Conil has been a very pleasing little town. Good job really since for about six weeks we have not felt willing to venture all that far, what with my infection, the car drama and the weather.

So we have been discovering more and more of the immediate area – and today and at last the town museum was open! It is run by volunteers and opens erratically, despite the notes on the door setting out very precise days and times according to the seasons. We had already discovered a fair bit about the town but much more became clear in the museo.

First however the museum itself is tiny since it occupies all that is occupiable in the base of El Torre Guzman. This remnant of a more elaborate fortification dates from around 16-something but was preceeded by more building by of the aforementioned Guzman – El Bueno in fact. His is a name which redounds – great to refurbish an old word – all around Cadiz Province. Very little moved without a Guzman on the case. Indeed it is likely that he or one of his tribe is responsible largely and single-handedly, as it were, for a very repetitive set of physical features on the faces passing by. Anyway much of Tarifa, Cadiz and Conil were built by him or his successors. To be honest it would not be a surprise to find that the custodian of the day was not a Guzman. No, I jest.

Anyway Conil is a town that grew up on the Tunny that used to swarm into the Med from the Atlantic every spring. These massive (well they were back then) pelagic fish (ocean going) were harvested by various means. Huge Seine nets were a favourite, with the fish coralled into the nets and then heaved ashore by muscle power. They would then be hacked to bits on the beach. It sound dreadful but frankly how else were they going to kill these 400 and 500 lb monsters?

We all get them as tuna on the plate but if you look at the pictures and sketches that is but half the story. The entire fish was butchered in different ways and bears different names. Today of course most of what we eat is not really Tunny at all. The blue fin tunny is a lot smaller and less tasty (and less bloody) but far more plentiful today. And the bonito makes up most of the rest, sometimes called by that name but often tinned and labelled tuna.

Anyway, today Conil does not thrive on the tunny, although they are still caught offshore by mostly by line. It thrives on tourists. And still catches plenty of fish top feed to tourists. But not from the river banks or the beach. Today the Puerto de Conil, about five kilometres south east beyond Cabo Roche is the home of a decent sized fleet of small inshore fishers. But clues to the past can be seen and confused by the tripper. A vast array of thousands of anchors in the car park of a restaurant at the port led me to think they were the remnants of all the fishing boats of the last couple of centuries. Wrong. Having been to the museum and seen a brilliant little diorama of the Seine netts we now know these anchors held the nets that caught the Tunny. Each corner of each zig-zagging net was held in place by a huge anchor. One net array used hundreds of them. And there they are – well a lot of them. Rusting gently in the sun.

Conil shares its “de la Frontera” suffix with many towns here, testament to the years of war and territorial exchanges that blighted the Iberian peninsular right up to modern times. The original tribes were the Iberians and Ligurians (fropm northern Italy) and Indo-Celts north. They were crushed or dominated by the first of a succession of invaders, the Phoneicians. Then the Greeks, then the Carthaginians (Phonecians) re-took the lands thus causing one or other of the Punic wars which gave Rome their turn. Then the Visgoths had a go, followed by the Moors, who were kicked out at huge cost to the culture and economy by the Catholics who then squabbled endlessly for centuiries before the French took over, to be kicked out by the Spanish backed by the English (knew we'd get in somewhere). Along the way the boundary with neighbouring Portugal wandered back and forth, hence the “de la FRA” on the sign posts.

Of course the only invaders now are the tourists of which we British, the Germans, the Dutch and a scattering others take a lot out, bring a lot in but we do at least stop short of demanding national domination. Well so far anyway. And except for Gibraltar.

The town was walled and well defended but little of that really remains, beyond the Guzman tower and a rather nice gate. It sits on a low hill beside a medium sized river and faces an astonishingt beach that stretches in endless sands and slight dunes or sandstone cliffs for about 20 kilometres from Cape Trafalgar almost to Cadiz. Where the river and its beaching for fishing boats once made Conil's fortune today it is the beach, and specifically the decent breezes that stir Atlantic surf and para-wings. In winter it is mildly busy; in summer we are told you need to arrive early to get parked, despite an enormous car park behind the town. We cannot however imagine the vast beach is ever actually crowded.

This week the town has been stirring. Much of it is closed in the winter but now the doors are opening, the decorators are at work and the new stock is being loaded. Our walk through the town this morning was fascinating as the signs of a Spring blossoming of economic activity became visible. And like a cuckoo in an English March we met our first Americans. From Illinois and anxious to perpetuate, in loud if jolly American, her desire to buy yet another hanging ornament for the annual Christmas tree which would again bear witness to another destination ticked off. I suggested gently that “hablas Ingles, por favor” might be more effective than “anyone speak English, hey” and that she might find Spain a little unproductive for her quest as they don't really do Christmas, even less said trees. Their big event is Los Reyes on January 6 and they are more gold, Frankincense and Myrrh than Santa on a strong. Like all Americans she took it all in good part. Mind you we should mock; we were looking for really nice El Torro fridge magnet! Failed, by the way.

