equally unremarkable hotel.

We were both a bit dejected at our slow progress over the day and the fact that so far our route had been pretty boring. The old concerns of the cost of accommodation were also recurring and still we didn’t really have a solution. We sat in the bar of the hotel, writing the blog and watching crap Spanish soaps on the TV.

Ribadeo to Santiago de Compostela

2009-10-28T19:19:00.000Z

Tuesday 27^th October Melide to Santiago de Compostela – 54km

Another early start. Out before 8-00am. Beautiful sunrise streaming in through the industrial windows of the warehouse. There was no real choice other than to go along the main road today unless we wanted a major detour through the hills.

The ride really has little to commend it. We stopped in Arzua to shop and have first breakfast. Later we lunched in a layby. Sounds naff, but actually it was sunny, warm and cheese and wine tasted good. As we were now getting close to Santiago we passed a lot of Camino walkers and some cyclists.

The final part of the route took us up to Monte do Gozo, which on a clear day gives good views over Santiago. There is a large albergue here with its own restaurants, shops, camp site and several hundred beds in small dorms.

However, it’s a fair way out of the town and we wanted to stay in Santiago itself.

As we approached Santiago we were concerned that we may suffer the same disappointment as when we had visited Lourdes, France.

The approach is through busy streets, but finally you come to the old town, with its historic, paved, narrow streets and multitude of original buildings centered around the cathedral.

Santiago is a wonderful place, full of atmosphere and even in October it was very busy. Pilgrims arrive from different directions, from all over the World and gather in the Praza da Obradairo in front of the Cathedral. They rejoice in their safe arrival. Some have come for purely religious reasons, some for the cultural experience and others simply for the challenge. There is a combined and overwhelming sense of relief, satisfaction, achievement and camaraderie that moves one to tears.

We headed for the Oficina de Perigrinos to get the final stamp in our passport and our certificates of completion. Then it was to the Oficina de Tourism to find accommodation. We decided to pay the extra and booked into a pension in the town. We got a nice little double room with its own quite terrace.

So we had done it Inverness to Santiago via Plymouth and Santander 2,600km.

We could now relax for a couple of days before wet set off on the next leg of our journey into Portugal.

Monday 26^th October, Lugo to Melide – 54km

We were out of the albergue before 8-00am and left the town through the roman walls at the Porte de Santiago. It was another misty,still and humid morning.

We left the town on busy main road, up the hill, stopping for first breakfast on the way, but as it was early there were no shops open at all.

We crossed over the main N-540 Lugo to Chantade road, to follow the Camino route along the back lanes through simple villages, where the agriculture was still very traditional. This was the rural Spain that we had been looking for , with age old oak forests, meadows and farms. Traditional buildings, stone walls and churches abounded.

We noticed that the granary stores had changed from the shed on stone stilts to raised stone buildings with ventilated walls.

We rode on and on, but there were no shops, cafes or anywhere that we could buy food or water. It was hot and we were thirsty and hungry. We thought that there would be a shop in the one large village marked on our map but there wasn't. Karen stole some apples from a tree in a garden and then we stopped and emptied our bags of everything edible and drinkable.We sat and feasted on half a bottle of red wine, about 300ml water, some oatcakes which had travelled all the way from England and a couple of muesli bars. While we ate a red kite appeared above us and gave us a spectacular display of flying skills. We rode 37km before we arrived in Palas de Rei, on the main N-547 to Santiago. We immediately bought a litre of water and fell into a local hostelry for their “menu del dia”. Suitably refreshed we carried on along back lanes and main road to reach Melide.

We were told that the albergue was closed for refurbishment and were directed to the Albergue Provisional. After a little hunting around we rolled up to a massive warehouse type building with a roller shutter door open which was obviously the entrance.

We walked into a place that was about two football pitches in size. In the middle were stacked together, about 50 or so bunk beds. We thought “My God are we going to sleep in here?” It quickly dawned that within the warehouse had been built a prefabricated building to form the accommodation. It was very busy as we were now on the main “Route Francais”. There were a number of other walkers with English as a first language for the first time since leaving Santander. It was fun watching the reactions of other pilgims as they arrived at such an unusual albergue, all wondering where on earth they were going to sleep.

