Headaches, rivers & Alemi.

On my way from Santandar through Spains central plains I committed a motorhomers cardinal sin on a very wet night while camped in the middle of nowhere. There was a rain swollen river ten metres away where I proceeded to empty my black water (toilet) cassette directly into the fast flowing swollen brown torrent. River, although extremely busy, was well aware of such a disgusting action being Inflicted upon her. A big no no in basic river and human lore. She immediately took umbrage and swift revenge followed. On my 'black water' cassette is a plastic sliding cover flap. Sometimes this can slide a little too easily which is exactly what it did this time. Only it did it rather well and slid completely off and away into the swiftly moving watery arms of river. Was I cross? Well yes I was but there was nothing could be done and I could hear loud and clear; 

"Serves you right" being shouted mockingly at me by river.

My black water cassette still functioned but not quite so effectively. I determined two things. One; I would never again break the rules as far as emptying black water cassettes goes. Two; I determined to make a temporary cover out of wood or plastic as getting another one was out of the question until I returned to the UK.

So I am at 'Cullera' motorhome stopover with my handy bit of plastic from the local Chinese, we've got everything, bazaar. This was going to be modified to fit my toilet cassette. Only it was not happening quite as easily as I had envisioned. After drawing blood from number two minor cut I decided to abandon and think again. I called Tanya and we set off to walk around this huge free campsite. I ended up chatting to Colin from Weston Super Mare. I regaled him with my tale of misdemeanours and woe and was astounded when he said. 

"I've got one of those covers in my van. Been there for two years it has. You're very welcome to have it".

Never does it cease to amaze me the capacity of  'it'  to take away and then return. There are quite a few UK vans here. Even so, the chance of randomly meeting a fellow English speaking motorhomer with a spare Thetford cassette sliding plastic cover in his van has to be near zero on the scale of probability. As I've said several times before in my various blogs. I'm some lucky old codger who is, I am sure, being looked after by ... 'someone' .... just don't ask me who, what, where or why.
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I'm having a slow morning here at Cullera. A slow 'headache recovery' morning. Not as you maybe would presume though. There is no rowdy alcoholic night on the tiles to regale you with even though I am one of about two hundred motorhomes on this huge beachside wild camping spot. We've chosen to be on the edge of it, next to the beach in a quiet spot where Tanya can run free. The sun is out, it is 20° and altogether rather pleasant, even with a headache.

My headache is a cheese headache. A Pizza cheese headache to be precise. Very nice it was too cooked up in my little oven to crusty brown edge perfection. I  share the crunchy edge with Tanya but woe betide if there is tomato on it. That guarantees an off tummy Tanya the next day. No problems this time though, it's myself suffering.

Poor me you may say. Not at all I reply. You see there is an upside to my headaches these days. Very unlike my twenty five years of blinding, barbed wire round the head, debilitating migraines. Migraines which plunged you headlong into periods of deep 'black dog' mental lowness, lethargy, depression and sometimes worse. Where paracetamol, aspirin and the likes had no effect and where you became accustomed to grinding your teeth, digging heels in and going on because, well I had to. There was family, job and all the usual pressures of a young to middle age, always short of money, family man. My intimate relationship with such migraines persisted right up to my heart attack (that's another story) in 2005. They then miraculously disappeared. I was literally born again. A new life which came with a clear, pain free head.

That is why now, when I get the occasional self inflicted headache I am reminded how fortunate I am to no longer be under any pressure to 'perform' be somewhere or, dare I say it, get out of bed. It reminds me of those difficult years when life itself, at times, had little meaning or value.  

I cannot stress highly enough the beautiful sense of wellbeing greeting me now on waking even if I am headachy and dull brained. You see; I know there is nothing, absolutely nothing, preventing me from stopping completely to allow headache, in its own time, to have its fun and then be on its way. This is usually a three to four hour process, with help from paracetamol which, since my heart attack is now effective.

So please forgive me if ever you have specific plans, deadlines, or ideas which involve me and I appear a little vague or elusive. Enough said eh!
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Burriana and 'Alemi' the new 'Mexicana Fusion' restaurant owned and run by Jurate and Sergio. I spent three days in and around Burriana eating very well indeed at the restaurant. It is early days yet but custom is steady enough to cover overheads and I feel the quality of the food itself will ensure a steady increase of loyal returning customers.
I have also yet to find anywhere with tastier or juicier Mandarins than those picked directly by Sergio and myself right on the edge of Burriana. Yuuummmmy!
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While in that area bike was employed and a wonderful day was had in and around Valencia. The Opera and surrounding exhibition buildings were just stunning.

2016 n back in Espana

Out comes the guidebook, either Michelin or Rough Guide, does'nt matter which as both give only an editorally limited overview of this the 'Castilla y Leon & La Rioja' area of Spain. Cities, Cathederals, museums, hotels and tourist offices are all listed and written about. Anything in fact to do with Spains great historical, architectural and religious heritage is in there complete with visiting times and dates. Nothing to tell you dogs are a no go at nearly all such places. There is also nothing about what grabs me everytime I depart ferry at Santandar and head upwards and Southwards into Spains high interior.
I suppose I have a particular set of gifts which seemingly place me in the minority, or non existent, as far as regular tourism goes, including the motorhome fraternity too. 

To start with I have an abundance of time and no inclination to hurry. What a gift that is after a life of having time itself wielding the whip. I enjoy my aloneness which I joyfully share with my dog Tanya. Then of course there is my insatiable curiosity which loves with passion the open, 'off the tourist route' and 'what is around the next bend'. To be also fortunate enough to enjoy good health coupled with sufficient means is truly a set of gifts deserving of the accolade 'very highest order'.

So there I am, about to drive off the ferry along with fifty to sixty other motorhomes/caravans. All eager to be on our way after a 24hr roughish crossing of the Bay of Biscay. (It is January so to be expected) I'm with the others until the outer edge of 'Santandar' where I, as instructed by her ladyship Madame Sat Nav, turn off and engage with other than Motorway and  main roads. Suddenly and since that moment motorhomes or caravan are a very rare sight. The dash to Southern coastal resorts seemingly the sheepdog herding the sheep.

Ok! So I'm up here just North of Burgos where I will overnight. Yes it is coldish, cloudy and blustery wet. And yes, I am also headed South'ish but giving myself time, It is such a gift, to have that time to enjoy these high, beautiful but bleak, agricultural plains criss crossed by small deserted roads and with villages where you are stared at in amazement as you pass slowly and leisurely through.

We did stop in 'Burgos' and take advantage of the sunshine to walk the lovely riverside promenade to the impressive Cathedral. As usual, no dogs. We managed a cheeky sneak preview by cautiously entering the exit door and keeping to the shadows. That's when I'm thankful Tanya is a small, black, quiet and well behaved doggy.

On our return to Sadie we contemplated staying the night until, that is, we realized it's Saturday and the youth of said Burgos were out in force and well armed with fearsomely loud firecrackers.
So here we are out in the wilds near to 'Santo Domingo de Silos' where (Thanks Rough Guide!) at midday tomorrow I may just leave Tanya in Sadie and attend the world famous Benedictine abbey to hear some Gregorian chant which (errrr, thanks again Rough Guide!) Is their claim to fame with several CD's under their belt, or habit.

I did attend Vespers & the chanting was good albeit by not many Monks.