 This has not been the best of trips all round. It started well enough, clear skies, plenty of sun and when we arrived at Roche it seemed ideal- and cheap! So we signed up for January as well. Christmas came and the weather was poor. New Year was a bit better but I caught a head cold. That turned to a chest infection and the usual merry-go-round began. Three weeks of unpleasantness, antibiotics (to which I seem to be developing a reaction) and the weather steadily worsened. Then the car suspension collapsed and our wealth, like my health, went rapidly downhill. A month on and the car is at last due back – holding my breath has not been an option in 15 years so I'll not start now.

Lacking the tug to do so we have not been able to follow the sun to the east and are stuck here now until our return (depart 23/2, stop Caceres, stop Salamanca, three nights Santander and get the dog done and we sail March 1). Weather willing it now seems...

But here's the thing – we have learned something. Escaping the English winter so that I may escape an infection is a waste of effort. And with our luck it has proved an expensive lesson....

2006 - With a Big C victory in prospect but a temporarily ruined immune system the price, I had two winters in a row with major infections, hospitalisation and one very severe bout of pneumonia. So we set out to dodge the winter when all that happened.

2008 - We rented a house in Mojacar, Almeria but, not wishing to miss Christmas with the kids went out in early January via France. Where we both caught severe colds which lasted well into January and put us both on antibiotics. But it was otherwise fine, including the weather.

2009 - So we booked a little casita inland and went for four months starting end of November. We also returned to a larger Skoda Octavia as the little Fabia was a bit small. We again caught colds on the way down but more critically both did it all again for Christmas, which was spent downing antibiotics again. This time a visit to the local GP was needed for me for a second dose of antibiotics. Then we had a blow out on the front offside. Then the nearside started to whine and cost 170 euros for a new wheel bearing. Then the offside started to make similar noise so another 170 was spent. Only good news was that in the UK the bill would have been £50 higher!

And then the heavens opened and the casita was flooded. Two nights in a hotel, search for new accommodation and a nasty row with the landlords (which Visa solved by snatching our deposit back - after all they broke the contract in reality by drowning us!)

2010 - The following year, much fed up with it all and with being stuck in one place we went back to caravanning and moved our timing to the early spring,planning to go down through France, into Spain and Barcelona and then back up in late May/early June.

We had some English colds during the winter but basically I did OK which was good and we set off in March, meeting some friends en route. But in Chartres we were one of four units burgled and lost about £1000 worth of kit including my beloved cameras ( don't ask! Oh OK, we arrived too late to clear the vehicle!). They smashed the side passenger window to get in so the repair job was a bit of a nightmare – Skoda? Rear which window glass? Tsk tsk! In French of course.

Then, as we belatedly set off for stage three of our trip we found a flat tyre on the car. And when I fitted the spare (checked? Oh yes it was!) it turned out to be low on pressure. So a puncture on the one and, it turned out, a new valve on the spare! And then, as we found the sun and steamed up Le Gavaudin in the Massif Central the turbo apparently packed up. Limping into a campsite we started the search for help. We would drive it to Millau and have it diagnosed – its a VAG so nothing simple. Oh mon Dieu Monsieur, le turbo est hors de service - 1200 euros at least!

But you see in the morning, before driving to Millau it started fine and the turbo was running...? So I went online and lo and behold its a VAG fault and it comes and goes. And even if you want to stop it coming and going you start by changing this bit (£40) and then this bit (£80) and then this bit (£120). And then if you have to the turbo (£800) So we carried on, dumping the Spanish extension trip on the grounds of cowardice and having an absolutely fine time in France after all. And, beyond the turbo, no bugs...

2011 - A new and bigger tug did seem a good idea and if that was so then why not a bigger van with fixed single beds? Great idea. Do it. One Ssang Yong Kyron and an Adria Adora later (minus a few grand, natch) we decided to do Northern Spain in Spring. You know, Picos Europos, Cantabria, Galicia, Asturias, Compostela, A Coruna then down into Portugal before the long leg home. Long crossing each way so a bit dear but hey, its only money! We picked the wrong year. After a week of heat, forest fires and wonderful mountains it changed. From Foz to Ribera (go on, look 'em up) it rained and was unseasonally cold (they insisted). The camp sites were tiny and our van was HUGE! We ploughed on but gave up at Ribera and headed east. Wrong! We were already on the Alta Plana and that is consistently at 3,000 feet – one very long Monroe as our northern porridge eaters would tell us. Cold, wet and miserable we finally made it into Rioja. The weather picked up a bit and we had already decided to cut our losses and head up through France and use the shorter cheaper crossing. The weather was terrific, the camp sites minute and we ended with £400 worth of rear end van damage where I caught a tree. But the car was terrific.

2012 - So we planned to go down into Provence, then pass the Pyrenees to the east and reach Barcelona (at last). We ignored the small site/ large van issue and ploughed on. The motor mover would suffice. It packed up half way. We continued by being very pleased the car was automatic so the clutch damage of tickling it into tight spots was not a problem. One was, I admit, a bit too tight (another £350 repair bill!)

2013/14 – So a smaller van was good idea and that is what we have here in Spain right now. There are no fixed beds so it is unbuild the dinette and build a bed every night. And reverse every morning. But the van fits the pitches and we have a decent sized awning. All we needed was the weather - see archive!