There were two dorms. A large one with about 50 beds and small one with only seven beds. We thankfully were put into the small one. We had no snorers and air conditioning. It was probably the best night we had had in a dorm.

The kitchen was fantastically fitted out, but no pots, pans or utensils. Fortunately we had our own. We shopped and ate a light meal before bed.

Sunday 25^th October Taramundi to Lugo – 65km

Our original thoughts were to go to Lugo through the mountains, but it was obvious this would take us at least two days, so we decided to pick up the main N-640 that runs south from Vegadeo to Lugo.

When we got up it was very low cloud, damp and misty, but at least there was no wind. It was very warm and humid. Karen was feeling much better and her fears of getting flu were unfounded. Despite the poor weather, the ride was enjoyable, being initially all downhill to A Pontenova on the main road, where the Sunday market was just starting up. As it was early Sunday, there was very little traffic on the main road, which had recently been resurfaced. It was a dream to ride on, but it was another long (10km) gradual climb to approximately 580 meters. The humidity made it uncomfortable, but it was compensated by the scenery.

Just after we crested the pass, a police car drove slowly towards us, passed us and then turned around. It crawled passed us and looked to be pulling into the hard shoulder about 20 meters away. Our hearts sank as we thought some trouble might be brewing. We were relieved when it pulled away before we got there.

We flew down the hill into the town of Meira. There was a local car rally starting from the town square. Fortunately they were not going our way, and we carried on out of the town.

From here the traffic increased and the road was long, straight and continuous ups and downs, so the ride was less pleasant. Even then, we could pull off the road into a field have lunch and doze in the sun for half an hour.

We got to Lugo and made the climb up into the old walled citadel surrounding the cathedral.

The roman walls are impressive; high, wide and completely intact. We walked around in the warm evening. Lugo lies on the river Mino which eventually flows to the Atlantic Ocean and forms the border between Spanish Galicia and Northern Portugal.

We booked into the albergue, which was within the citadel walls. It was a very modern albergue and only 3 euros each, but it didn’t have anywhere to put bikes. We had to lock them to a bike stand outside in the street which was a worry, (but thankfully an unfounded one).

We had dinner in a simple, local restaurant where we ate a delicious Dorado fish and patatas.

Saturday 24^th October Ribadeo to Taramundi – 30km

During the night the wind had got up and we would have a strong southerly, warm, head wind to our next destination. Karen had planned a route to take us through the mountain town of Taramundi, which according to the guide book was a beautiful, untouched rural part of Spain, and on to Lugo, a total of 90km.

When we got up her throat and cold were no better. However, we packed and set off riding along the side of the Eo estuary which could have been a Scottish Loch. It is beautiful. The view across to the old town of Castropol was stunning. At the end of the estuary we reached Vegadeo. Here we stopped to shop, and have breakfast. It was a typical busy Saturday morning with everyone rushing around doing their shopping. There was also a vintage car rally in the square.

We bought a new map for the final part of our journey through Spain and then set off out of town up the valley to Bres. It was a long slow climb, made doubly hard by the strong head wind. Karen was struggling due to her cold. The guide book talked of a simple little road to Taramundi with cows and mule carts, but since writing it had been replaced a by a broad, well surfaced modern road. There was still little traffic and apart from the strong wind and Karen’s health, it was an enjoyable ride.

We finally arrived in Taramundi. It was about 3-00 when we arrived and it was obvious that Karen could not cycle much further feeling as she was. With the help of a local café girl, we found that the only accommodation open were the three hotels in the town. One of them had apartments at 36 euros. We took one. It was great. It had a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. Although it was a little more expensive, it meant we could cook our own food and as it had a washing machine we could do our washing at no extra cost. For Karen it was just what she needed, a warm bath and a good night’s sleep. We were also pleased that we were not camping as it rained overnight.

We were a bit disappointed with Taramundi. It was still a lovely mountain town, but it is now a tourist hot spot with a lot of Artisan gift shops, etc.

