Suddenly, the Cretaceous - more profound endishness.

Posted to planet Zog while parked-up in the car of a recently abandoned factory in the less salubrious hinterland of Zumaia:

"We are just about to drive to the docks in Bilbao where we will catch the ferry back to Portsmouth. It's been a great trip. Since we bought the motorhome in June 2013 I reckon we have spent about 600 days travelling around Europe. You might think that eventually you might cease to be surprised by places. Always though you find unexpected delights. We stopped at Zumaia last night. The guidebook described it as a small industrial town and port. It failed to mention it has some of the most astonishing rock formations we have ever seen."

Gill was very excited, among the slate and shale beds, upended, almost vertical, there were layers of crustaceous limestone. "We get oolitic and carboniferous back home, but rarely crustaceous." I realised by her tone that this was a big time geological moment. So, I did not really get the chronology or the science, but even as a purely visual experience I could see that the cove was unique. This evening's homework... acquire an imperfect understanding of the Cretaceous. What would we do without Wikipedia?

Cretaceous, an epic epoch! TRex rules the land alongside bumblebees, super-sized sharks inhabit the warm shallow seas. Most of the earth's petroleum deposits were laid down at this time; a mixture of the strange and the familiar - dinosaurs and fig trees. Next time I eat a fig I am going to think, triceratops may have munched these.

Being reminded of  how puny we are can be oddly liberating - the girl's reaction was spot-on.

The article gave some intriguing snippets of information, the average global temperatures were 4C warmer than now, oxygen levels 150% higher, CO2 six times the pre-industrial level. Are we returning to a climate similar to this? Are we destined to be succeeded by brainy dinosaurs or clever robots? We cannot know, we only have the here and now and our imagined alternatives, and it is the latter that makes us unique.

There is something humbling about being confronted by ancient rocks, especially those associated with the Cretaceous period which ended with the mass extinction of 75% of species due to the impact of an asteroid measuring over 10kms near the Yucatán peninsula.

There is persuasive evidence that we are entering another period of mass extinction prompted by man-made emissions. Here today, gone tomorrow, I am unconvinced that we will destroy life on the planet, but we may be render it uninhabitable for us. Next time you eat a fig or open a jar of honey perhaps you might reflect that figs and bumblebees, who outfoxed the last extinction event, may be better equipped in evolutionary terms than us to survive the next one.

A bit of a marathon.

Yesterday we were a few minutes early for the bus outside the gates of Camping Igueldo. So what to  do? Read the signs on the bus shelter even when they happen to be in Basque. My Basque may be less than fluent, but I did get the gist of the message taped to the glass. 'Tomorrow is the San Sebastian marathon. The service will be curtailed, only serving stops as far as Onderetta'.

I remembered seeing signs to Ondarreta when we drove here, I looked it up on my phone. It turned out to be the area near the funicular, between Igueldo and the city centre. The question this posed was - if the bus was not running, did this mean the city centre streets would be closed for the race, and if that was so, were we trapped in the campsite until the event finished? We decided to ask at reception when we returned from the city. We did; it proved wise to have enquired. Access from the site to the city and the motorway beyond would be unavailable from 8.30am. If we were going to stick to our plan to head across the border for a shopping trip in France we would need to be out of the site by eightish, and out of bed an hour before then.

There may be unfortunate readers of the blog still cursed by that deeply regrettable human condition - work. Maybe you find rising at 7am. an annoyance rather than a major challenge. However, these days we become irritatingly self-congratulatory if we exit a site before 11.00am, astonished at our vigour and perkiness. Imagine then our amazement and pride as we drove under the neon striped barrier of Camping Igueldo at 7.57am, convinced we would be the only ones abroad at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, especially as the intermittent overnight showers had joined together to form a steady downpour. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Every bus stop contained a multicoloured gaggle of Lycra clad athletes, all waiting for the specially laid on coaches to whisk them to the marathon mustering station. Policemen with luminous sticks waved us past junctions as men in hi-res hoiked barriers about. We had beaten the deadline. Time for jubilation, we can shop 'til we drop in St Jean de Luz Carrefour, we will overfill our trolley with discount Lavazza and Vin Rouge, we shall consume a second breakfast of croissants and pain chocolat...