I'm further South now near 'Cuenca'. Todays bonus was coming across 'Serrania de Cuenca' with its 'Enchanted Forest' full of amazing natural stone sculpture. A complete meditation in its own right.
Now completely shattered, both dog and yours truly. A quiet night ahead parked in the forest. Finishing off last nights curry with hot tea to wash it down. Wi fi amazingly available from bar across the car park and Gorecki symphony no3 gently playing in the background.
What's not to like eh? 

Another year draws to a close.

Eric finished his long story of childhood wartime hardship, hard won financial security and tragic cancerous loss of his wife. Deftly, before he moved on to the next episode I sympathetically interjected bringing us to a pleasant bidding of farewells. Waves and offerings of Merry Christmas were exchanged as the gap between us widened.

Richard was by now well down the road scooting along on his wheelchair and probably shaking his head at this brother who once again gets waylaid by a total stranger stumbling along Salisbury's town path. One weighed down with shopping and moving in that determined way an old and crooked body moves when it knows only too well the mantra 'use it or lose it'.

My much younger legs lengthened their pace to keep up with Tanya, now eager to reach Middle Street Meadow, a rich source of interesting doggy smells. As I strolled slowly through the damp meadow grass I reflected on Eric. Upon his stories of East London wartime desolation. His luck, love, gains and losses and of how I, tomorrow, will also be bent over and slowly stumbling along with uneven gait easing painful hip joints. Possibly I too will be hoping for someone to patiently open their ears and hear my tale. Merry Christmas Eric.

Yes; it is that time of year again. Sadie is installed outside Richards house. Her leaky roof is now fixed. The bonnet that needed a stick to hold it open now has a spanky new gas strut fitted. There is fresh oil in her engine and a ferry booked for Santandar, Spain for Jan 6th.

This will be my 5th year of heading South to warmer climes. I've recently been reminded how it all started as I watched a TV program about the bitter 2010/11 winter. I remember it being -15°c for three whole weeks in East Kilbride which was enough for me thank you. I had to be very careful taking Tanya out too as her wee paws got stuck to the ice.

The awfulness of it was magnified through a lens of grief due to the recent death of my dear wife Kate. I determined during that cold and difficult time not to suffer such a winter again. By the end of 2011 I was the proud owner of Sadie the motorhome. Tenants were installed in my home and Tanya and I were heading South. The rest is history as they say.

I wonder what adventures await me during this forthcoming trip. Barbara will fly down to join me at some point. We may well travel back together visiting her son and family in Germany on the way.

Firstly though some quiet 'alone' (not forgetting Tanya of course.)  travelling time. Some reflective, meditative time in warmer climes under blue skies. That is the plan. However; plans and me are rarely seen in the same room together. Waking up to four inches of snow on the high Spanish plains, as has been experienced before, will hopefully not be part of the plan this year. No, Seville & its very pleasant winter climate seems to me to be a good first destination.

So. Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to you all & I'll do my best to keep this 'erratic' blog going.

Steve the wanderer and his equally wandering doggy, Tanya.

Big spending ..... well sort of.

"Look Tanya, this is the very field".

Straddling my bike with Tanya behind me safely harnessed into her 'green plastic trug bucket' I gazed into the small overgrown grassy green field. I saw myself, years ago, as a budding early teenager riding shotgun on an ancient Binder as it cut down ripe golden wheat, shuffling, sorting and tying it into neat bundles known as sheaves. My brother Richard on the red International B414 tractor tugged us along. We knew it then as the 'big tractor'. Against todays monsters it would be a toy.

"Ah! And here's the sledging field".

 It seemed so small as I looked down the sheep grazed slope where all those years ago we rode 'Big Sledge' as it rumbled down the snow covered incline. 'Big Sledge', a converted sheet of corrugated tin, was popular as four people could squeeze onto it with a fifth needed to push it off, steer it and as we neared the bottom at breakneck speed shout "DUCK". This enabled both 'Big Sledge' plus occupants to smoothly slide under a barbed wire fence. I don't recall any decapitations but it was a long time ago. I do recall 'Woody', one of the boys from a neighboring housing estate. He was struggling and wincing as we hauled 'Big Sledge' back up the hill. He received choice language from all and sundry for not pulling his weight. Later we learned he had cleanly broken his ankle during the sledge run as we careered with a sickening thud into the hedge beyond the murderess barbed wire fence. I cannot remember if I was 'Big Sledge's' pilot on that occasion but I do remember poor Woody was roundly blamed for causing his own injury by being an obvious amateur and not seating himself correctly.

The day was a beautiful sunny one. Perfect for a bike ride around 'Quorn' from our wild camp spot, discovered two years ago, by 'Swithland reservoir.' We could hear steam trains chugging back and forth along 'Great Central Railway' between Loughborough and Birstall. Every now and then I'd pop down to the bridge and wave to the driver and passengers.

Scotland and 'Sunnybraes', Barbara's lovely cottage near St Andrews, were far behind us. Behind us too were two days perusing all that was on offer at the Caravan and Motorhome show, NEC Birmingham. 

OMG! 

Approximately two million quid was my imaginary spend on shiny new Motorhomes and gadgets. In reality? .... £48.00 on a new four piece dinner set plus a decision, after looking at the many smaller motorhomes on display, not to downsize. Making do and compromising is fine for short term trips or holidays but not, if like me, you are living fulltime in a motorhome.

Such was the decision and total spending actually at the show. However; Messrs 'Conrad Anderson', whom I spoke to at the show, are at this very moment busily working on Sadie and will soon be substantially raiding my bank account. Sadie is being treated to a Satellite system upgrade, new telly complete with DVD player and the electric faults which have been dogging me since fitting the fridge (buzzing step etc) will, I am assured all be sorted. Spending money on such things is tough but necessary. I could continue to manage quite happily without telly and with ongoing electrical faults but selling Sadie with such inherent faults and non working telly would be problematic. I am, in effect, futureproofing against the day, and it is coming, when I have to part with Sadie for a younger model.

Shhhh! Don't let Sadie hear that!!

While Chris and Rick, two of 'Conrad Anderson's' very capable electrical engineers delved deeply the depths of Sadie's wiring looms I mounted the green trug bucket/Tanya taxi onto the bike and, with occasional help from Mrs Sat Nav, negotiated the canal network into Birmingham city centre. What a different world lies down there deep beneath Spaghetti Junction where the M5 and M6 motorways meet. I've sailed those fearfully fast and roaring, exhaust belching and often jammed solid motorways above many times in various vehicles. The quiet cavern like perspective I was now experiencing from the canal towpath was a very different and enjoyable experience plus a pleasurably stress free way to enter the city. A biking experience, or rather a 'bike-dog walking experience', to be recommended.

The busy week continued with a trip to 'Melton Mowbray'. I was meeting my sister, husband and family for a double birthday celebration of Husband and youngest daughter Jo who was turning 21. She had escaped for the weekend from her final year studies at Nottingham Uni.

After then heading South to meet one of my former bosses I sure was glad to park up in a lonely spot and just stop. Stop and be silent with only the rising moon and stillness as audience to a period of grateful meditation. I hope you all felt it touch you.

Boarhills, Gruffalos & cows.

Barbara's wee car was being driven by son Jonathen as we headed toward a local eating house to celebrate Barbara's Birthday. Two, nearing three year old Alexander was securely strapped in his car seat next to me in back. We were having great fun spotting the recently harvested wheat and Barley fields now dotted all over with large, neat, round 'Gruffalo Poos!'