Gijon to Ribadeo

2009-10-28T19:08:00.000Z

Friday 23^rd October, Pinera to Ribadeo – 35km

Today’s route was a complete contrast to yesterday’s. We had to ride nearly all the way along the busy main road, with lots of lorries and fast cars passing us. There was no time or interest to stop and take photos. We were trying to get to Ribadeo, the first big town in Galica, before the tourist office closed at 13-00. Each Spanish region publishes its own information on the Camino route and the albergues that lie along it, but you cannot get the information until you actually get to the region. So, it was just one hot and sweaty slog.

To get to Ribadeo we had to cross the Eo estuary or go around it via Vagedeo, a 25km detour. The only other way appeared to be the motorway. A yound Belgian guy had told us there was a passenger ferry from Figueras. We stopped at a service station and the guy gave us good directions to the small town. He advised us there was no ferry, but that there was a foot bridge over the estuary. It wasn’t clear to us where the bridge was, but after more enquiries in Figueras we realized that it was at the side of the motorway bridge. Finding it wasn’t easy and we spent 20 minutes trying to get onto it.

Bridge crossed, we cycled into Ribadeo town center to find tourist information, which although it should have been open, was actually closed, until a young Spanish couple managed to find the guy and open it up. This chap clearly resented having been dragged out to open the center and was not very helpful. We got basic information and no acknowledgment that there was an albergue in Ribadeo.

So we went for another coffee and to check out the albergue web site that we had found previously. Sure enough, there was an albergue in the town. We asked the proprietor where it was and were given simple directions to find it. (****dy tourist information!)

Of course when we got there it was closed with a number to call to get the key. We promptly called and interpreted (wrongly) that we would have to come back at 9-00pm when he would be there to stamp our Perigrinos passport. We chased around the countryside looking for a camp site with no success and headed back to town to get something to eat.

The restaurant opened at 8-00pm so we had to have a beer at a bar in the Plaza de Espana. It was a lively atmosphere, whole families, from the youngest to the eldest where out enjoying the Friday evening warmth. We sat and watched the kids playing on their skate boards, the old men and women talking in groups and the teenagers parading. The Spanish still have that lovely all inclusive family style of living that we have sadly lost in the UK.

We had a hurried meal so that we could get to the albergue in time. When we arrived it was already open and a girl that we had met at the albergue the night before was there. She had been there since 6-30. The key had been hidden behind the public telephone all the time. So we could have got in when we first arrived. (*********). Anyway the albergue was new, comfortable and there were only three of us.

Karen was complaining about a sore throat, and spent the night shivering even though it was very warm. Steve was very worried about her and wondered what we may have to do if she got worse.

Thursday 22^nd October, Soto de Luna to Pinera, near Navia. 60km

There were a number of young, male Spanish mountain bikers in the albergue who were planning a long ride to Ribadeo so we had expected them to be up early. At 8-30 we thought we had better get up first as it was obvious no one else was going to make a move.

We packed and had a breakfast in the bar (coffee and cake), before setting off up the hill, out of the town. The hill took us back up the motorway level and across the other side onto what used to be the main road before the motorway. The road was a great surface, next to no traffic and wound its way up and down the deep ravines, sometimes winding under the motorway and train viaducts along the way.

We rode through oak, eucalyptus and chestnut forests with the sunlight streaming through the trees. We came to a sign in the middle of the road saying road closed (pretty normal in Spain, but everyone ignores them), but we carried on, past the road workers and stopped to have our second breakfast in a lovely meadow by the side of the road. Whilst we were eating the Spanish cyclists from the albergue passed us.

Our next port of call was Luarca, a lovely little fishing port. We were surprised to see a harbour full of small, modern and well kept fishing boats, in contrast to what we see in Britain.

It was apparent though that these boats were all inshore fishing vessels, not the boats that we hear about coming to steal our fish in the UK waters. We sat on the sea front drinking coffee.

Although the ride was very enjoyable, the continuous ups and downs were tiring and we were glad to finally arrive in Pinera. The Camino signs took us off the main road to the house were we had to sign in. We knocked and a teenage lad answered the door. We went into the house to sign the book and get our Camino passport stamped. After a few miscommunications, we understood that he wanted us to give him a pen to add to his collection that was hanging from a string on a ceiling beam. We gave him a cheap medical pen (one of Karen’s free rep gifts) and he gave us another in return.

We went on to the albergue, which was an old school building on the busy main road. There was no bar or anywhere to eat so we bought food from a shop nearby and cooked a meal on our stove as the albergue had no kitchen.