Shopping - our antidote to rain

We reached the hypermarket about 20 minutes after it opened. Maisy was one of the few vehicles in the car park. Apart from visits to the local boulangerie to buy cakes, Sunday morning shopping is not a big thing in France, in fact, to find a Carrefour open was something of a coup. What this meant was that  the main store was operating but none of the other shops in the mall were open, nor was the in-store bakery working (au revoir croissants). In fact, the entire trip was not quite the resounding success that we had anticipated - there were no wine deals, most of the Cote de Rhone and Sud-oest wines were pricier than usual - I do think prices are rising in France, and the weak pound exacerbates the effect. Still, we bought about twenty bottles, agreeing that we may supplement that with Spanish wine tomorrow.

It was fun being back in France, it always surprises us how French France is, the ghastly modern design, cute advertising, the mile-long yogurt counter, football pitch sized fruit and veg counter..we love it all.

Love France - slightly ghastly modern design.

needlessly cute adverts

Madonna of the fruit counter

The semi-autonomous Principality of Yoghurt

The cheese aisle is seeking independence and has approached the EU to be recognised as a nation state.

Better still, as we drove out of the car-park we came across an artisan boulangerie - we could have our croissants after all. Not only that, they were much better than the supermarket ones and we got to queue behind a portly chap in a beret buying patisserie for his family, which appeared judging by dimensions of the box he carried out to be the size of a small clan.

Back to Spain - the sun comes out.

Just after eleven we were back in Spain, by 12:30 installed in the campsite at Zumaia, a small port about 20kms. west of San Sebastian. The reviews of the site on the ACSI app were mixed: The access road is so steep longer vans might ground (true); the pitches are not level and can be muddy in wet weather (true); the path from the site to the town is through an industrial area where some of the factories are disused (true); the sanitary facilities are modern and high quality (true).

What all of this shows is the limited use of reviews because they fail to mention the most interesting things. These include Zumaia itself which is a thriving little port with a functioning small shipyard, the likes of which are long gone in the UK - think Whitehaven in its heyday.

Then there is the estuary itself, a protected area of dunes and sand flats which even in late November were covered in wildflowers. The view from the river mouth back up the valley to the mountains beyond is spectacular. We have not even had time yet to explore the town itself.

Yesterday I was whingeing about 'endishness'; it's true, travelling day after day can be exhausting. However, how do you replace a day like today with all its different realities? Nothing about today was truly extraordinary, but the juxtaposition of the mundane somehow contrived to be exhilarating and thought provoking. Home is not like that, it's simply home. Tomorrow we drive to Bilbao, sleep on the dockside then sail to Portsmouth, home by Wednesday afternoon. What then?

Bar Azkena revisited.

The last time we had lunch in Bar Azkena back in early October so enraptured was I by the pintxos that I posted some rambling piece about civilisation, people power and food culture. This time I promise to be a bit less effusive.  It was interesting returning to San Sebastian after a few weeks, whereas in October it still felt summery and because the film festival was in full swing, the city was vibrant and exuded 'joie de vivre', or at least the Basque equivalent of it. Now, with Black Friday offers in the shops and fake Christmas trees on the streets, winter was knocking on the door. The city still oozed style, but it seemed more restrained.

Even so, big winter waves rolled-in ensuring the weekend surfers were out in force off  Zurriola hondartza and on San Sebastian's more sheltered La Concha beach a few stalwart souls were brave enough to go for a swim. Sand drawing man was still displaying his skills on the beach beside the promenade; beyond,once again the broad expanse  was scrawled with political messages that resisted Google translate.

The last time we visit the Brexta market it had been mid-week and it was almost empty. Now, on a Saturday it was crowded, all the specialist food stalls were open and a flower and fresh vegetable market had popped up outside on the pavement.

We installed ourselves in Bar Azkena, the food on offer was as exceptional as before. We had a couple of pintxos which we knew were delicious - the aubergine concoction in particular, but we also sampled a bacala based dish - as Gill commented, "there's a whole lot more going on there than just fish."