Oh! C'mon people ..... round straw bales is just 'soooo last week' where a toddler is concerned. I would have lost all my brownie points if I'd tried that one.

The 'Gruffalo Poo' fact was even emphasised at one point. Accompanying the visual identification of the 'Gruffalo's' recent presence was a strong pungent farmyard manure smell. I guess Mr local farmer had been muckspreading. Just the thing though if you are someone deeply engaged in teaching a youngster about the ways of the world which of course includes 'Gruffalo education!'

The meal out was a great success as was the 'Phil Cunningham and Aly Bain folk music concert in Dundee later. These two veteran folk musicians have been playing together for twenty nine years. Their music is a delight to listen to. Seeing live their 'musical skill' is simply awesome.

Tanya and I arrived at Barbara's lovely cottage near St Andrews two weeks ago from Glasgow where we had visited Grandchildren and completed some work on my house before new tenants moved in. A busy but enjoyable month.

Sadie is now having a well earned rest parked up at Frank and Bernice's farm just across the road. Once again it is a busy September harvest time here in the 'East Neuk of Fife'. Combine Harvesters, giant tractors and trailers, spud harvesters and articulated lorries constantly roar up and down through the village to the four surrounding farms.

Some sadness too. Barbara's sun blessed garden backs onto a protected grass meadow which for years has been used by a local dairy farm for young heifers and dry cows. These cows make mowing the garden very special for Barbara with this being her very first country cottage. She bravely battles the line of slobbery bovine heads reaching over her wall as she empties the lawnmower grass box in among them. The herds bullying scramble to get every last mouthful is always fun to watch.

A large transporter collected all the cows yesterday. The dairy industry is in crisis and these cattle were, like so many others, off to be sold, probably for very little money. The local dairy farmer in question has finally, and probably financially, had enough. So bye bye livestock. No more black and white curious cow faces peering over the wall.

Jonathen and wee Alexander were deposited at Edinburgh airport a few days ago en route back to their home in Germany. We retired to 'Crammond' for a bite to eat and a lovely walk across the Forth estuary mudflats to 'Crammond Island'. A sort of calming down walk after a week of toddlerdom. As I write this I can hear Barbara 'bumbling' away busily upstairs returning her cottage to default. Ie; tidy, quirky and calm lady pensioner status. 

She loved having number one son and grandson staying for a week and I know she was sad to see them go. So it was good therapy the day after when she partook of the 'collecting her new 'VW Move UP' car celebration'. Susan the sales lady at the local VW  dealers did her proud too with flowers, Champers, personalized poster plus shiny new car to unwrap from its dustsheet right there in the showroom.

I'll be here in sunny Fife for a short while yet enjoying the luxuries of 'convention'. Next stop ..... The Caravan and Motorhome show at Birminghams NEC mid October.  

Hmmmm.... Now that prospect has the potential to be expensive!!

Whizzing down hills.

"Guess we'll stay another day then eh Tanya".

Well why would'nt we!

A large crane was going to be blocking any exit from the very adequate front driveway of my Sister in Law's new house in charming 'Oxenhope,' Yorkshire Dales. Plus; I was informed, her sister and husband were coming round for dinner and I was invited. The menu was; pork sausage and sweet potato mash accompanied by Yorkshire puddings followed by fruit crumble and custard. It did not take long for my one remaining brain cell to decide option one, stay put, was the correct one.

We thoroughly enjoyed our stay in 'Oxenhope' and were well orientated after some lovely walks into the hills above the village, ably led, I have to add, by my Sis in Law and pint sized Vita the doggy. I think Tanya enjoyed the company.

When finally I did leave 'Oxenhope' my plan to head straight to East Kilbride got hijacked as well but this time not by a crane. 'Aysgarth Falls' which were still in the Yorkshire Dales, plus the beautiful weather fetched me down off the main road for a break which included a pleasant walk to the waterfalls. Well worth it too. Over millenia the tumbling waters have carved the alternate layers of soft and hard rock into approximately half a mile of stepped falls. There are good viewpoints at the most spectacular places.

The Yorkshire Dales National Park tourist office also informed me of a five pound a night park up in the village which was very nice, very quiet and overlooking the attractive and substantial 'Aysgarth church'. We did not leave until later the next day as, taking advantage of the continuing good weather, we set off for an early morning  hike to the remarkably well preserved 'Castle Bolton'. I could not verify the 'well preserved' label as far as the interior went as once again we were confronted with my favourite sign: 'No Dogs'. Once again annoying but in this case merely a minor irritation compared to the wonderfully sensual experience of walking barefoot in warm sunshine through Yorkshires gloriously silky soft green grass 'Wennslydale' meadows.

After all that strenuous hiking and sole of the feet sensuality I decided there was still enough day left for a couple hours of travelling. 

Hmmmm! Guess I was more tired than I thought. I quickly developed an irritating headache which fortunately was quickly relieved as we unexpectedly dropped onto a quiet but popular picnic/parking spot. I was really grateful and quietly voiced my thanks to 'them wot grants such benevolence'. Kettle was soon whistling away merrily ready to make a much needed cuppa.

The parking/picnic spot turned out to be on the 'Waskerly Way', an old railway serving the local, and long gone, lead mines and now a designated cycle/pedestrian path. It starts in 'Consett' then traverses high moorland before dropping steeply down to 'Stanhope'. I believe it is also part of the coast to coast High North Pennine Way.

I know it drops steeply down to Stanhope as bike came out early the next morning, just like the sun. Off Tanya and I pedalled for a proposed one hour 'before breakfast' bike ride. 

Hah! 

When presented with such gently upward sloping bike track where you almost salivate with anticipation of the return downhill reward. Well, you just keep on going do you not? This was high moorland bathed in bright warm sunshine with no wind and views to die for. In Northern England or Scotland such days are counted on less than one hand. They are days to be treasured and enjoyed to the full.

There was a cafe at the top where along with my buttered toast (shared with Tanya) and cup of tea I was informed.

"Stanhope. Yes, just two minutes down the hill mate".

Wow! What a two minutes that was. Whizzing down the main roadway on the steepest of steep hills at incredible speed and very quickly arriving in pretty little Stanhope with its fossilized tree, shady riverside walk and pretty ford.

Ahh! yes, I see what you're thinking and you're quite right!

I have to get back up that steepest of steep hill don't I!!

The enjoyable bit, the luxury if you like, was I was in no hurry. I had time, an abundance of time if you like. The day was warm and sunny with the weather forecast indicating no change and I was feeling good too. One and a half hours it took of pushing the bike with Tanya walking alongside sniffing out the dozens of Rabbit holes. But you know it was not too bad. We whizzed down the main road at incredible speed but walked our way slowly and pleasurably back up the old railway line. A rather pleasant ninety minutes with frequent stops to admire the views and delve into the goodies I'd bought at the Stanhope Co-op.

Oh! And don't forget. Once at the top we had that long delicious downward sloping return track all the way back to Sadie. This was by now mid afternoon and a stiff breeze was blowing in our favour. The pleasure was enhanced indeed as we whizzed effortlessly by droves of upward slogging cyclists now having to fight the wind as well as the slope.

An absolute WOW of a day.