Wednesday 21^st October Gijon to Soto de Luna – 70km

As we woke on Wednesday morning we thought, from the traffic sounds, that it had been raining and the shutters on our pension window didn’t allow us to determine the state of the sky. We arose at about 8-30 and opened the shutters to find a clear sky and no rain. We packed our things according to a new order that we prepared especially for staying in the albergues, thus, hopefully, meaning that we would only have to open two bags at the most when in the albergue.

We paid our host, said our goodbyes and set off down the Calle San Bernard to the harbor where we picked up the designated cycle lane along the sea front.

The lane continued and we were pleasantly surprised that it took us a good way out of the city. When the lane expired we stood wondering which way to go when an older cyclist spotting our predicament pointed us in the right direction. We followed his directions, but stopped within 200 meters to buy bread. He caught us up and started to reiterate his instructions in convoluted Spanish. A passer by stopped and joined in the conversation. We deduced that he was saying that we didn’t understand what the cyclist was saying and what we really wanted was food. He proceeded to tell us where we could buy good food. We looked on bemused as the two of them fought it out to give us their preferred form of advice.

Fully provisioned we set off again following the cyclists directions. As we came out of the town we came into an industrial area that was like something out of Gotham City. Steel works, pipes over the road, flyovers, etc. We cycled below them looking for he right way and were helped on our way by a fellow Peregrinos walking along the road. We cycled on past the industrial area and carried on the main road towards Aviles. The road was straight and busy with gentle climbs and descents.

About 3 km further on we pulled off the main road to eat our breakfast. We had found a shop selling muesli, which with milk was very passable. We brewed up and sat and ate breakfast in the sun.

We set off again with renewed vigour and quickly completed the 18km or so coming into Aviles along the side of the river. The route to Aviles was along the main N-632, which was reasonably quiet and we passed a number of cyclists along the way, who all shouted their support.

Aviles had a lovely historical centre in the form of the Plaza de Espagna. We walked our bikes through the pedestrian plaza and stopped in the walled park in the town center to eat lunch. We watched the lunchtime joggers running circuits around the park, the old gentlemen walking and taking the grandchildren to the park. The park was bustling in the lunchtime sun as people finished work and prepared for the siesta.

Afterwards we walked back into the square for coffee and use of the free wifi in the square to check our email. After a look around the town we headed out of Aviles towards our next destination, the albergue at Cudillero, (or so we thought).

We cycled out of Aviles to Piedras Blancas where we cut off the main road and followed the back roads through the villages. This meant more hills, but was preferable to the main road, which was now more busy than before Aviles.

Before Cudillero we decided to head down the hill to Playa de Aguilar as we still had plenty of time on our hands. We flew down the hill through pine and eucalyptus forest and as we approached the beach we were eyed by a woman walking her dog, who pronounced in English “Its good to see a British flag”. We stopped and chatted to her about their difficulty in finding suitable sites for their campervan. We continued around the little bay along the sea wall. The Atlantic rollers were pounding the rocks and raising a mist of fine spray that clouded the area.

We reached the end of the bay road and found the lady’s husband in their van just about to set off and look for her. We stopped him and chatted for another 5 minutes, by which time she had come along again. So we chatted for yet another five minutes. We then set off again for a steep climb out of the bay.

Half way up was a viewpoint. As we stopped to catch our breath a Spanish registered car pulled up and a young couple got out with their little girl and asked in English, where were we going. So we chatted for another 10 minutes. We waved goodbye and headed off to finish off the hill and then back down into Cudillero, which we were assured was a “fun place that we would enjoy”.

The town itself stretched down a steep hill to the harbour. We asked where the albergue was and were directed further down the hill. After a few minutes with no success we stopped again and asked a café owner. He said that the albergue was not actually in Cudillero at all, but in fact was in Soto de Luna some 10km further west and back up the steep hill that we had just sailed down. Dejected and down hearted we turned around and set off back up the hill. Arriving at the top took us onto the busy main road again for several kilometers. It was not particularly arduous, but the traffic was heavy because this was a section where the new motorway was not completed so all the traffic was on the main road.

Finally we turned off and the final part of the route was an easy downhill to Soto de Luna.

