This January it rained in Buxton almost every day, apart from the final weekend when it snowed. Most years we would have been quite sanguine about this, consoling ourselves that in a few days time we would be on the ferry to Santander and heading for sunnier climes. Sadly, due to a snowmageddon in North America and blocking high pressure in Siberia, Spain and Portugal are experiencing a British style winter - one deep low pressure system after another barreling across the Atlantic energised by a very perky jet stream which currently is 'south shifted' - looping across Northern Morocco. Recently some places in Portugal exceeded their average annual precipitation in just two days.
Just to complicate things further when we fetched the van from storage a couple of days prior to our departure we discovered a leak behind the sink unit. There followed a day and a half of increasing stress levels as every nearby motorhome repairer was too busy to accommodate us at short notice. One mentioned a 'local lad' called Billy who did mobile repairs. I was a bit dubious - it all seemed a bit of an informal, backstreet operation. However when Billy turned up he proved to be both competent and personable.
He fixed the leak in less than 15 minutes and afterwards we had a good chat about his recent long term van-life experience when Billy, with his partner and their dog, had wandered around Europe for a couple of years. They'd blown their savings for a house deposit on the trip so Billy was now in the process of converting a seven ton truck into a home on wheels. Maybe it's because I spent most of my working life in Further Education, but I find people in their twenties and thirties far easier and more interesting to talk to than many of the fellow retirees we come upon on our travels.
So we headed off a day later than planned. Fortuitously, unlike most of our previous winter trips, we weren't planning to head straight to Portsmouth. If we had discovered the leak while packing the van on the day before our ferry's departure date arranging the repair would have resulted in us missing the boat. However this year we have arranged to spend three nights in London prior to our crossing to catch up on how our kid's now not so recent arrivals are doing. I've been in denial for years about being part of the 'older generation'. Becoming a grandparent I guess puts the kibosh on that particular self delusion.
Living 1000' up a Pennine gives January departures extra jeopardy, two days before we set off last year we were snowed-in, luckily a sudden thaw came to our rescue.
This year's challenge - thick fog in the Peak District followed by hours of torrential rain all the way from Leicestershire to Abbey Wood in south London. We hit the city's southeastern suburbs at twilight; rain, heavy traffic and lack of street lighting made the last couple of miles really hazardous, but we arrived at the campsite without incident - I really don't like driving the moho in city traffic.
Sorting the leak reduced had our stay by one day. Still, we managed to see everyone. Sarah reckoned that January in London had been almost as miserable as in the Peak District. However, we were fortunate, it was sunny and quite mild.
We even managed to eat a late lunch outside at a kiosk in Victoria Park.
Matthew, Kristina and Jesse joined us at a pizza place in the early evening. I managed to get a photo of the two babies, but not of Matthew and Kristina.
Next time we see them they should have moved. At the moment they are camped out with minimal stuff in Matthew's flat in Bow, waiting for completion on the apartment they've bought in Dulwich. New baby, new home, exciting (and stressful) times!
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Next day we attempted to negotiate a later leaving time with the campsite reception. We were required to be off our pitch by mid-day but our ferry from Portsmouth, a mere couple of hours drive, did not depart until 11.30 pm. It was a long shot. Motorhome and Caravan club sites are sticklers for the rules. The site had spare space, but no, 'rules was rules'. The receptionist seemed a tad discomforted that we had even asked. It was a mildly amusing moment of 'Englishness'. I felt I should have shuffled my feet slightly in Michael Palin mode as I made the request. We exited at 11.59.
I spotted a country park in the South Downs a few miles north of Portsmouth where we might 'hole up' for a few hours before heading for the ferry terminal. On a sunny day Queen Elizabeth Park would have been a pleasant place to take a walk, today however it was tipping down. Luckily the cafe was open, we had an unmemorable lunch of boring pie and limp chips. Last UK shop in a Morrisons wiled away a bit more time then it took much longer then it should have to to circumnavigate Portsmouth's urban motorways as we managed to arrive in the the middle of the rush hour. Oddly named when you think about it, as no-one was rushing anywhere.
So with five hours to go before departure we were first in the queue. It didn't mean we were first to board however. Cars and caravans were being loaded first. We were parked directly in front of H M Custom's shake-down shed. There were two drive through bays each with a team of three officers dressed in head to foot banana yellow hi-iz all weather suits. They peered inside each vehicle, opened the boot, opened the bonnet. What quite they were hoping to find being smuggled out of dear old blighty by a bunch of grey-haired caravanners headed for Benidorm I cannot imagine.
When it came to our turn we were waived through, as were most other motorhomes. I guess there are just too many nooks and crannies in a motorhome to make a quick look worthwhile. It's coming back into the country when we tend to get searched, looking for additional added passengers hitching a ride in the rear garage or under the bike covers. It can happen, as we know all too well.
Once aboard we headed straight to our cabin, well almost, we paused to have a glass of wine in the bar before we turned in.
Warning notices glowered from the big TV screens - red alert for strong winds and stormy waves.
Not something you want to see if you are heading across the Bay of Biscay. The sense of impending doom was heightened by regular announcements by the captain instructing passengers to minimise their movements around the ship and use handrails on the stairs and corridors.
I am not the best of sailors. However the actual crossing, though choppy, was far from the worst I've experienced. It probably helps that the Brittany Ferries built for the Spanish route are considerably bigger than ones you find plying the Channel. They're newer too and have big stabilisers that reduce the roll in heavy weather. It helps that the 30 hour crossing includes two nights. If you take the opportunity to have a lie-in on the first night and turn in early on the second you can spend two thirds of the tedious and somewhat bumpy crossing asleep.
In fact we arrived in Santander three hours early at 3am. Up until a few years ago the crossing time from Portsmouth to Santander was some hours shorter than it is now. Then the worldwide merchant shipping fleet took a collective decision to slow their average speed by a few knots which instantly reduced the industry's global carbon footprint. I don't know why tonight we raced across the Bay of Biscay, perhaps the stabilisers work best at a quicker speed, or maybe the weather conditions were forecast to worsen. Our early arrival did not result in a quicker disembarkation, I guess the port officials don't come on duty until the morning. As usual it was around eight when we passed through immigration.
Dawn was sunny and clear. We decided to head east towards Bilbao, diametrically opposite to our habitual dash southwest towards Salamanca. Given the storm conditions affecting the western half of the Iberian Peninsula it made more sense to head for Valencia whose forecast looked much better than Andalusia's or in Portugal. Our plan was to head for Logroño - with luck we might even reach it in time for lunch.
At Bilbao we turned south on A68 towards Rioja. We'd only had a snack in the cabin before we disembarked so needed breakfast. I pulled into a parking place and hopped out to turn the gas on so we could have a coffee.
The sky was blue, it was sunny, I was wearing a tee shirt and it didn't feel chilly. It's why we do this, we agreed.