A Japanese gentleman was sitting next to us. He spoke no Spanish and little English and was struggling a little with using a knife and fork. Nevertheless he was very brave and determined to sample the range of the dishes on offer. Using Google translate we managed to explain what some of the ingredients were. I can imagine that pintxos would appeal to the Japanese palate and sensibility, the miniature dishes and complex design are reminiscent of sushi.

He seemed very enthusiastic about what he had sampled. We discovered that he was from Tokyo and travelling alone. He seemed very happy that we had once visited Tokyo, and when we explained that we had stayed in Shinjuku, he became positively delighted. Apparently he lived thereabouts.

We finished lunch with a couple of coffees then explored the market. The cake stall was full of tempting goodies. We bought four small almond pastries to take back for later. There is so much we don't understand about Spanish food, we wanted to buy some cured ham - but which one? At the fish stall some of the monsters for sale looked capable of eating you, rather than the other way around. 

After a final walk along the esplanade it was time to catch the bus back to Igueldo. I have no doubt that we will return to San Sebastian, it is one of our favourite places. A happy spot in a beautiful place, somewhere that seems determined to celebrate life's simply pleasures. Though it has style and panache, Donastia feels grounded, welcoming and inclusive. We love it.

Early onset endishness

We have got to that somehow or other stage of restlessness that harbingers journeys end. In fact this trip we surpassed ourselves by achieving an endish state a full week before we were due to sail back to dear old B. from Bilbao. We think the slightly fed up stage affects us more at the end of autumn trips than at other times, dark at 5.00pm. freezing mornings or mild mornings but wet - all contribute to feeling a bit downcast.

Which is silly really because the last few days have not been without their highlights. Each time we have driven from central Spain towards the north coast we have used a different route. This time we took the A67 directly north from Palencia towards Santander. On both the Phillips and Michelin road atlases it is marked as a secondary route; in fact it is a motorway. It seems little used by either cars or trucks.

I presume it was built to link the industrial hub of Valladolid and Palencia to the port of Santander. One reason why the motorway is quiet may be because a railway runs parallel to it. We spotted a long freight train of empty car transporter wagons trundling south, towards the big Ford factory in Palencia. When we passed the factory we had reflected that both  Ford Galaxies we had owned and possibly the Moho chassis had been manufactured here. We also reflected that during the decades that the UK had invested in banking and the service sector, Spain had encouraged manufacturing and modernised the country's road and rail infrastructure. It seems that the latter policy may well turn out to have been the wiser.

We chatted about this as we crossed the pallid plains of the 'Campoo', then watched faint clouds in the distance grow into mountains. There is something wonderful about observing a wall of mountains slowly materialise in front of you. It happens when you head north across the rice fields of the Po valley towards the Alps. If anything, because of the odd colourlessness of the Castilian plains the gradual appearance of the Cordilla Cantabria is even more spectacular. A few kilometres beyond the Cantabrian border the foothills retain an anaemic pallor. Then you top a rise, drop into a green valley and the only thing that prevents you thinking you have been miraculously transported into Mid-Wales is the fact the signposts don't mention Builith Wells.

Immediately it looked like home, a pastoral landscape of green hills and deciduous, autumnal woods. It was only then that we sensed just how foreign the endless plains of central Spain look to the English eye. We have driven through beige for days and days. Perhaps 'endishness' is merely our term for homecoming and our restlessness the result of the ambiguity it provokes in any inveterate traveller. We look forward to being somewhere familiar with home comforts like a bath, a dishwasher and timed central heating, but dread the routine.

We stayed overnight at the camperstop at the Parque de Cabárceno, paid our respects to the elephants, water buffalo and resident flock of egrets, then moved on to Santona on the coast. We like the workaday town and the tinned anchovies it produces.  Somehow we have managed to fill a couple of days doing very little, some shopping and updating the blog. The camperstop at Somo. across the bay from Santander, is inexpensive, provides ehu and has excellent free WiFi - always good.