We signed in to the albergue at the café in the center of the town. After settling into the albergue, we walked back into the town for something to eat. We decided against the café that only appeared to have snacks and instead walked to the end of the town to find a small bar that served food. We were amazed to find there was not only a set menu, but also a board of specials above the bar. With a combination of the phrase book and miming of the landlady we established that the choice included pig’s trotters, pig’s ears, tripe and liver. Surprisingly, dear readers, we went for the standard menu and had chorizo sausage, eggs and chips!

We walked back to the albergue, satisfied and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Santander to Gijon via Picos de Europa

2009-10-28T15:39:00.000Z

Monday / Tuesday 19/20^th October – Gijon

We had cycled from Santander to Gijon, so we decided to have a couple of days off in Gijon.

Gijon is a large city in the middle of the Asturian coast which suffered greatly during the Spanish civil war in the 1930s.

The town was extensively destroyed and many of what now appear to be very old historical buildings were actually rebuilt in the 1950s in their original style.

There are still large parts of the town with ugly 1960s and 70s style tower blocks.

The beach is long, clean and safe and we spent a warm afternoon lying on the sand.

A small part of the old town above the harbour with traditional fisherman’s cottages and cobbled streets survived the damages of the war. The church in the old town shown here was completely rebuilt and sits above the old Roman Baths (unfortunately closed when we were there).

The city now has a modern marina.

Our time in Gijon was a welcome rest from cycling. We spent most of our time on the internet in bars and cafes. We also managed to sort out a local sim card for our phone. Today was wash day, so while Karen did that, Steve did some essential bike maintenance. Of course it being wash day, its raining. The forecast is poor for the rest of this week, so it looks like we will be riding in the rain for the next few days. Its forecast to pick up next week.

We have also been looking at alternatives to Spain due to the expense. One promising option is that we have found a few sites advertising for house sitters. As we are free agents this is a real possibility. Let’s see!

Sunday 18^th October La Islas to Gijon – 62km

We prepared for a cold morning, with full cold weather gear on, but as it turned out, apart from a brisk wind, it was a lot warmer than the mountains. We set off through the village hoping to get breakfast at the café, but it was closed, so we continued the three kilometers to Colunga to take breakfast there. As we were eating, our old friend the German Pilgrim came in. He had set off a good hour and a half earlier than us, but had been confused by the directions and ended up going the wrong way. Hence he had not got very far. We breakfasted with him and then set off again along the N362 towards Gijon. Due to the new motorway, the traffic on the main road was very light and the ride was a pleasure in the morning sun.

The countryside comprised orchard after orchard of apples used in the local speciality, “Cider” or Sidre as it is known in Spain.

Most houses also have their own storage houses on stone pillars.

We arrived in Villaviciosa, which is a big cider producing town, at approx 12-30 and needed to buy milk for our tea, but it being Sunday, all of the shops were closed. So we headed out of the town on a long gentle climb and ate our lunch halfway up the hill. The ride from there continued up gently and developed into a series of valley drops and climbs, eventually taking us off the main road and towards the main beach at Gijon, where we hoped to find a camp site. As we came into view of the city we realized that it was a very big place with an impressive sort of citadel. The ride took us around the bay and down to the main beach. We cycled along the sea front and stopped to look for a pension that Karen had read about in our Footprint guide. We went to the street but couldn’t find it. We decided to look for a camp site that was also mentioned, but along the way stumbled across the pension that we were looking for. We actually managed to make ourselves understood and booked in for three nights at 20 euros per night and a long earned rest.

We are writing our blog in the bar with free internet, just over the road from our pension.

Saturday 17^th October Arenas de Cabaleros to La Isla – 55km

After a good night’s sleep, we packed our gear and went out prepared for the mountain cold. After breakfast in a local café, we set off along the main road towards Cangas de Onis. Although the sun was shining it was very cold, circa 6 degrees. Initially the run was flat down the valley so we didn’t start to warm up until we started to climb up the valley several kilometers later. As was becoming the norm, once the sun was high in the sky we stripped down to shorts and T shirts and we had a lovely run into Cangas.

Cangas is a bustling tourist destination with a thriving adventure sport industry, such as kayaking, quad biking, climbing, canyoning, etc.