Luck stays steady. Problem with caravan water pump meant spares from the UK. The car sheds a wheel, 30 days elapse before a repair, the hire car gets a puncture. The weather gets worse (you all know about that) but this means vomit comets from Santander to Portsmouth are being cancelled (due to shortage of sick bags?) and we have to pray it gets better enough for our march 1 sailing. And there is something sad about 'liking' a ferry company Twitter page as a way of keeping in touch with events...

2015 - Spring in France.OK? No Spain,no winter escape nonsense.I'll fight my infection at home, in the central heating and with my medical team down the road at the n and N! Then, recovered in march we will head for La France, Provence probably.

First a view of the bay in which Conil de la Frontera sits, looking towards Trafalgar

January 27 – This that and the other

First, Arcos de la Fontera – This is another puerto blanco and the best yet. It is genuinely perched on top of not one but two hills, it has a castle (but privately owned!), is full of superb palacios and narrow delightful streets – and it is well-heeled. The restaurants are excellent – we actually eat in a Moroccan and I had a brilliant lamb and prune tagine, Janet a pastela which was chicken in cinnamon and pistachio and rice in a filo pastry case with cashews and icing sugar to set it off.

We wandered the streets, having parked cheaply and easily in the high town. We loved the shops, the plazas, the churches and the palacios. We saw a superb early 18th century hotel for sale but could not even contemplate it at our age and that price. But it made us realise that this is one of those small but busy towns that could provide a hotel base for a brilliant week. Maybe, none day...

Now, the ruddy car -We are into the third week of hiring and only now can be sure that the claim will be met and on what terms (which are OK-ish). But LV-Frizzell has to get its Spanish agents to authorise the work so we are back on Spanish time. We have seen the garage – excellent – and arranged for the other kingpin to be replaced at the same time. Some time this week we may yet have our wheels back. WRONG - looks like it MIGHT be this week instead!

Last Sunday was the romeria – That's a pilgrimage to us and it celebrate3s the patron saint of Conil – St Sebastian. He's the one who said his God would raise him from the dead and the Visigoths tested this by filling him with arrows. In fact he failed to die immediately so they bashed his brains out for good measure. The arrows stayed in and he stayed dead. Anyway the town assembles for a mass at the parish church and then process, with full decorations the seven kilometres from there to El Colorado.

Posh gents astride their posh Andalucian horses with children or señoras or señoritas on the pillion. Others march in costume playing music and dancing the Flamenco down the street. More have pony and traps, decked with ribbons and bows and filled with bambinos. Farmers get out their oldest and or best tractor, dress it over all and join in. At the head is a Mary on a chaise carried aloft and a Sebastian pierced through and through.

Much Fino is drink (they carry little ceramic mugs on a leather string round their necks for the use of) but it also seems a lot of beer is also drunk these days, excellent black pudding is eaten (and much, much more). The sausage I can vouch goes especially well with a glass of Pedro Ximinex, the brilliant sweet sherry from the eponymous grape that makes Bristol Cream taste like washing up water loaded with sugar.

January 18

First, an entire blog has got lost in the ether. First time ever with Weebly so I reckon it must have been our connection that dropped out in mid transfer. Sadly I also lost the original at the same time. It mostly dealt with the car breakdown so may be better left unsaid, ever! So... here we go a bit later but still in the same part of the forest...

To be frank, January has passed in a blizzard of coughs, sneezes and tissues so far as I am concerned. And worse for Janet since she has merely been an unwilling and occasionally worried observer. What started as a head cold on Boxing Day followed my normal course and ended up as a chest infection. My breathing is never good but Clarithromycin worsens it markedly (note to self; refuse next time). Until this weekn I have not felt so good.

Then last Saturday of course the car suspension collapsed at yet another speedhump hurdle and we spent sone hours being recovered, then many more fretting and negotiating our future. The insurance company has accepted it is a road incident not a breakdown – collision with road equipment literally! But that still means a lot of hassle, two hire cars in a row and a ￡300 excess to pay. Mind you the whole bill looks loike ￡2,000 so until our renewal comes in we are happy-ish.

The only bright spot is the hire car – a Ford Focus. Bright? Yep, this is like no Ford I ever drove or owned and suggests we may yet return to the Fordian fold in due course.

The weather had, broadly matched my condition – fair to lousy. We have had some bright sunny days but for the most part January has been the antithesis of December. Yet is is never cold and that is the point of the 1500 mile drive! Overnight it can reach single figures but if the sun shines at all 20C is probable; without, even 15-16 is usual.

We have been much helped by a Devonian couple who have ferried us to, from and to and from again, the hire car companies. In return we took them to a shopping complex with a huge DIY – Leroy Merlin – to make BandQ look mean. Alongside was a brilliant mix of PC World and Curries with knobs on.

And today we used some of the very expensive hire car fuel to drive to a place called Rota, opposite Cadiz on the southern side of the bay. It is famous among motor homers for the ranch style campsite they all congregate on. But is in fact a superb little port town, with a modified castle, amazing churches and super little street in the Barrios. In fact it is so nice we have listed it as a possible site for hiring a winter house in a future year.