As I write this from tonight's perch overlooking a dull, damp, grey and cloud covered 'Meggets resevoir' here in the Scottish borders I am just soooo glad we took full advantage of the outstandingly beautiful weather. We called into 'Samye Ling' Buddhist Centre earlier for some meditative reflection upon my good fortune and good health during this last year. Hopefully I thought the right thoughts and maybe, just maybe there will be a couple more sunny days to come for my stay in beautiful and vibrant Scotland.

I do hope so.

Stuckness & Muckspreaders

There I was down on my knees hands clasping small spade and digging away at Sadie's nearly buried rear wheels. Yes. Sadie's rear end was well and truly stuck in soft sand. Don't ask me how it happened as all I know is that one minute I was heading for a nice grass covered parking spot. Next thing I knew there was crunching, ominous grinding, and a heart-stopping shuddering finality. Sadie, with stalled engine and impeccable timing uttered the immortal words; 

"We gotta problem Houston!"

This undignified and unceremonious arrival at Irelands Rosslare ferry port was deeply embarrassing and humbling; presenting as it did, a highly entertaining spectacle for all the other safely parked up motorhomes. As I knelt there digging away help was proffered by one of the English motorhomers as he dropped a few extra stones into the trench I was excavating. This trench would hopefully, and if all went according to plan,  facilitate Sadie's return to solid ground.

Then salvation. Or rather the very generous action by the one and only German motorhomer also parked up. He spoke little English but his actions said it all. Ropes were produced and while I secured them to Sadie he manoeuvred his motorhome into position and with very little effort tugged me free. I was so grateful that next day when we were all on the ferry I made a bee line for the shop, searched my rescuer out and presented him plus wife with a big luxurious, and bloody expensive, box of choccy's.

There is another side to this story. A quirky side which may be scorned by some but well understood and accepted by others. Before arriving at Rosslare Ferry port I had turned off the main road for a rest. I parked just outside a small village by a beautiful and well cared for grotto dedicated to Mary, Ave Maria, Gaia or whomsoever. For me, such grottos are places of powerful energy and are to be respected.

I was tired, I was parked right by the road and by the grotto, I wanted a cup of tea so I did not, or could not be bothered to kneel for a moment and pay due respect. Hmmmm! I should have known better. Approximately two hours later where was I? You've got it ...... on my knees humbly shoveling my way out of acute embarrasment.
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On my way South East towards Salisbury I visited Ray & Edwina in their snugly sheltered ground floor apartment in Kington. Ray is now ninety one and my X father in law. He still drives and they had returned only the day before from a few days in Somerset. Not bad eh! I guess I have a few years of happy wandering curiosity to go yet. Not sure how long Sadie will hold up though. Fingers crossed please for next weeks annual service and MOT.

I was also warmly welcomed, always such a privilege for me, as I called on two loyal customers from my many years of agricultural involvement. The first is now retired and slightly bemused as to the dismantling and changing by his son of all the years of hard work he put into building up a successful farming business. As he and his wife pragmatically indicated though. 'We are well away from it all, in a beautiful home and enjoying the ripening fruit of a long happy marriage'. A warming statement and I guess you can't ask for much more.

Frocester Court is very different. Eddie Price (call him up on Google and read the Telegraph Obituary) and his sons ran a traditional family farm and his sons still do to this day. It is that very word 'traditional' with perhaps the addition of 'intelligent and solid family management' which enables survival for them in the forever difficult and erratic agricultural marketplace. For example; milk costs around twenty eight pence per litre to produce. They, at present sell milk at fifteen pence a litre from their dairy with no other choices available.

"Bearing that in mind it's a good job we bought that galvanised rotary muckspreader off you twenty years ago. It is still going strong". Said eldest son  Richard as we walked over to it.

This was amazing and I looked around it, muck covered as it was. Sure enough it was in remarkably good condition. To those of you sensible enough to have never had anything to do with farming this will of course mean little. But let me assure you that muck and metal are the bitterest of enemies. Muck always comes out the winner and usually pummells shiny new muckspreaders into rusting abandoned hulks within eight or nine years. To see this machine still working away after twenty years completely justified the extra money spent when originally purchased.

I was reminded of another 'muckspreader' story as we continued our walk in glorious sunshine around the farm. This story comes from life after agriculture when I was working in Mental Health Wellbeing as a Counsellor.

I for several years was part of a team offering Support to employees of well known banks and finance houses in the City of London. 

"Hmmmmph! They don't need support". I hear you say. 

My take on it, having been a witness just behind the front line as it were; is that had sufficient correct employee support been in place the subsequent banking disasters may well not have happened. These employees were highly paid there is no doubt about that. They were also under intolerable and criminal pressure to perform regardless.

At the time I was working over the phone with an extremely highly paid fund manager from a top tier bank. Someone that in my agricultural life would have been up there with the Gods. As I listened attentively a mischievous thought popped into my head and gained memorable dominance for a few seconds.

"I wonder if this multi squillion pound earner knows his current telephone therapist is a guy who used to sell muckspreaders".

I am pleased to report this particular story does have a happy ending. Not all of them did unfortunately. My client slowly, over several weeks, withdrew from the yawning chasm of annihilation into reconciliation and repair of shattered work and family ideals.

One up for muckspreaders eh!

Chaotic Kaden

There is a strong wind blowing from the South East tonight. Here, just above the high tide line on the 'Strand' tidal flats half a mile East of 'Castlegregory' we are rather exposed to it. Sadie though, in her many travels has weathered far more than this without even a blink of her headlights so this time, no problem at all. All is well down here in this beautiful part of Co Kerry, Ireland, which by the way, is right on 'The Wild Atlantic Way'. Tanya, Sadie and I are parked down here because Keith and Justine have holidaymakers in their holiday Bungalow. I am usually parked up in front of it but am quite happy to move down here as and when required.

I shall though, miss the early morning visit from my two year old grandson. I've renamed him Chaotic Kaden which perhaps paints a picture for you of his welcome and enjoyable visits.

"Kaden Feed Tanya Grampy Steve."

These are usually the first words I hear as his little feet clomp along the decking to Sadie's open door. Feeding Tanya comprises of him getting one of my small dishes out ready for when I lift the bag of doggy biscuits down. Sure enough he does help and a few of the biscuits do make it to Tanya's bowl. Mainly though the task is to pick out the tiny yellow biscuits, which he has taken a liking to, which are then deposited in his dish.

"Raisins Grampy Steve." 

This from upturned little face, usually with runny nose, signifies the next stage. As dish is held up ready raisins are added and I deftly remove all bar two yellow doggy biscuits. This remaining couple add a nice touch of colour to the raisins with so far no doggy behaviour being observed in Master Kaden.

The other familiar Kaden statement is; "Want go in Grampy big bussy." But what is this? There is now competition. Keith's beloved forty two year old classic Volkswagon T2 camper van is once again up and running after the latest round of repairs by Campervan John. The salty sea air of the Atlantic protruding 'Dingle' peninsular is perhaps not the best place to keep rust at bay for this classic old lady. She is though, much loved and cherished by Keith, Justine and of course Kaden. This extremely busy couple plus bright and energetic two year old run a popular seaside bits and pieces shop and launderette. It is long hours and seven days a week of hard exhausting slog. During the Summer; this classic old lady allows holiday albeit just an hour grabbed here and there at the local beach. May her rust slow down, her wheels turn effortlessly and her engine tick smoothly for a little while longer.