We sat and ate our lunch in the park by the river which over looked the old Roman bridge. We chatted to and old man and woman on the park about our ride. They were perturbed at our plan to cycle through Arriondas and over the pass at Mirador de Fito to La Islas on the coast. They tried to convince it was far too steep and high to manage with loaded bikes and we tried to tell them that we had done much more challenging hills already and it wouldn’t be a problem.

However we did set off with some trepidation.

We needn’t have worried too much. It was a long but gentle 10km climb up to approx 650 meters.

At the top, the views back to the Picos and on to the coast were stunning, but the haze meant that photographs did not do it justice.

There followed an exhilarating descent to La Isla.

We arrived in the sleepy seaside village and cycled past the only open café, in search of the Albergue de Pelegrinos.

We had a fruitless wild goose chase around the village, asking several locals for directions all pointing to a house in the village.

The house had the “Camino”Shell symbol on it so we knew we must be in the right place, but we couldn’t raise anyone.

We went back to the road to find a shop to do some shopping for tomorrow’s lunch (as it was Sunday). The lady directed us to keep through the village to the left. We eventually found the Albergue. It was closed with a telephone number to ring. We tried the number, but released we needed to insert the Spain dialing code, which we didn’t know. We made a quick call to our son Simon to get the code and then tried again. We couldn’t get any answer. We tried several times, but by now it was getting dark, so we thought “Damn it”. So we pitched out tent in the Albergue’s garden. We tried to phone one last time and got through, but couldn’t make ourselves understood so we cycled to the house to find the Senora and eventually got the message across. She took us to the Albergue and let us in, which was warm, clean and at that time we were the only occupants.

She was confused about the tent, but we moved all of our stuff inside and then headed off to the café to get something to eat. On the way there we met an elderly, tired looking, German walker who was obviously on the Camino trail, so we gave him the key to the Alberque as he already knew where it was.

The café was the center of the village life, full of locals watching the football and the grand prix, playing cards and dominoes. We ordered Platos Combinados (steak, chips, egg and salad including red wine and bread all for euros 7.80).

As we ate a young cyclist came in with a huge back pack and a T shirt wrapped around his head to keep warm. He communed with the barman and then headed out. We realized that he must be looking for the Albergue so we accosted him, got him back inside and plied him with red Wine on the promise we would show him where it was. “AC” as he was known to his friends is from Belgium, but had lived in Spain and studied the language. We took him to the Alberque and we all settled in for the night.

Las Islas was a lovely little place, which clearly in the summer must be a buzzing seaside town, but at this time it was quiet, to say the least. There were many holiday homes that were locked up for the winter, the hotels were closed and the café was the only place of any activity.

Friday 16^th October Panes to Arena de Cabaleros– 25km

Steve’s birthday today. 54 years old! Ben had suggested paying for a night in a hotel as a present so we were expecting another comfortable night.

We packed our things and were set off by 10-00am. We bought some fresh bread and pan au chocolate and water for breakfast and headed out of town on the AS-114 towards Arenas de Cabrelas. The going was easy and traffic light as we wove our way up the valley surrounded by the magnificent Picos mountains. After a few miles we pulled into a lay-bay to brew up and eat breakfast.

We continued on and eventually reached a campsite just short of our destination. We enquired about the price, which was reasonable at 15 euros, but we had already decided to stay in accommodation tonight so we went on to Arenas de Cabrales. This was a more tourist oriented town than Panes and there were plenty of bars, cafes, shops and different types of accommodation. With the help of the tourist office we found a pension offering a room for the night for 25 euros.

We checked in, changed and as it was only about 13-00 we decided to take a walk up the valley to Poncebos.

Unfortunately we had to walk on the road, but we walked up through the narrow gorge with its tantalizing, blue river, which cried out “swim in me”.

We ate our lunch by the river, but the water and wind were just too cold to contemplate a paddle let alone a swim.

We were amazed by the ability of the mountain goats to "cling" to the rocks.

The walk was about 6km and we continued up the valley a little further on a rough track before turning around and heading back to Arenas de Cabaleros. We spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the sun and thinking about our options for our next stage of travel.

