It's not much, but it's home..

In driving rain the ribbon developments running westwards along the clifftops from Newhaven to Brighton looked rundown and desolate. However, given the foul weather I suppose most places would look grim - our destination, East Brighton Caravan and Motorhome Club site

I moan so much about Caravan and Motorhome Club sites that I am beginning to wonder if in fact I derive some kind of perverse satisfaction in being irritated by them. They are not terrible, some important things they do get right, like the spacious pitches and wide access roads. I also think in recent years they must have put a bit of an effort into training the uniformed 'wardens' to be a little less officious; the ones today were almost welcoming.

Still, it is all a bit clubby, and my morning ablutions were accompanied by piped Radio Two. The presenter chattered mindlessly in a singsong tone like some probationary kindergarten teacher. Her infantile producer had come up with the bright idea of featuring live amateur choirs to make a change from the usual playlist of middle of the road pop music plucked from the latter decades of the last century. I hate Radio Two with a vengeance - canned smug mediocrity for the zombified masses! By the time I was out of the shower I was ready to run amok with a meat cleaver. Luckily, it's not something we carry in the van, so I had to make do with sharing my mental anguish with my nearest and dearest, who, after four decades still manages to be sympathetic. For an avowed atheist Gill at times displays almost saintly qualities.

Onwards through the rain towards London and the M25. Sarah and Rob Whatsapped blue-Med photos of the coasts of Corsica and Sardinia as they chugged eastwards on a ferry from Barcelona to Cittivecchio. We reciprocated with pictures of the 'Be Prepared for Brexit' stand in Clacket Lane services. I really do not know how I am going to cope with the absurdities of the fictitious crisis we have created for ourselves.

Well I do actually. Some bad news about our planned building project may provide a slender life line for my sanity. Paul, the builder, (Bob's brother I presume) is recuperating more slowly than anticipated from his broken ribs. Under the circumstances it seems more sensible to push back the start date until next March - better for him to be building in the Spring, better for us if we need to vacate the house for a few weeks and live in the van to be doing that in April, rather than this November or next January.

This means in January and February we could escape the worst of the Winter gloom and whatever surreal political shenanigans are happening at home by catching the ferry to Santander. So instead of fulminating about the latest attack on British democracy by bug-eyed English nationalists we are now chatting about which Spanish carnivale might be the best to see - a much more alluring prospect. I know we can't keep running away from home forever, but sadly the place doesn't really feel like home anymore; perversely we feel more at home as strangers elsewhere.

Anyway, not everything about home is terrible. Today is our eldest's birthday so we are off to spend a couple of days with Matthew. Abbey Wood camp site here we come; it's hardly the beautiful south, but it is South London and it does have parakeets. When you wake-up in the morning the Thamesmead environs may be somewhat 'Del boy', but the soundtrack is quite Andalusian, I just keep my eyes closed and pretend.

London, far from the most visually appealling of the world's great cities...

Looks better after dark?

Then up the M1. Gill Googled the mysterious giant graffiti adorning the bridges around Luton. Nobody knows the significance of the word 'Helch so far as we could tell. I speculated that it might be some Phd. socio-linguistics student from the University of Luton testing out how words acquire meaning through exchange, like a currency, rather than having any innate definition. Anyway, it kept us entertained for half an hour on an otherwise tedious journey.

Why are second tier English A roads the width of donkey tracks? This is certainly the case with the section of the A515 north of Ashbourne. Now that Buxton seems to have turned itself into a major centre for HGV operations the narrow Pennine A roads around it have become a tad hair-raising. Stage one of homecoming is signalled by an increasing number of 'Lomas' tankers hurtling towards us on roads built for stagecoaches.

Queue of cars, procession of cows - welcome home!

Stage two involves bulbous dark cumulus hanging above Axe Edge and Morridge pinpointing Buxton perfectly . Arrival always coincides with a persistent drizzle. Today was no exception.

We unloaded the van soggily, opened the pile of mail (nothing untoward), gave thanks that the car battery had just about enough juice in it for the engine to splutter into life, took the the van up to its storage spot among the sheep, returned, switched-on the laptop and booked the ferry to Santander for the 4th January.

The only problem is how to stay sane between now and then.

Back the way we came, again.