When down here I help out where I can which so far has mainly been watching Chaotic Kaden. Yesterday however; was different. With bag full of envelopes and ballot papers I trudged the streets of Castlegregory delivering door to door ready for the forthcoming Community Council elections. Keith and Justine are not directly involved but as I know only too well from my own past experience. When it comes to local community, council or anything voluntary, people on the ground actually doing stuff are extremely hard to find. It always boils down to a mere handful, and very often the same handful over and over again. Apathy, It seems is a sad, true and unfortunate by product of democracy.

Cleggy's & a Wedding.

"Two hours eh" I said to the receptionist. 

"Guess I had better wait then. Sign me in." I continued, sighing resignedly.

A form was duly completed, identification produced and I was in. The Salisbury 24/7 NHS drop in clinic now had me on its books and in its clutches.

Such is the situation on a Bank Holiday Saturday in the UK when faced with a bad cleggy (Horsefly) bite that was alarmingly and rapidly swelling and red lining up my arm toward my armpit. To be truthful I am not sure I would have noticed but Barbara's sharp eyes and previous bad experience with her son who displayed similar was enough for me to place bum on bike seat and transport myself to the clinic.

France and the Cherbourg ferry terminal were several days behind. Salisbury plus all the razzamatazz surrounding preparations for my brother Richards daughters wedding were in full swing. Barbara had flown down from Scotland to join me and had noticed my 'affliction' over a leisurely breakfast on this, the day before the wedding. Well it would be wouldn't it.

Think about it. I travel the length and breadth of three European countries facing the onslaught of all those foreign speaking, stinging and eating beasties only to be floored by a standard model British blood sucking cleggy. A cleggy whose timing was perfection itself with these alarmingly visual symptoms manifesting on the day before I am due to don my best (and ironed) finery to appear fit happy and healthy in front of Bride and Groom. Ho Hum eh!!
- - - -
I'm happy to report Cleggy bite became a non issue and that a wonderful day was had by all as Ruth Woodward willingly and beautifully wedded Chris. Mr and Mrs Larkin are now enjoying Greek sunshine while we are left pleasurably reflecting upon a memorable day.
- - - -
Ireland next and a visit to my son and his family across in Co Kerry. Sadie and Tanya have both been scrubbed clean. Ferry is booked. I've fresh books on my kindle and a new Tibetan Flute meditation CD downloaded to my phone. What more could one ask or want! We're ready to roll tomorrow morning.

OH!! Fridge is empty. First call .... Tesco!!

Thunder, elections & pornography.

Claps of thunder had Tanya trembling with fear at the foot of the bed. The thunder rumbling round the mountains was getting closer and, under protest, had me out of my warm bed and stumbling outside. Half awake I stuffed our folding table and chairs underneath Sadie before the inevitable rain storm soaked them. As I clambered back into Sadie I took pity on Tanya and deposited her between the now awakened Barbara and myself. I lay back on comfy pillows and listened as the thunderstorm passed overhead hammering Sadie's roof with rain. As the storm abated and the roof hammering quietened I chuckled to myself as twin snoring of dog and Barbara became audible and slowly lulled me back to my dreams.

I awoke later to a glorious sunshiny morning. Our third at this high and isolated flower strewn meadow here in the heart of Cathar Castle country between 'Davejean' and 'Dernacueillete'. I extricated myself carefully from the bed and the continuing hilarious snorty breathing of my two female companions.

I love early morning walks where sun has only just risen above horizon and where leaf and grass stalk stillness has not yet been disturbed by thermal breezes. Tanya too has a special bounciness on these morning walks. She was not missing this one either having timed her waking to coincide exactly with my exit from Sadie. We returned refreshed to a morning cup of tea with Barbara who was already sipping away at hers as the rising sun flooded our day with warmth and light.

The morning was 'doubly' good as we, via our smartphones, read of the amazing 2015 election results for the Scottish Nationalist Party. A complete landslide victory with all opposition virtually obliterated. A wonderful but intriguing result as it also became clear that similar had happened for Tories South of the border in England. The retired English couple we met later in the day on our travels agreed wholeheartedly that interesting times lay ahead.

We breakfasted and started to prepare for departure. I stepped out from Sadie's little room stark naked after my morning ablutions. This was no problem in such a beautiful high and lonely spot. However; as I stepped in front of our wide open doorway both Barbara and I, at the same time, became aware of an arm reaching out as if to knock on said open door. Attached to the arm was a frozen in shock young mans face with eyes wide open and on a similar level to my rather close full frontal exposure. Thankfully the older female with him was a good few paces behind. I executed a quick sideways move behind the kitchen unit saving her from an instant pornographic shock induced mental aberration.

The young mans arm then shakily delivered 'Watchtower' as the older female caught up with him. I am truly not joking here. In the middle of a lonely rural 'Pyrenees Orientales' flowering meadow in France. Plus; in a place where for two whole days we had seen nobody, Jehovahs Witnesses knocked on our door and handed over their religious blurb, written incidentally in English. Barbara and I discussed the grave situation later that morning. We both agreed it was such a shame for that poor young man. Let us hope that a long term combination of therapy and prayer assists him back to full recovery.

.......
Bye bye Barbara. Delivered safely to Tolouse airport just a few hours ago. We have enjoyed a wonderful time together with parting being not a sad affair at all. We both agree our way of sharing time with each other is a win win situation. Long may it continue and see you in a couple of weeks Barbara at the family wedding.

Now: suppose I'd better do a bit of pointy North type of travel now if I am to be at said family occasion too.

Nougat & Water tank

Barbara's face was a picture. It moved as if to speak but was unable to do so. Finally she came to halt in front of me holding up a posh paper bag. She then, with ashen white face said: 

"Sixty five Euros, the Nougat cost sixty five Euros!"

"Whaat!" I exclaimed.

The day was warm and sunny. We were in good mood and earlier I had enjoyed my first sea swim of this trip in the cold but gentle sea at 'St's Marie sur mer' on the southern extremity of the 'Camargue'. The crowded tourist filled streets of 'St's Marie' had lulled us into that vulnerable and barriers down holiday feeling so beloved by tourists and sharp witted tourist shop owners alike. The delicious display of local traditionally made nut and honey Nougat plus the charming sales skill of the owner/producer took us in completely. Blithely we said "oui, oui" to all that was offered.  

The sixty five Euro Nougat is now a standing joke and thankfully the colour has returned to Barbara's face as well.

Oh! The Nougat is delicious too.
............
"Errr Steve, I've got wet feet again." 

Said Barbara as we returned to Sadie from our very pleasant day out wandering the tourist hot spot streets of 'Carcasonne, la Cite'. Nougat and Chocolate shops had been successfully avoided helped by an enjoyable meal of delicious 'Croc madame plus chips'. Oh! and a direct hit by a pigeon on Barbara's freshly washed stripy top. Revenge I am sure for Tanya's skill at clearing said pigeons from the floor around the restaurant tables.

The wet feet indicated a very wet floor in Sadie which in turn indicated a leak from our on board water storage tank. The 'again' bit was due to the same thing happening a few days previous which we thought we had solved.

"Damm" I muttered seeing ahead of me the stripping down of Sadie's interior in order for me to once again access and investigate the water tank. We headed away from 'Carcasonne' and perched ourselves amid Thyme scented countryside overlooking the high wild country south of us in this the 'Pyrenese-Orientales' region of France.

