Saturday the 10th of April: THE FINAL BLOG . . . !

Jackie Mac reporting for the last time on the the Doris Despatches, Part 2. We are back; a week earlier than we intended, but safe and sound after four horrendous days, nursing Doris home from the Spanish/French border.

It proved to be ‘one too many mountains’ for our poor old van, whose screaming brake linings (or lack of, more like) advertised their parlous condition, with embarrassing regularity, at traffic lights and junctions. Piggy negotiated, with skilful ‘engine braking’ to hardly touch the brakes at all for most of the journey, but it was a teeth gritting, seat gripping rollercoaster of a journey that I hope we don’t experience again. We had to abandon plans to go on any detours to visit friends; just aimed Northward and prayed that Doris wouldn’t seize up completely, before we made it back to the UK; and breakdown cover.

But, to start with, just a short aside on our trip to the Guggenheim in Bilbao. We parked Doris for the day at Camping Portuondo, Mundaka, which is set on a promontory above the beach and accessed via a steep winding drive from the road. When we booked in, Pete had to hold Doris on the one in six incline, while merry campers wandered back and forth in front of her bonnet; blithely unaware of the possible danger.

So, Sunday morning saw us utilising the excellent local bus service to get to Bilbao, and a stroll along the river brought us to the Guggenheim. At first sight a bit more tarnished than the glossy photos suggested; but an iconic building nonetheless. However, maybe Piggy and I have no understanding of ‘modern art’ because we found the whole thing a bit of a let down. Huge amounts of gallery space were given over to a few artists, as separate exhibitions; which was okay, but there was no ‘meat’. No general gallery space, of just one or two works, by a wider variety of artists. Piggy came away, quite annoyed that he hadn’t been able to scoff at an Andy Warhol! We liked the two pieces outside best. A spider by Louise Bourgeois and ‘Puppy’ by Jeff Koons.

Back to our journey. Monday morning; we escaped from the campsite and headed for the border.It became evident quite quickly that Doris’s brakes were getting worse.The drive was not too bad until we got to Biarritz, where we got lost trying to get out of town during the evening rush hour. By the time we got to Parentis en Borne, a municipal Aire stop, it was dark and we couldn’t find it. So drove down the road to the Lac Biscarosse and parked up on a sort of jetty affair, right beside the huge lake. In the morning we noted the ‘Camping Interdit’ sign at the side of Doris; and found the real Aire just a few hundred yards down the road.

The next days driving was less stressful; but not relaxing. Another Aire and another days drive brought us to Dieppe for the five pm ferry to Newhaven. An uneventful crossing preceded our return to British soil; and it was dark and gently drizzling. We hoped to get to a lay-by near Salisbury for the night but we hadn’t been driving for more than half an hour when we noticed Doris’s battery light hadn’t fully gone out. Were we about to experience a major electrical failure? on a busy major road? We had no choice but to stop in the next available lay-by for the night; where we spent many hours trying to get some sleep, as the heavy traffic of the A27 thundered past; inches away from Doris, who rocked back and forth in their wake.

We woke early to a damp and foggy morning; drank tea, waited for a while,for the fog to lift, which it didn’t; and eventually crept hesitantly out into the morning traffic. But Doris had one more shock for us. Her wipers malfunctioned, getting stuck on the side of the windscreen. As Piggy said, through gritted teeth, the journey was turning into ‘a bloody nightmare’. The rain was a steady drizzle and, before we made it to a supermarket car park near Salisbury, we had stopped many times to release the wipers. It was time for a break and we treated ourselves to breakfast and coffee before venturing back on the road.

The weather cleared briefly, but, by the time we had reached the environs of Bristol, it became more of a steady rain, which, perversely, was easier to see through than the misty drizzle of earlier. Pete developed a cunning technique of ‘nearly’ turning the wipers on, which usually kept visibility as an option.

There were cheers as we crossed the Severn bridge and passed the Croeso y Cymru sign; and we only had to turn into one more Services for wiper release before the sun came out. By Swansea, rain again, but dry in Burry Port, where we stopped, briefly, to see Donna and brood. As we drove through Pembroke the rain was lashing down; at Freshwest the waves were crashing onto the rocks and we arrived home in a proper Atlantic drenching; like we’d never been away!

So now we are home; and glad to be. We’ve had an amazingly good time on this trip. Doris has struggled against enormous odds to get us home; and taken on some pretty awful terrain. She has been a haven and our comfort zone; a bit smelly at times maybe; but, hey, isn’t that why you lose your sense of smell as you get older? One of nature’s compensations you might say.