  Now before I start being rude let me be kind – last night we had a pretty good time at the Camping Roche Christmas Do. But it did have its idiosyncrasies.

First there was a menu in English with scrambled eggs and mushrooms and bone of chicken. So we chose that. Then another menu appeared – in German - with mussels in tomato and lump of pork. So we went back to chose one each. Then we noticed that it said 1700 hours on December 23. Odd, we thought, the Spanish eat late but this is very late for lunch and hopelessly early for dinner. We checked. Yes, we should be there at 1700.

So we, along with many many others, headed into the bar/restaurant at 1700 and by half past the first course – ensalada – arrived. A bit like high tea but, wuarra teg, as the Welsh would say, it was pretty prompt. Wine had arrived by the bottle – we were sharing a table of six with other English. The ensalada was a big pile of crisp lettuce, a couple of slices of beefsteak tomato and a dressing – OK and as ever intended to ensure that the need for verdure had been dealt with early on.

The mussels I chose arrived in a bowl with a tomato and green pepper sauce. The mussels were open and covered with a little breadcrumbs before being placed in the oven – for far too long! They tasted OK but had lost any mussel like consistency. Janet's scrambled eggs and mushrooms were a pile of rather grey sliced mushrooms with too little scramble to redress the dreary appearance. They were, she said, sort of OK. For which read barely edible in Janet speak.

Her chicken was a leg (bone) and had the residue of meat left from over-long cooking, Sauté potatoes of indifferent quality (this is Spain where potatoes are patatas brava or nothing). My slab of pork was amazingly tender given the almost total lack of any fat. Two others had it as well and I have no idea which cut it was. My table mate said we were in the land of the black pig and Iberico. Which is true but I fear the black pigs are not much involved in the production of cerdo itself, their meat being more appropriate for curing. Oh and we too had the sauté pots.

A chocolate confection followed which did not taste of chocolate at all and reminded me of Angel Delight.

We drank an ordinary tempranilllo from a good bodega, my call for a Crianza having fallen on deaf ears. But it was 5 euros to the table so who is complaining.

We were then treated to a youngish man with a guitar singing that amazing quarter tone stuff that is essentially described as Flamenco. He was very loud. He then produced a 10 year old girl in Flamenco dress whio proceede to dance the exceedingly sexualised Flamenco dance – to great applause, huge and unedifying interest from the men, much video work and a slightly ill feeling for those of us with different sensibilities. She was very good but... really?

December 21

We are now on the new pitch made necessary by our decision to stay into January. The process was convolute but we are now settled on a very pleasing pair of pitches with very early sun, open views but a slightly early sunset. It is level and does not have much of the thick, heavy, unyielding grass on it. Which is good since the stuff acrts like putting carpet under carpet and creeps our floor pads into ever more disastrous loops and lifts.

And now we have decided to stay to the end of February. The reason is largely the weather – this area of the Costa de la Luz between Cadiz and Tarifa seems unusually blessed with clear skies. It is very maritime and it does face effectively west into the Atlantic. It has tides of course. But the effect of lots of sun is warm days – although last night it got very close to zero and we had to have a bit of extra heat! But then it is December and this is the shortest day.

We have been less active since the move, using more time to get everthing in good shape for the three month haul. But we have visited the pueblo blanco of Vejar de la Frontera which turned out to be extremely beautiful, perched on a craggy bit of hill in the Italian style. Lots of fine white buildings of a very Moorish style and churches, some town wall and a castillo. The lanes are full of charming shops and restaurants. It also has an amazing central market at which we wished we had eaten and will do next time.And a very modern theatre in the centre – not entirely in keeping but very stylish. Friends Jane and Graham, thought I might need lots of bluey (salbutamol|) breathing aid but the three stone lighter and the fact that the steep bits are quite short meant I used none at all. Wooo!

We have also explored more of the coast, in particular a very beautiful section beyond Puerto de Conil towards Cadiz. This is a range of sandstone cliffs of about 10 metres with lots of coves and rocks and stuff and surmounted by the most important section of clifftop juniper trees in Europe. By tree they mean low bush cos it is quite windy but look close and it is clearly a tree in a defensive mode! The access to the clifftop is too good really since they would prefer us to use only the boardwalks. But sadly money must have been tight and the boardwalks are attenuated to reaching access stairs to various beaches!

And yesterday (20th) we made our first visit to Jerez de la Frontera (they are all DLF round here to denote how often the frontier moved!). And as befits the sherry capital of the world Jerz is a very handsome and rich city. The result is good traffic management, excellent road and tourists signage, tidy streets and loads of parkinjg, albeit a bit dearer than in some places. This was by way of an early recce but we loved the squares, the fabulous fish (and more) market, the Alcazar and the shops (says JW). We shall return and i shall do a sherry bodega – Gonzalaes Byass... Domecq... Humberts – the choice is endless. We even have one a lot nearer – Osborne are in Pueto Real up the road towards Cadiz.

We are now booked for the campsite Christmas do – not at all sure what to expect. It starts at 1700, with music (Flamenco) and dancing (ditto) and a meal that in English says salad, mussels in tomato, bone of chicken. And chocolate mousse. But since none of this translates into anything Spanish we await with interest. Especialy as it now seems there is another menu at the same time and place which has scrambled eggs with mushrooms and something done with pork (for the other northern European contingent - it is pork!).

