Dutch Bungaloid

17th November

I've been thinking about how the character of campsites change the further south we travel. The sites in Catalonia and the Communiad de Valencia have that temporary, itinerant feel, full of the coming and goings you expect in a campsite. Most people are on the move, usually south.

In Murcia and I imagine further south - in Andalusia - everyone has arrived. They are encampments of grey haired northerners here for the duration. Not only do they bring their motorhome, but also large walk-in trailers to transport enough stuff to totally personalise their pitch - with outside kitchens, potted gardens, gnomes large and small, fairy lights, banquet-sized dining tables for two, a portable kennel for the pooch, sun loungers, scooters, and 90 feet of wind breaks to privatise their parcelos. The effect is not fully realised without a satellite dish of Jodrell Bank proportions linked to the flat screen IMAX. The Dutch couple next to us in Xabia kindly made us feel fully at home by watching end to end episodes of East Enders; their English must be impeccable, just like Harry Rednapp's!

Whereas the itinerant campsites of the north assert similarity, everyone is in travelling mode with a minimum of possessions outside the van, these southern 'snow-bird' encampments reveal strange cultural differences between the tribal elders of Europe -

Wide screen TV tuned=in to some moronic German satelite channel - at a volume half the campsite can hear...

Floral display...and Jodrell Bank - Snow Bird essentials

strange table ornaments and a ritually strung-up  Pinocchio...the oddness of the Dutch!

sweeping leaves from your pitch, an essential morning ritual.

So as I wander towards the sanitary block, requisite pink toilet roll in hand, I may nod, and smile affably towards my fellow itinerants. Within, a growing sense of unease, like Munch's 'The Scream' yelling, "bungaloid alert! bungaloid alert! run for your lives!!"

Time to move on...