"Got it" I exclaimed with relief as a water fitting collapsed in my hand during the probing and testing of all water leak possibilities. Repair, re-assembly and replacing of furniture followed before a very welcome order was issued by first officer Barbara.  

"Now sit down while I get our tea". Needless to say I obeyed.
........
Waking up with sun streaming through Sadie's windows; with  thyme scented warm air caressing the nose; with no set agenda for the day and bird song as the only sound. It is just such luxury. Then to have eyes massaged with a view of vineyards stretching away then rising in the distance of the 'Haut Languedoc' area. Well; Such magic times are the gems peppering my wandering lifestyle. To share such a magic morning with my much loved companion Barbara is privilege indeed. There was even icing on the cake. The water tank seemed to be cured of its leak and floor was drying out well in the increasing warmth of the day.

Mind you; Universe did have one more mischievous water tank trick to play out. On our slow and leisurely way through the gorgeously quiet French country lanes to 'La Grasse Abbey' we stopped for lunch on the edge of a vineyard by a small brook. Kettle was produced and tap turned on to fill it. Water pump ground into action but no water came gushing forth. Barbara looked at me and I looked at her. In unison we groaned:  

"Oh no what now!"  

A half strip out of the bench seat housing our water tank was undertaken followed by a peering once again into its depths. Thankfully this time Universe was in good mood, having had his/her previous water tank chuckle at our expense. A simple solution was provided. A rubber washer, clearly visible, was blocking the suction pipe. An unseen left over from the previous nights repair which was quickly fished out. Water  again gushed forth. Lunch was enjoyed and our journey to some of this regions stunning Cathar castles resumed.

Barbara & Provence

Number 94 bus and 'Nice' airport shuttle bus deposited me safely at terminal two, arrivals. Barbara with wheelie bag and big smile soon walked through the arrivals door from her Easy Jet flight from Edinburgh. We together reverse negotiated the buses returning to 'Cagne sur Mer' where a snug, and very quiet, campsite safely housed Sadie and Tanya. Quiet campsite housed us for one more day as Barbara settled in. Part of 'settling' included a very enjoyable lunch at one of the 'Chateux Grimald' cafes amid the old part of 'Cagne sur Mer.'

Next day saw us on our way. I was keen to move away from the hustle and bustle of the highly populated 'Cote d'Azur'. Sure enough as we headed up 'Gorge de loup' it felt good to be once again on the move upon the less busy and well maintained French roads. With of course, sitting alongside me sharing Tanya's seat, the added bonus of a much loved travelling companion.

'Moustier St Marie' is where we are at present. A gorgeous medieval village tucked right into the dramatic cliffs containing the stunning 'Gorge de Verdon'. Sun is shining, tea is being prepared and let me tell you. There is not much wrong with the world right now.
................
Pig again. This time however; not a scary scenario. Far from it. These were a rare breed of 'Hungarian Mangalica' piggy's. Big woolly floppy eared beasties with squealing stripy piglets running around mum who snuffled her way about the large orchard enclosure. Barbara and I, plus Tanya of course, were on a morning walk around the beautiful village of 'Maubec' here in the 'Luberon valley' area of Provence. We stopped to watch these piggies and to read how they were near extinction before conservation and good marketing of their highly valued, and rich in Omega 3, meat products saved them.

The plan, after our walk was to move on, find a supermarket, which we did, and travel to 'Arles', which we did'nt. Instead we returned to 'Oppede de Vieux' just along from vineyard surrounded 'Maubec'. 'Oppede' is one of many 'perched on a hilltop' villages in this area. In medieval days it was fully populated but alas it's steep narrow cobbled streets now wind through ivy covered ruins. Slowly though, as artists and the wealthy restore and live in what can only be described as a stunning and unspoilt location, it is coming back to life.

What a treat for us to pay a mere five Euros for the car park and be told by the attendant we were very welcome  to stay the night.

"J'adore la France". Oops, sorry I have to correct that .... "Nous adorons la France".

Birthday boy got 'painfully' moved on

"Wow!  What a view". I exclaimed pulling Sadie into a narrow precarious cliff hugging and stone blocked old quarry entrance. I clambered to the top of a small rise of ground to take in the breathtaking view out over 'Massa', 'Carrara', the port of 'La Spezia' on the blue Mediterranean which was our destination. Just behind us were the tunnels through the solid snow covered peaks and their deep river gorges that had provided the narrow twisty road we had just negotiated from 'Castelnuovo di Garfanga'.

The mountain wind was icily cutting as I turned to descend my viewpoint and gain the warmth of Sadie. Next thing I knew I was screaming obscenities to the heavens while rolling on the ground clutching at what surely must be a broken ankle. The pain was excruciating but behind that pain and behind the coping mechanism of voluminous obscenities I, with utter despair, knew clearly what had just transpired. My right foot had rolled right over and once again ripped muscle and tendon to shreds. I say once again as unfortunately my life has been regularly punctuated with such painful incidents rendering my ankles weak and vulnerable.

The obscenities finally stopped echoing round the mountains and the pain eased. I managed to limp across and haul myself into Sadies warmth. I sat for a while recovering from the shock and assessing the situation. Everything moved as it should albeit painfully and with limited mobility. 

"Nothing broken then". I muttered to Tanya and "Happy bloody birthday Steve" 

I sarcastically said as I gingerly worked Witch-Hazel cream into the now grotesquely swollen and throbbing ankle. Yes; this was April 7. My 67th birthday.

My biggest worry was driving. We were at the top of a high mountain pass and in front of three and a half ton Sadie lay an hour of steep downhill, second gear only, zig zag narrow hairpin roads. Regular right foot brake operation was going to be required. 

"Am I gonna manage it"? I thought to myself. 

Happily the downward gradient of the road was kind to us. Sadie's slow but safe second gear adequately held momentum at a level requiring only occasional light braking. Even so I was wincing with pain well before our rendezvous for the night.

"Got to stop Tan, this is hurting and starting to get dangerous"

We were thankfully on the flatter but busier coastal strip by then with eyes peeled left and right for a suitable bolt hole for the night.

"That's it, that'll do, winker on, hang a left and we're in".

A nearly empty parking area adjacent a grassy field and communal area. Phew! was I glad to stop, make a cup of tea, down a couple of paracetamol and put my foot up to rest. Which is exactly what I did for about an hour till Mr Carabineri poked his head in the open door and said.  

"You no stay here. You no camp, you go!"

I did, with a masterful limping demonstration and best 'poor me' pitiful painful facial expression put forward my case for staying put. This however; only elicited the same few monosyllabic English statements in louder voice and with sterner face. This repeat was accompanied by jacketed Carabineri arm firmly pointing to anywhere else but where we were.

I had no choice but to pack up and go. Which within ten minutes is exactly what I did. Such is the flexibility of a motorhome. I flicked on Mrs Sat nav again and let her lead us the remaining thirty kilometres to our original destination, a Sosta (motorhome parking area) listed in my book at 'Porto Venere'.

This, according to a lovely Italian guy at 'Castlenuovo' was a must see place right out at the point on the far side of 'La Spezia' at the Southern end of the highly popular area known as 'Cinque Terre'. (pronounce - 'chingwaterra') He backed up his enthusiastic insistence with smart phone pictures of his previous days visit with family friends and local priest. It did look inviting.