Hopefully she will be sorted out over the Summer and ready for another trip; probably not till late 2010; although we might just sneak a short look at Portugal in there somewhere! Thanks all of you for reading the blog. It’s been fun. Piggy and I extend warm invites to all those, who feel so inclined, to visit during the Summer. As most of you know, we are not having an anniversary ‘do’ this year; but next year is our fortieth and we hope lots of you will come and give us the benefit of your combined years of experience to make it a brilliant bash. Until the next time. . . .

NB: Doris’s windscreen wipers behaved impeccably when we turned into the heavy rain just past Pembroke! What a machine.

Just a quick update on the blog to follow. It’s Monday morning (6th) and I am writing this, in the sunshine, at Camping Portuondo, a campsite in Mundaka near Bilbao. We leave here today and go into France; at least I hope we do, because the entry road to the site is extremely steep and narrow. Piggy and I are both praying that Doris will have enough oomph to get up to the top!

Yesterday we took the excellent local bus into Bilbao to ‘do’ the Guggenheim; which was nice, if a trifle disappointing. Anyway, that’s our culture bit done. On with the next bit.

It’s Friday evening, (3rd) and we have got to the haven (despite two very loud bangs from the garage across the way) of a Spanish Aire, just south of the Picos de Europa. Have driven today from Astorga, the town of the indestructible Loaf, across the Cordillera Cantambrica.

I warn you; I could run out of adjectives now. East of Leon we climbed up over 1600 metres; out of valleys green and springlike to snowy peaks and towering rocks. The stones, first brilliant green with lichen, through all the stages, to huge snowdrifts lying in every crevasse were awesomely, fantastically overpowering. Wow factor times what you will.

I think we have given our hearts a good test today; as we have negotiated the screwdriver bends, up and down; and Pete has managed to restrain himself from taking his eyes off the road as huge raptors soar in the peaks around. The villages west of Potes were luxurious looking country residences; everything spick and span; but from then on, going south east, the villages suddenly fell into disrepair and potholes appeared in the road; something to do with the Basque thing? We do not know.

And yesterday, as we drove out of Portugal it was straight into the Serra de la Cabrere Baja. rolling hills covered in purple and pink heath; all perfectly enjoyable on a fine example of new Spanish road building.

Then across the plateau to Astorga; even more raptors and acres of conifer and poplars interspersed in tracts of wild heath. We saw a Montigue’s Harrier, who flew alongside Doris as we bowled along at a steady 30 miles an hour; a deserted road I hasten to add, in both directions.

So here we are; and tomorrow we are on our way to visit Bilbao; finally, after missing out for the last two visits to Spain. More of this later.

This is a second attempt to update this blog. Just as I was about to publish the last one, I lost my connection; so now I have to start over. Bloody irritating. Piggy is probably wondering when I will be returning!

I am writing this from the bar of the campsite Camping de Parc Natural de Monfrague, a few kilometres north of Trujillo. The park is a beautiful place; famous for it’s wildlife; particularly large numbers of raptors and black storks. We arrived here yesterday; after being told by a park warden, very politely, that wild camp ups were not allowed. So we have taken the opportunity to catch up on washing etc.; even having another shower!

This site has a large contingent of British; mostly very friendly; although some seem to spend a lot of their time moaning about their satellite reception! But there are several like minded birdwatchers here. This morning, while we were breakfasting al fresco, azure winged magpies were as numerous as the many sparrows competing for our leftover bread; and one was building a nest in the branches of a tree a few feet from our table. Various twitchers crept up to take photos; perhaps we should have charged admission fees!

Tomorrow we leave here, to spend a day in the park, hoping for views of the aforementioned storks, vultures and eagles. Then we are popping back into Portugal for a few days, for more lazing about next to barragems; a pastime that we enjoyed while with Pat and Pedro. The pace of life in Portugal is more relaxed than Spain; a halfway house between that country and Morocco. We intend to explore the countryside much more thoroughly on our next expedition out of Blighty.

While I have been writing this a young Senorita has been chatting away to me at top speed; despite me having to admit to ‘pocito’ Espagnol. She didn’t seem to mind doing the talking for both of us though, and she has just left my side to have a scrap with her younger sister, on the bar floor.

After the barragems, we must turn, reluctantly, homeward. I just hope that the good weather follows us to Wales. That’s all for now. Wish you were (all) here; and see you in April.