Stuff is arriving for us for Christmas so we shall have parcels! And I have already approved the purchase of Janet's Christmas gift – which will have to cover her birthday as well (up to a point anyway). We have booked a super clifftop restaurant for lunch on the actual birthday – Jan 2 – which will be close to a first!

 We actually arrived here in the Cadiz area in November so this is a bit of a cheat.

The first thing to say is that for once Dot, the dodgy sat nav, finally earned her corn. There is no way we could have found Camping Roche without her. It is signposted but the route is tortuous, the roads diffiult and the signs intermittent.

We arrived in bright sunshine and it continues (more anon) and picked a site in the popular area but towards the edge since it was crowded. Happily the wind blew and by morning we had realised why there were spare pitches on the edge of the area, which is in fact the newest part of a pretty big site. So we cruised around and moved into the older area, good wind protection and nearly as much exposure to the sun.

This is the first long term location so the awning is up, everything we have is out, the van is a lot clearer. Laundry has been done, shops found and all is well with the world.

Conil de la Frontera proved a nice little town, clean and tidy and with some character and not too much development (we have found more but it is still pretty low rise so not too bad). It possesses a absolutely huge beach, kilometres long, soft sand, shallow water and some dunes. The wind does blow but to be honest, one decent windscreen and it could be mid-summer in the west of England. The sea is enticing and often provides good surf. Indeed surfing in various forms is key ingredient in the entire Costa de la Luz economy.

We later toured some more of the coast towards Cadiz, finding smaller but equally delighful beaches and a small cove that is superb. We also found Conil's fishing harbour – some 6 kilometres by road (two by sea) along the coast and filled with resting fishing boats and plastic tubs.

A later foray in the opposite direction proved there is an almost unbroken sandy beach from here to Cape Trafalgar. Indeed it is the one off which our county hero Nelson did his stuff against the French and Sopanish fleets. At school and ever after I have scoffed unknowingly at our American cousins for stressing the last syllable. But what I was taught at school was tosh – the Spanish and indeed Moorish word stresses the GAR! Oh my England!


Arrival – Graham and Jane are now with us for ten days, en route from Portugal to Alicante where they will be joined by Janes parents for Christmas. Their 8 metre Hymer would block the sun if the sun was ever that low around here! A fine vehicle for living in.

With them we visited Tarifa, the furthest south point on the Iberian peninsular, a mere 12 kilometres from the African (Moroccan) coast. Tarifa, like Cadiz started life as a port the thick end if 3000 years ago as a Phoenician port, then Roman before the switchback of the Visigoths, Moors and Catholics. It provides amazing surfing, along with its neighbouring locations like Zahora and as a result has a distinctly ex-hippy feel, laid back and relaxed – very oleasing. It boasts a huge castle overlooking the harbour from which high speed ferries dash back and forth to Tanger. We shall ride one soon.

Near to Tarifa we detoured to a beach called Bolonia and a Roman ruin which turned out to be more than we margained for. First the location is a stunning little bay set between high and craggy mountains and backed by a dune area which the Roman filled with a sizeable town, indlouding baths, forum, temple and beach side vills. They made their money by fishing (tuna I expect) but then turning it into garum, in huge vats which remain. This black goo, smelling and tasting strongly of fish was a staple of Roman cooking. In fact you can get a sense of it if you want – take a shoulder or leg of lamb, slit the skin allover, fill the cavities with anchovy, garlic and rosemary, roast slowly and enjoy. You will be astonished at the richness of the flavour and may suddenly get a grip on Romans and garum! And as a result of that I shall now set about seking a suitable lump of lamb for the weekend (whatever SWIMBO says!).

December 8 and the sun still shines - And there is little to say really. We have, both parties done a lot of domestic stuff. In between we did make a trip to Medina Sidonia, a pueblo blanco but maybe more famous as the ancestral home of the man who largely bankrolled the Spanish Armada. The Duke of Medina Sindonia he was, descendant of Guzman El Bueno, hero of the defence of Tarifa against the Moors - much good it did him and hi son!). Here in Medina his successors settled down with the grateful thanks of the monarch ensuring their destiny as one of the richest families in Spain. But, cometh the hour, cometh the come uppance and the King of Spain called in his credits and got Medina Sidonia to assemble the fleet to upset the upstart Queen Elizabeth, albeit in Papally inspired revenge for her dad's heresy!

I have read that the said Duke,unsettled by the news that English Galleons had four decks of cannon to his three insisted that a further forty guns be deployed on his largest ships. The mounting of these above the existing gunnery left the vessels unseaworthy and played into the hands of Howard and co, who then harried them with a following wind all the way to Holland. Where they docked only to be unable to leave for weeks on end until, depleted and demoralised, they started the ill-fated circumnavigation of the British Isles – only those washed up on Ireland had much hope of any sort of salvation!English weather always wins out.