The journey was relatively easy. I'd had an hours rest and the paracetamol had kicked in reducing the pain. Good old Mrs Sat nav took us right to the spot, a pleasant grassy area above 'Porto Venere'. This in itself was a relief as I've discovered that having a book listing Italian motorhome parking areas and sites is no guarantee they actually exist. This time though it was real. We quickly settled in, conjured up eats and with a 'Phew! Some Birthday', I gratefully placed my throbbing and swollen excuse for an ankle up high for a well earned rest.

We've remained here for two days. There is a parking ticket machine which requires €12.00 in coins for a twenty four hour stay. Quite reasonable but no good if you only have paper money.  

"Need to go down to the port, have a meal and get some cash eh Tan".

So off we go, limping well and leaning heavily on walking pole. The task? To get to the bus stop and board the free shuttle bus down to 'Porto Venere' itself. Now remember Italy is different. The notice I'd espied earlier indicating said shuttle bus runs hourly April to April is, to put it bluntly, a wee fib. We waited for some time before an English speaking Italian lady explained, as though it was obvious. 

"Oh no! Bus only run for Easter in April". Well; how silly of me not being able to infer such 'obviousity' from the big clearly written A4 size notice saying it ran hourly April to April.

We did get our meal and we did get our coinage. We bannister rail and walking poled our way down hundreds of steps to a sea front restaurant (expensive!) then very slowly limped back to Sadie via the hairpin roadway which also involved doing battle with huge German, Swiss and Italian tourist coaches. We made it though and meter was duly fed. Plus I will admit 'Porto Venere' is a very pretty seaside destination. As the rough guide says though. Don't do it July/August unless you love crowds and gridlocked traffic.

Ankle? I hear you ask: Black and blue with ugly yellow patches and limping will be standard for a couple of weeks. Apart from that everything is rosy.

Extortion in Tuscany!!

"Twenty Euros". I sputtered unable to contain my shock at this extortionate price for a twenty four hour stopover on a large tarmac bus park between busy roads and a railway. I grumpily paid up. It was late and I knew of no alternative within sensible bike/walk distance of this the Italian city of 'Siena'.

"They b****y well know how to rip off the tourist do these Italians". 

I muttered as I walked across to Sadie, ticket in hand which I was to; 

'Window, must, must be in window. Ticket, window. Understand. In window, ticket!'  

Well; ticket IS in window and we are comfortably settled in for the night. Tomorrow we will be off sharp for a day out in well preserved medieval 'Siena'. We'll be away by five fifteen though, when my window mounted ticket expires. There is no way I'm parting with another extortionate fee. We will head back out into the  countryside where I feel much happier, don't get ripped off every five minutes and there are plenty of secluded wild spots where Tanya is free to roam.

We have just spent one such night of meditative seclusion by a rushing mountain stream amid the as yet unleafed Beech forest  South of  'Volterra'. We were by a closed, deserted and vandalized Spa hotel. An English speaking lady encountered on our before breakfast walk, and coincidently the only person we saw while their, told us the hotel's warm sulphuric spa water dried up fifteen years ago. The whole complex closed shortly after. A beautiful secluded location with the lower entrance by the locked and bramble covered gate making a perfect spot for us to camp. Sadie was treated to a clear sparkling mountain stream wash while we were there. I had to wade in to the gurgling torrent to fill the buckets. That water was icy icy cold. No swimming in that I thought to myself as ankles and calves thawed out. Which they soon did as I reclined in comfy chair, soaked up the warm sunshine and admired my handiwork, a sparkling white as opposed to 'road use brown' Sadie.
...........
'Siena'.

"It's a walled hilltop city". I expounded to Tanya. "With steep hills, loadsa steps, narrow alleyways and multi directional mad scooter mounted Italians weaving between aimlessly wandering tourists. Guess we'll leave the bike and walk eh Tan".

My summing up proved correct with walking granting a rewarding day in a stunning city under warm blue skies. Again I took few photographs as www.land will have them all if you wish to see more. The 'Cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta' built with alternate layers of black and white stone was awesome. You need tickets and no dogs to see the inside but I did hold open the guided tour exit door for a while till the security guy very politely showed me it was on springs and was meant to swing shut to stop people with dogs seeing inside which I thought was really nice of him. Such a grasped at peep was enough though. Truly stunning.

'Il Campo' is the heart of the city and everything radiates out from its large semi circular sloping open plaza. All the touristy shops carry posters and pictures of the famous bareback horse racing festival which takes place every August in this 'Campo'. I 'barebacked' a restaurant chair and enjoyed a lovely meal in one of the small squares adjoining. Coffee was long lingered over as numerous people watching cameos unfolded second by second around us. A most agreeable pastime invariably brought to a premature halt by Madame Tanya becoming bored once she has scoffed the little biscuit often presented with the 'I've got a liking for it now' continental small cup expresso coffee.
..........
Easter Saturday today. We are snug in 'Vinci', birthplace of the great Leonardo da Vinci. We are also being subject to a very British bank holiday phenomena. Heavy and persistent rain. Never mind, according to weatheronline.com the sunshine is due back in a couple of days.

We did have warm blue sky sun yesterday and thrilled to a second and third gear journey over the high and hilly minor roads/tracks of the 'Chianti' wine producing region here in Tuscany. That was till the afternoon when I made a mistake on a roundabout. Mrs sat nav Navigator kindly re-routed us through urban industrial 'Firenze' and 'Prato' before finally depositing us in a scrubby car park right behind a Carabinero (military police) training establishment in 'Pistoia' which; was not where I had expected us to be.

I could not quite understand how this happened. I thought we were headed for 'Vinci'. On checking later I discovered Numpty here had only gone and entered the wrong sat nav coordinates without following up with visual map check as to the correct destination. Memo to self; 'Do check where we're going next time Steve, and best do it before setting off eh ... there's a good boy!' The accompanying self administered (but gentle) wrist slap hopefully will jog my tired and lonely single remaining brain cell into due compliance.

Ho Hum!

Italy continued & ... Hmmmm!

The rough guide waxes lyrically and enthusiastically about the great Italian painters, the historical sites, the museums, the churches etc etc, but nowhere do I find  mention of the sheer joy to be had in simply walking mountainous medieval mule tracks steeply winding their way through the Olive groves between 'Zucarello' by it's rushing river, and the much higher village of 'Vesercio'.

'San Remo' was behind us as we drove Eastwards along the slightly less busy Italian Riviera coastal strip. A wonderful drive but by the time I had reached 'Albenga' I'd had enough of the, 'slightly less busy', the nowhere to park and of marina after marina full of white shiny and jingly mast luxury floating motorhomes nee yachts.

So we hung a left, quickly stopped at 'Freshco' for a warm just baked €1.00 Panini before heading inland for a quiet lunch stopover. That's how we found 'Zucarella' with its large level parking area where no one has bothered us one bit these last two nights.

The village is long, narrow, medieval and occupies one bank of the river while the main road tarmacs its way by on the other. The village is a grid of tiny narrow cobbled streets and stone arches with one steeply leading ever upwards, out of the village to the 'Castello' on a prominent mount where I gazed down almost vertically upon Sadie's roof way below in the car park.

I was delighted with our lunch stop find, our exploration of the village and especially our stiff walk up to the Castello. Delighted as I felt good with no worrying aches or pains from the chesticle area where, as you know I have been having slight concern of late.