Wales with elephants

Wales with egrets

Santona - no rusting trawlers here

A town centre statue honours the fish filliters - these days they tend to wear blue overalls and white plastic caps.

serious kit

I think we needed to slow up. I worked out that we have reached  day 72 of our trip, travelled 3400 miles and so far stayed overnight in 35 different spots. Eventually the constant adjustment to new places becomes mind boggling. I suspect I have a 10 -12 week trip maximum and I am close to that limit now. Tomorrow we are heading back to Camping Igueldo in San Sebastian for some end of trip pintxos, then it's a swift hop across the border into France to boost their wine industry. Monday night we'll be sleeping at Bilbao docks, Tuesday the ferry home. Endishness.... it's a funny business..

The road from Salamanca.

There is more or less a straight diagonal route from Salamanca to Bilbao, northeast, 250 miles, free motorway the whole way, nothing between us and the ferry than a range of 5000' mountains and a week. There was no need to hurry so we planned a slight squiggle from the straight line, veering north to Zamora, then along the valley of the Duero to visit Toro and Tordesillas.

Toro is situated on a rocky bluff above the Duero, it has a spectacular Romansesque cathedral, ancient ramparts, a moorish fortress and old streets and squares with half timbered buildings. We stopped on the outskirts, had lunch, then spent an hour or so wandering about.

The primary reason for the visit was not the place's architectural heritage but it's viniculture. We like Ribiera de Duero wines generally but have a particular soft spot for those produced in Toro. Somewhat frustratingly all the specialist wine shops were closed until 5.00pm for 'lunch'. The only place open was a small supermarket so we bought a couple of bottles there. In truth, unless you go for known growers and are willing to pay for the privilege, then you can often buy the same wine found in the bodega at a lower price in a local supermarket. 

It was a short drive along the valley to the campsite at Tordesillas. We arrived by mid-afternoon and after a coffee in the van decided to walk into town. Like Toro, Tordesillas is a walled riverside settlement established where an ancient bridge crossed the river. We caught the golden light of the late afternoon sun as we approached the town; it was very beautiful.

Of the two places Toro has famous wine, but it cannot match Tordesillas in terms of historical significance. This small town has achieved World Heritage status on the basis of the treaty that was signed here between the monarchs' of Spain and Portugal in 1494. The treaty was required after Columbus's return from the Caribbean two years previously. It drew an imaginary line down the Atlantic Ocean a couple of hundred miles to the west of the Cape Verde Is which allowed Portugal free passage to its trading posts in West Africa and control of the Indian Ocean; Spain gained access to the new transatlantic route.

At the time this probably looked like a fair deal as they assumed that the West Indies were an archipelago of islands lying between Europe and 'Cathay'. Nobody realised the huge landmass of North and South America lay in-between. This contemporary map shows the extent of this misapprehension.

We discovered this at the excellent small museum situated in the building where the treaty had been signed. As we looked at the reproductions of old maps and the explanations of the diplomacy that lead to the treaty how momentous the agreement proved to be. It sealed the fate of Portugal and Spain, the former building its empire in the East Indies and Africa, with Brazil its only 'prize' in the New World.

Spain gained the most, and conquered the remainder of South and Central America. This focus gifted North America to England, Holland and France's later imperial ambitions. We reflected just how much the shape of the modern world was defined by the treaty signed here. It could even mark the first glimmerings of global consciousness. Without it, no chillies in India, Roman Catholics in Peru, no African Americans, it sealed the fate of native American culture from the Aztecs to the Sioux. It is not possible to visit the museum without reflecting on the ingenuity and courage of 16th century explorers, but also their greed and merciless religious fervour. 

We had planned to stay in Tordesillas for two nights so we could visit the museum. We discovered that it was open until 6.30pm and included it as part of our evening stroll. By the time the sun was setting over the Duero we had more or less wrapped it up for Tordesillas.

When we returned to the van out came the weather apps. It soon became clear that there was no let up in dawn's minus temperatures. However, on the north coast, though daytime temperatures were cooler than here - high teens not low twenties - overnight it remained mild. A decision - tomorrow we head for the Cantabrian coast - if we have a few days spare before the ferry we might return for some pintxos in San Sebastian, perhaps cross over into France and visit the hypermarket in Hendaye for some pre-Christmas shopping. Black Friday has spread across Europe - there may be bargains!