But the town is rather fine, with a grand square, a superb church on the hill, marginally below the ruins of Duke-ship's massive castle. The view from here is 360 degrees and demonstrate why even the King of Spain may have said “after you, Medina Sidonia” on occasion. Impregnable is not in it.


While they are here J and G have a birthday - Graham's - coming up. So we have been seeking a venue for a night out. Spoilt for choice really with magnificent cliff top mirador restos in plenty. One has been found. But another may also prove our own repose for Christmas Day – more anon.

One point of interest is the prices of some foods in these places. 100 euros a kilo for ordinary lobsters; 140 for Norway. 75 a kilo for red prawns – allegedly of course from Garrucha in Almeria but the Med is empty and making them red is fool's play to a wily oriental which is where 95% of all prawns these days come.

December 11 – and the sun still shines: Graham's birthday is a reminder for me of course - my father's birthday was the 10th; he would have been 103 this year! He made 83 but to be honest with better hospital care could well have lasted longer. Graham chose the Fontanilla Restaurant which is virtually on the beach and a one time REAL chiringuito. Today it is smart and potentially pricey – in fact we eat well and reasonably. Graham seemed to enjoy having some company for the day – in addition to Jane that is. Anyway it was also their last day with us -setting off the next morning for the western end of Andalucia and a Christmas date with Jane's mum and dad at Alicante.

We have hit one small problem – deciding to stay here an extra 2-3 weeks posed a problem; our site is booked from Jan1! So we chose another and decided to move early so we could have a settled 5-6 weeks. Move day was this Sunday but lo – an enormous motor home of virtually two-storey dimension arrived on the site next door and to the south. Thus shaded seriously the site lost it s appeal and we had to choose yet another. We move Sunday – this time there is nothing to our south!

Our water filter problem remains. Truma (German) took over Cristel (UK) and have decided NOT to support the Cristel filter housing we have. So no new filter is available! I have removed the filter casing and replaced the screw-fit sealing unit without it. But it leaves a large void into which water has to be pumped and stored. If it leaks at all the whole thing gurgles annoyingly. I may yet have to re-route the incoming supply to by-pass the filter casing entirely. The only good news is that the filer is for aesthetic rather than health purposes – and which are largely irrelevant in these days of decent water supplies.

Elsewhere the van is fine beyond the fact that the design is lacking common sense in a few areas and we seem to have ample evidence that a previous owner was a ham-fisted twerp who over tightened many things. Heigh ho I guess!

This coast continues to please -it is far less commercialised and so far less spoilt than most of Spain. We have real clif walks, proper fishing ports, decent sandy coves without high-rise. And the weather here is even better than the long -run climate figures suggested. Portugal is less appealing right now – 4-5 degrees cooler, more cloud and less sun. So we may head west instead of east. Or not. Time will tell.

Part five – arrival in Caceres under some sun

So first, what we now call campfall – the arrival on a new site and new pitch. The journey was easy – a mere 200 k – and the weather had improved steadily as we dropped off the alta plana. But you have to go up in Spain to go down – in this case up to 1200 metres amid much adjacent snow. Now down to 380 metres.

But Camping Caceres is a bit of a shock really. It is clearly a 'municipal' meaning it was the council run site and is now – probably - an arm's length private business (that Thatcher – her recipes went everywhere!). It contains 80 pitches in uniform rows of ten either side of four roadways (and you asked why I thought it was municipal!). Each pitch, which is a generous 9 metres on a side has its own small building – a bungalow. Each contains a wet room shower, loo and wash basin with a gas powered water heater an outside veg prep cold water basin. Brilliant really and all for 16 euros a night – less even since there is a “get four; buy three” offer!

The set up saves us gas and water and makes it easy to use the site loos instead of our own. But we would hate to be here in summer when it would look more like a caravan sales area than a camp site. And it is not big enough since they have added three rows of 10 more similar pitches at the top of the site. There is also a bar and restaurant – open all the time; menu del dia 15euros along with all the other usual stuff.

But we wanted to see ancient Caceres and so drove confidently into the city expecting to get signs to the Centro Historico or similar. An hour later we gave up and tried our sat nav. It worked fine right up to the moment she said turn right and the signs said no right turn; no entry! But we knew then where we were and were, at that point, close. Problem was the road went for a kilometre in the wrong direction and with NO turnings.

All we wanted was the Plaza Mayor but the sat nav resolutely said No Matches Found (sic) for that! So we resorted to RAPW's technique: spot one vaguely promising indicator and drive to it. We ended up in Parking Don Miguel. We exited the car park and found no signs to anything. After a few aggravated minutes we plunged up Calle San Domingo and in 150 metres felt utterly lost until a Spanish gent said “Plaza mayor?” we said Gracias with a lot of the AS bit and he said in Spanish but we got it: “50 metres, turn right, straight on”. And he was correcto! Muchas gracias!

To a degree some explanation for our difficulty now revealed itself. The magnificent Plaza mayor was outside the city walls; that is outside the old city. Odd but surprising for one flank of the long rectangular square was composed of the old city walls, towers and grand palacios. The other three were flanked by a fabulous array of white four storey 18th and 19th century buildings of grace and quality. The result is quite lovely.