The weather was forecast to return to wet and cold again so next day we took advantage of the dry but cloudy day and set off to walk up to the next village 'Vesercio'. To cut a long story short we made it. A three and a half hour circular steep ascent/descent walk. Tanya and I were both pretty exhausted and wet due to the forecasted rain soaking us during our last half hours walking. It was a warm, dry and welcome return to Sadie where once  again I was 'over the moon' delighted with what we had achieved. I do not think in January, as we commenced this years trip, such a walk would have been possible. Back then I got very tired after only short flat walks. Fingers crossed for continuation of good fortune eh:
..........

Italy .... Hmmmmm!
The Italians themselves are lovely. So friendly and helpful. Maybe they have to be to assist everyone else through 'different, busy and Hmmmm!'

Yesterday I followed Mrs 'Navigator' sat nav (yes, a different lady & very good she is too) to a garage listed as a supplier of GPL gas. One of my cylinders was empty. Mrs sat nav was within one hundred yards of being spot on but it was not a garage as such but a specific GPL filling station. This was located immediately behind another big garage on a side street entered another half a kilometer further on. It is easy for me to say that, now I know; but it took me nearly two hours to find. I kept asking around which is no easy task on the outskirts of 'Genoa', in a large motorhome, where not a soul speaks English. Anyway my frustration, possibly desperation, must have been apparent as finally a kind lady in a little yellow Panda indicated I was to follow her. She took me right to the spot and then drove off with a smile and cheery wave without giving me the time to thank her. Such generosity and helpfulness from her plus all the others who before they launched into copious instructions and directions in rapidly spoken Genoese Italian had shouted to all and sundry, "Heya! Inglesa.Chiunque parlare inglese?" The answer of course was invariably no except for my 'Ave Maria" (big culture here) lady in her yellow Fiat Panda who did know a few English words.

Then the strangest thing. Gas top up was successful and I drove out onto the narrow one way side street to be faced with a low 2.35m bridge sign. This had the potentiality of being a serious problem seeing as Sadie is 3.00m high. I had no alternative but to continue and to my huge relief we sailed under the bridge with plenty of room to spare. Just before the bridge I once again noticed another large prominent 2.35m warning sign affixed to the apex of the bridge arc. I successfully criss-crossed the same railway line and its low bridges twice more before we headed out onto a quiet countryside lane and a safe spot for the night.

A strange, different but rewarding day.
..........
I'd nearly, very nearly in fact, given up on Italy. The wet dull weather was not helping. Lack of coastal area camp spots plus the ridiculous price wanted by some campsites were all starting to irk me. I've damaged Sadie too. To be fair that is not Italy but rather me playing 4x4 again and getting my come uppance. Thankfully it is not serious, just fibreglass rear skirting split and nudged slightly out of place.

Soooo .... all in all Italy was not turning out to be the best for my strange but particular way of life ..... until today that is. Today has finally yielded an Italy more in keeping with ... 'wot I want'.

'Pisa', complete with leaning tower, warm sunshine and a safe and sensibly priced and located motorhome stopover. Well! Could one ask for more? Bike was very soon out and off we went to join the throngs of tourists (Goodness knows what it must be like in high season) As usual there was no going into the tower or up the Doumo (Cathederal) as doggies are no go. Even so impressive is the correct adjective to use. You also cannot stop that daft little voice in your head from saying, "Gosh it's just like it is in all those pictures".

Meanwhile: watching contorted tourists, mainly of Eastern origin, being photographed holding out their palms to appear as though they are propping the tower up in front of equally contorted and gesticulating camera and mobile phone wielders. Well; such viewing is equal to, if not better than, an expensive tour of the great treasures inside these beautiful buildings paid for by the way, and to quote the tourist blurb; 'the sacking and pillage of Palermo and its immense wealth'.

Weather looks better for the next week. Ok then! I'll stay a little longer.
"C'mon Tan. We'll go do some more Bike exploring in this Tuscan open air rich archeological gem stone of an area".

A pig & Italy.

"TANYA QUICK, COME HERE, MOVE, IT'S A DAMM PIG!! 

A big wild boar type pig it was too. I tell you it was some shock seeing this thing lumbering out from the pitch black of the night behind the wheelie bins and into the dim light of the few and far between street lights. My senses did not immediately register this unrecognisable moving area of blackness as someting dangerous. As my adrenalin kicked in pig had it's head down and was picking up speed towards Tanya who was blithely heading piggy direction thinking this was a new doggy pal.

Thankfully the combination of loud panicky voice along with sight of me sprinting away down the road did the trick and she sensibly joined me in this new game of 'let's run away from big black hairy tusky piggy thing'. Pig ran out into the road but then decided what was behind the wheelie bins offered better prospects than one mere mortal human plus small dog. It stopped, sniffed around a bit and shuffled back into the unlit blackness behind the bins.

"Phew!" I muttered. "That, Tanya my girl, is as close as I want to come to a wild boar thank you very much. I think we'll just head back to Sadie now in case piggy is not alone". 

Note to self; take torch on next 'last Tanya pee before bed' walk!!

We were in my favorite safe, level but totally unlit parking area in 'Port Lligat', former home to the artist Salvador Dali. It is a place I love and know very well and always visit if I am entering or leaving Spain from its North Eastern corner. The 'Cap de Creus' ('Cadaque') area is wild, beautiful and unspoiled but only reachable by tortuous bendy mountain and cliff hugging coastal roads.

Warm and sunny it was too. Unlike the charming and pretty little hilltop village of 'Fox-Amphoux' in the French district of  'Provence' where at present it is wet, dull, misty and distinctly cool. On the way here we visited  'camping La Sousta' at the popular tourist spot of 'Pont du Gard' where, being down to my last shirt, we caught up with laundry etc. Popular spot it may be but wet cold early March equals campsite plus large impressive ancient Roman viaduct empty of tourist and locals alike.
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What a difference a few miles make. We are in Italy now, 'San Remo' to be exact. Sunny warm Italian Riviera. I have just watched from our very pleasant Italian Aire a gigronkus luxury yacht motor by. It is probably going to Monte Carlo, Nice or Cannes. All the marinas both here and on the French side had their due quota of these huge plastic 'I've got loadsa money' status symbols. We have spent the last couple of days negotiating our way through this very built up, busy and rather motorhome unfriendly Riviera coastal strip. I've decided it is not my favorite place but seeing is believing and there is no doubt about it; the area oozes of all that money can buy. Just a wee bit out of my league though. No photo's either. For starters there was never anywhere to park Sadie at the few viewing spots and secondly; Google or You-tube the French Riviera. Pointless pointing my phone/camera when every conceivable Riviera photo is already out there in www.com land.

Bike plus green Tanya bucket came out today and we cycled in the beautiful warm sunshine to 'San Remo' proper where we watched the world go by while enjoying a pleasant fishy lunch at one of the numerous restaurants over looking the Marina. Once again it was yours truly in summer gear of shorts and sandals while everybody else was in full winter gear, and, I have to say, very smart too as one would expect of Italians.

One observation which with all things considered goes with the territory of marina plus large plastic gin palaces. There did seem to be a lot of paunchy men of about my age and much older being accompanied by extremely smart young ladies. S'funny is'nt it. I mean I've got a plastic tub too. OK so it's not full of gin and doesn't have a pointy bit at the front but even so. At least there was one thing that got the attention of these 'young things'. My not so young lady travelling companion Tanya got plenty of fawning attention and admiring glances from these glamorous young fashion icons.