Over the last few days the realities of camping at altitude in Northern Spain at this time of year had begun to hit us. We had so far been lucky in that the weather had been dry and sunny every day. However, the overnight drop in temperatures, the time taken for things to dry out in the mornings and for the temperature to get up to a reasonable level were proving to be a real problem.

At the same time, the costs for food and accommodation in Spain were also a lot higher than we had expected, which is compounded by the falling value of pound against the euro.

It was time for some difficult decisions to be made.

We decided to head for the coast to see if it was any warmer at sea level and also the riding would be a bit easier.

Thursday 15^th October – Random collada to Panes – 54km

The following morning was very cold and again the tent had condensation inside and dew outside. We got up and hurriedly made some breakfast. With no spare water to wash ourselves or our pots and pans everything was dirty. We dried the tent, etc as best as we could, but wanted to clear the site as quickly as possible, so we finished packing and headed off down the valley. It was a long descent about 5km with a 500m drop. It was very cold and we need our full thermal gear on.

We arrived at the bottom of the valley in the village of Puente Nansa and stopped at the river to wash our dirty pots in the river, so that we would be able to brew up for our lunch. Job done, we started up the next valley to reach the Collada de Hoz at 658m where we stopped for lunch. We were entertained watching a couple of farmers herding their cattle down the road.

After lunch another long downhill stretch all the way to La Hermida where we joined the main road, the N-621.

Here it was a question of “Pots or Pans”. Elizabeth’s route took the route to Potes which would have taken us up a rough, unrideable mountain track, so we opted for “Panes” and headed north along the spectacular Desfiladero de la Hermida Gorge.

We arrived in Panes and sought accommodation. We had already decided not to camp as we needed to have a shower and get civilized again. We found a hostal in the town at 35 euros per night and checked in. Later we did a little shopping and looked around the town, which really did not have much to endear it to us.

Before dinner we sampled a beer and then went to a tapas bar for Queso (cheese) Jamon ( parma ham) and bread and a bottle of fine Rioja. We were already feeling a bit woozy as we went for dinner in the hotel restaurant. We had a lovely fish soup to start and Karen ordered something that turned out to be meatballs whilst Steve ordered garlic butter prawns. Unfortunately, Karen got indigestion and couldn’t finish hers, but the prawns were good.

Fully fed and clean we went off to our proper beds for a good night’s sleep.

Wednesday 14^th October Los Llares to some random collada - 53km

It didn’t get light until 8-00am and it was very cold. Karen braved the cold first and got up to make some tea. We were up and about quickly and cooked and ate a hearty breakfast. However, the sun didn’t begin to clear the trees until about ten o clock and the tent was very wet with dew and condensation so it took a lot of drying out.

It was 11-00am before we actually set off to complete the rest of the climb that we had started at the end of yesterday. The tarmac section to the col was through beautiful moorland , which reminded us of Scotland with heathers, gorse, scabious and autumn crocuses along the route. It was manageable, but long and quite hot.

From there the road turned into a rough, but rideable track still climbing, turning and eventually reaching a slightly higher col at about 940 meters, before descending.

It was also the first real view of the Picos de Europa. The ridge of peaks looked like teeth and a bad state of decay, jagged, grey and brown, shining in the afternoon sun.

The descent continued all the way down rougher and steeper track, so it was brakes on all the way to reach our destination. It was also notably the first time that we had met any Spanish mountain bikers and we saw three within a few minutes of each other. At the bottom, we stopped in the village of Ucieda for lunch, which was delicious, well needed but pricey. While we were there a Spanish gent came over and talked to us in good English. It turned out he had lived in Stourbridge for four years during his twenties and in fact met his English wife there. At her request they had moved back to his village and lived there for forty years.

Before leaving we stopped in the store next the café and purchased something for dinner. They didn’t have much choice so we opted to buy a ready sauce and pasta; quick and easy. They had an interesting looking locally made sauce. Vacuum packed in the fridge section. It appeared to contain tomatoes with salami and other stuff that looked like chicken. It was called “Callos”.

From Ucieda we turned south down the CA-180 as far as Valle de Cabuerniga. We knew there was a camp site here, but didn’t know if it would be open or not. It was, but on enquiry the price was 23 euros per night, which we thought was extortionate for a single night, out of season. So we turned around and instead headed up the valley on the CA-182, a long and arduous climb in the afternoon sun.