After cafe cortado at a splendid cafe bar we crossed the square to the wide and graceful steps which led up to the main entrance; impassable to motor traffic. And that explained more of the difficult access – they simply do not want nor cannot get tourist traffic into the old city. But it is still inexplicable that they provide almost no guidance as to what or how we should reach I, even on foot! For reach it you must if you can.

Inside the full enclosing walls and towers are what is missing at Aviles -the palacios and churches and other edifices that would have graced such a medieval city. They are all linked by splendid cobbled street which are almost empty of wheeled traffic. What is around is of the approved variety – fire vehicles, police, some delivery vans and a very few cars, mostly it seemed associated with the many municipal museums, galleries and other offices that fill the space. There are a few, a very few, cafes and little else that is commercial. Thus and unlike Carcassone for example this is a place of refinement and tranquillity. Close to the inner walls are some less buildings and a little activity but for the most part the impressions is of a splendidly preserved museum, looking right but lacking the smell, mess and chaos that would have characterised its actual days.

The buildings are superb,some from the early 15th century, many of the 16th and 17th. All are in the same soft apricot sandstone that characterised Salamanca but here the inclusion of mica are greater, resulting in a white shine, more silver than gold.

And yet, just a few yards from this city of the past is a city of this day which is so busy, so chaotic and so poorly traffic managed that driving it is, unlike Salamanca a total nightmare. We shall return but it may be on Sunday for in this country Sunday is still, well Sunday and hooray for that.

We did return and we walked the rest of the walls round the poorer quarters – notably the Jewish Sector! But if the houses were meaner and the doors lower they still sported impressive stonework! We end back among the palacios and Janet stopped me spending 26 Euros on a Spanish plate – now that is a first.

Part six – to Merida, 2000 years passed in a dream

For the fourth successive day there is not a cloud in the sky. The sun beats down but the wind whips the temperature down. Out of it a comfortable 15-16 can be had; in nit its is more like 6-7. But it is Sunday, November 24 and today we head for Merida, exchanging medieval and baroque for Roman antiquities. And we are not disappointed.

This is not Rome or Pompeii of course but when the Romans chose this site for their major city in the Iberian peninsular they built pretty impressively. And amazingly a vast amount remains and, to the benefit of the city, it is all fairly close together. For a change I missed the best parking spot and with Janet driving there ensued a battle between me, the city traffic managers and Dot. Janet won and we re-found the spot at which I said “No, we can get closer than this”.

Wrong – the splendid remains of the amphitheatre and the even more impressive four storey high teatro were right alongside us. At first entry to the park it seemed impossible that so much remained but the reality was that the ground level had risen in 2,000 years by about 30 feet. Once that was dug out in 1915 all was revealed. The ring is a pretty large one, with about six metres of wall still standing and plenty of seating.T he arena is also more complete than many since it shows the sunken area over which the boarded fighting area was placed. Grimly this must have allowed the blood to drain away freely.

Mostly this arena was used for gladiatorial contests in which the carefully armed and trained combatants were matched to achieve maximum excitement and test of skill with in fact minimal injury. Fighters won 15-20 times for winning as a centurion in the legion did in a year. And survive five years and they won their freedom.

But if this macho arena of potential brutality tells us one thing about Roman society the teatro next door, right next door, tells an entirely other story. Although to be fair we learned to some surprise that most of the plays were performed in Greek for which the audience had zero ability. Horace reports it mattered little since the din made the words inaudible.

Neither of these remains is much compared with Rome or Pompeii for example but in our (humble) experience Spain has not been kind to its ancient past – major Roman remains and Visigoth are few and while there is much that is Moorish a lot is interwoven with later and mostly Catholic additions. But one exception are aqueducts and in Merida, about half a kilometre from the teatro is a superb stretch of aqueduct arching out over a river valley for at least a kilometre and up to about 15 or even 20 metres high. And across the road is a more impressive Circus than even Rome can offer, where little but grass can be seen. Here there are stone bankings, some pavement and much foundation work for the grandstands and ancillary stuff. Sadly we missed the boat slightly – best place to see it is from a raised platform above the visitor centre. It closed while we parked the car and had lunch! Being Sunday it was not due to re-open that day.

So after a super day we headed back to the van to begin a slow pack ready for the run to Cadiz on Tuesday. And the sun shines on.

Log of the 2014 trip

November – Santander to Salamanca

The usual excellent crossing from Portsmouth to Santander on the Pont Aven. Britanny Ferries may not be quite as good as they were 15-20 years ago; but then what is?

Our luck with the weather held - frankly a near-flat calm most of the way with the newish shortcut inside Uishant the one short spell of chop. On time arrival with Santander ferry dock in upheaval due to a smart new art museum under construction. But the diverted exit from the city was actually easier than normal. The new route is a bit rough in places but for a long way the ferry traffic is all there is!

The mountains were essentially in cloud so it was wet and miserable until we came off the high ground onto the (relatively) lower Alta Plana. Then it was sunshine all the way to Salamanca.

Campsite (at Villamayor) is good, easy to find - A62 junction with N630 Zamora road and then a short drive following the signs (hooray!). We are high (800 metres again) so much sun but a biting wind. It says 14C but feels like about 5! Easy access to Salamanca and 2k to a very large Carefour.