After an hour or so climbing steadily, we reached the collada (at we think 650m) with views across the Picos and found a place to camp wild again for the night in a copse of trees just off the road. So as not to draw to much attention we waited to pitch the tent till dark and instead set about cooking our dinner as we watched the stunning sunset of the jagged Picos.

We dug out the tantalizing sauce and pasta bought earlier. As water was limited, we decided to cook the pasta in the sauce. As Steve tipped the sauce into the pan he realized our mistake. Callos = tripe!!! There was nothing for it we just had to make do. So it was all cooked up, with a little red wine added. In fact it was surprisingly average, but edible. It was filling and neither of us could eat it all, not just because it was tripe!

We cleaned our bowls with bread, had desert, tea and chocolate.

Next we erected the tent, got everything inside and sat down to write the blog, before retiring to bed.

Tuesday 13^th October Santander to National Park Site above Los Llares 59 km

It was still dark as we emerged from the Albergue, but at least there was a clear sky and it was going to be a sunny day.

We looked for the nearest café to have breakfast and then headed off to the tourist office to find information about campsites and bike routes, but what they provided was not very comprehensive. Next we went to the bookshop to buy the Michelin 1:150,000 maps that we would need for our travels. There, we bumped into Jimmy again and we opted to travel with him out of Santander as far as Saron, some 20 kilometers due south of the city. The route out was along the busy main road, but as we came out of the main part of Santander the traffic became less heavy and we transitioned into rolling green countryside. The sun was shining and it wasn’t a bad ride. After approximately 10 kilometers we should have turned off to Saron, but we all missed the turning as the numbering was different to what we had read on the map. Having realized our error we decided to continue to Puente Viesga instead stopping for lunch in Renedo along the way. While we ate lunch we checked the lonely planet guide book for the opening times of the Cueves del Castillo that we were heading for and realized that they were closed on Tuesdays in the low season. So the caves were out!

We arrived in Puenta Viesga, said goodbye to Jimmy and set off along the N623, turning right out of the village to climb our first real Spanish col along the CA170 to about 500 meters amidst beautiful scenery, not over high or steep and easily manageable, but hot and sweaty.

Flying down the other side we dropped down to Los Corrales de Buelna, which was quite industrial and then along the Rio Basaya Gorge as far as Arena de Iguna turning off and taking the CA 804 towards Los Llares. This was a route suggested by Elizabeth Wagstaff on the CTC website, but had been completed in 1992 and we were unsure how much had changed since then.

We expected to be able to find some accommodation and tried a Pasada de Cantabria. Very nice but at 75 euros we thought No! Try as we might we couldn’t find anything reasonably priced and eventually after some local help headed for the hills and the promise of a National Parque picnic area with free camping. This turned out to be another climb of about 500 meters, which at the end of the day we could have done without, but it was through a lovely wooded valley. We finally arrived and set up tent at a national park picnic area, fully kitted out with barbeques, tables, toilets and water supply. We cooked a lovely meal of fresh sardines, green beans and potatoes followed by yoghurt. The temperature had plummeted and we needed all of our cold weather gear on to keep warm as we ate our dinner by torchlight. Once we were tucked up in our down sleeping bags we were warm enough and passed a peaceful night.

12^th October Monday

We arrived in Santander 12-30 to pouring rain. Oh no! On the boat we met Jimmy, another cyclist who was touring on his own. He arrived to get on the ferry with an enormously loaded bike with several parcels on a trolley that he was pulling by hand. He originally lived in Plymouth, but now lives in Minorca and had travelled quite a lot throughout Spain and other countries, so we took advantage of his knowledge. He had planned to be picked up by his girlfriend in Santander, but due to a change of plan had to dispatch his parcels by post and cycle to Burgos to meet his girlfriend.

We all checked into the Alberque in Santander (basically a bed in a dorm for the night), shared with walkers travelling the Camino de Santiago Del Norte. To be able to use these cheap Albergues, you have to buy an official Pilgrimage card which is stamped each time you stay at an Albergue. We signed up and officially became “Pelegrinos”. We had a restless night and had to be up early and be out by 8-00am.