Van continues to be a Coachman - ie nice but a bit flakey! Design is rather silly - wrong size cupboards over the sink, right size over the beds. That sort of thing .But no real probs bar the water pump which chose this arrival to suddenly pack up. Oh and the sat nav which will not turn back on - DO NOT buy a Garmin, otherwise known as the Garbage! Annoying since the only thing it is actually any use for is finding local things like shops, restos, tourist sites. I plan to open it (!) and/or hit it very hard with something.

Our diet continue to inspire - I am under 100kilos for the first timke by deign since I gave up smoking in 1993! Target 1 achieved - the next is to stablise at 95k which will be what I was in about 1990. It means all new trousers (down from 44 to 42 (got both) and now going lower) and some new shirts since I seem to have dropped back to na sub 18 collar. Janet also doing well but mildly annoyed as her rings are now loose!


Part 2 - First visit to the Golden City of Salamanca, named for the apricot stone which came from under our very feet here in Villamayor!

And indeed it is a golden city. And its city fathers have ensured that, even if not all the modern architects have quite got the ability to meld or modernise they are at leat required to use some apricot stone.

The result is city of golden light. And of architecture that frankly redeems the reyes catholica aggrandisement. For from the Playa Mayior, along the Rua Mayir to the amazing duoploy of cathedra one is constantly confronted by baroque and or platerist adornments.

The Playa is thework is architect Cherringueta and it has to be said that while restraint was unknown to him his aggrandisement is of a very specia order. The square is huge - about 150s metre on a side - slightly off square and is surrounded by a unified array of four storey plateresque and golden stoned magnificences. On one side the unity is deliberately broken by the ayuntamiento, town hall – and five storey grandiose exposition shows how to use the stone to best effect. Amazingly it was crowned in the 19th century with a bell tower that is, frankly, right. How do you do that? And the light is amazing and emphasised by a simple trick - on the corner of each balcony ironwork is a golden ball that catches the sun.

A half kilometre towards to Rio Tormes and we reach the cathedra – yes, two. The first dates from the 12th to 14th century. At which point the hugely successful city of Salamanca led its city father to decide they needed a newer, bigger and more modern Cathedral;. But at that point they did something unique and special - they decided NOT to rebuild the old one but to leave it and build a new one alongside.

That decision means today we can visit a cathedral of the 12th centuiry, virtually untouched by later architectiural and religious whims. And alongside a baroque and plateresque mass that rides like a cruise liner in goloden stone above the city below. And then they crown their decision by connecting the two - so today you step through a portal, descend a few steps and arrive, two centuries earlier in a mediceval basilica. Genius.

Of course for us scientific atheists it is all a bit much – only our Catholic cousins really know how to do OTT! But it is impressive and magnificent and it is the work of committed, dedicated and skilled artisans. Many will have died on the scaffolding nof their creation. You have to respct thje commitment even if their theory is out of our realm of reality.

Part three – the weather!

And so it is very cold and pretty wet. Was that what we expected? Not at all and local opinion bears us out. On our day of arrival it was sunny and, if not warm, very nice. But we know now that it had been really warm until that day. Weather charts show November in the mid teens here and mild, so wettish. But we are on the alta plana again and three thousand feet (800s metres) means wer are on a Munro in Scottish terms. All that saves us from freezing and snow and ice is a mere 100 miles south.

Part four -Avila, city of the longest surving medieval wall in the world; fact!

And wow is it impressive. Judge by this: we drove up to it in the foulest weather imaginable. Rain followed by low cloud followed by the site of the snow ploughs in their standby bays, lights already flashing.And the temperature guage dropped to zero.  Avila stands at 1180 metres, the highest city in all of very high Spain. And were all set to turn back but 60 miels is 60 miles of fuel each way. So let us at least see what we could.

You arrive in such conditions suddenly. Avila stands on a promontory surrounded on three sides by river valleys and mountains - bar the only gap to the north and hence the weather. Through the mist we saw and gasped – for this is a city as we have not seen before. Carcassonne is a pale imitation. These golden walls extend for a kilometre to left and right. Too many towers to count. And all in virtually pristine condition, fully crenellated and mortar pointed tight.

Words do not work and the pictures are poor – but even in this weather exciting. Access is amazing. Too cold and wet to get out we were able to circuit the entire city – about four kilometres and even venture inside and see a fair bit of the walls from there too.

If history left this fortified city untouched modern developers (Spanish) and architects (Spanish) and town planners (Spanish or absent) have done it less well. For the interieor is as nasty a collection of 20th century kitsch building as you will find anywhere. What was here we cannot know since getting out to visit the museums and visitot centres was not a sensible option. But it is such a place that we may be back in better weather one day. Astonishing.

Part four will take us off to Caceres and better weather - we hope!

HERE you see our lovely but very large Adora squashed onto a site at Sarlat in France. This pitch is bigger than almost anything we find in Spain. So, sadly it had to go...

This is a Coachman Pastiche 472. One axle instead of two but mainly 2.3 metres shorter than the Adora. Very like our old Bailey and a high spec van, if a little older. Good nick and has large end washroom which SW