The young German couple on the next pitch down were packing up at the same,time as us. Their two year old son was having a great time giving Ralfi small sticks then falling about with laughter as the dog made off with them, his long tail wagging furiously. He is very gentle with small children and only becomes barking mad when faced with pooches six times his size,.

In between dog and toddler watching we chatted about our respective homeward journeys, the Germans to Weimar in the east of the Bundersrepublik, ours to Northern Angryland. Impressively the young Germans were planning to make the 1400km trip with only one stop. Even in our most manic moments, when for a decade or so it became the norm for us to dash to the Med every Easter, we always needed at least two stops to drive a similar distance. These days, in the moho we tend to give it a week. No rushing about. We also seem to have become somewhat stuck in our ways in terms of our route home staying in the same places for the last three sojourns along the A75 autoroute. Though we are happy to meander south, once we decide to go home for some reason we are seized by an imperative to head back as quickly as possible.

So, once more, two days at Loupian and Meze...

North, by-passing Millau by the bridge - a photo is compulsory...

Next, an overnight stop at Massiac - nice free aire by the river, great cheese shop, typical Cantal town, handy for the A75 autoroute... what more can you ask?

Ever northwards, the Massif Central is France's Pennines, complete with dull weather and drizzle...

Next, squeezed on to the ever popular Aire at St Pourcain sur Sioule.

The French do love their appalling public sculpture - sometimes so bad it's good....

A longish drive to Sully sur Loire, we conspired to arrive on market day. The cheese and olives were good, we passed on the horse meat..

We stayed two nights and managed a very pleasant cycle up the 'Loire en velo' track...

Next day, an even longer journey to to Neufchatel en Bray; big clouds over wheatfields near Chartres presaging the stormy weather to come. As on the way south the aire at Neufchatel was full and we squeezed onto the last place in the one nearby in nearby Mesiniere en Bray.

An over relaxed start the following day meant we were last people onto the 12.30pm ferry from Dieppe, the last minute dash made even more tricky by a convoy of trucks carrying giant bits for a wind-turbine.

The crossing was very lumpy-bumpy, I am not a good sailor; I never actually throw-up, I just go very lethargic and feel like death. Homecoming always feels a bit odd, right now perhaps 'dreadful' is the best way of describing it. 

Cala Figuera

In between Camping Cala Llevada's two main beaches is a tiny, steeply shelved pebbly cove, a perfect swimming spot. It's a tad tricky to reach, a bit of a scramble over jagged rocks at the southern end of Chiringuito Mar Azul's beach or a clamber down uneven steps that zigzag dizzily through pine trees from the camping terraces. Viewed from above the little rocky cove positively invites you to dive in.

Unsurprisingly given its allure and relative seclusion it had been adopted as a textile optional spot, particularly popular with the svelte occupants of  German camper vans that congregate in the more remote pitches among the pine trees. This presented me with a bit of a dilemma, faced with a perfect swimming spot I get an almost irresistible desire to paddle about, equally however, I have no pressing need to assert my love of Nature by wandering about in it like some latter-day Adam.

On our first day at Cala Llevada as usual I rolled out of bed around eightish, made a jug of coffee then wandered off for a shower. There was no one about. My train of thought went - if there's nobody in the shower block at this time then probably the beaches are deserted too. Next day I woke as usual had a coffee, then grabbed a towel and wended my way down to Cala Figuera. My hunch proved correct, I had the cove to myself.

 

I guess from one side to the other Cala Figueras cannot be more than 150m across, so it's easy to 'do widths'. The sun had just risen, swimming southwards, the wooded hills above the cove lit up in a golden light, the big picture windows swanky villas among the trees flashing bronze.

Turning around, I found myself swimming into darkness as if time had reversed; the north end of the cove was still in shadow, the sun had yet to top the low promentory; it jutted into the pewter grey water like a wedge, dark  as charcoal. As I swam back for a second time the sun rose above cliffs, a big pine tree on the clifftop silhouetted momentarily, then the first rays of sunlight streaked towards me dancing across the wavelets like tepid lightening. To have this all to myself was humbling.

An empty beach presents no challenges at all so far as attire is concerned, it becomes purely a question of personal preference not tribal affiliation, which is how it should be. The weather in Cala Llevada was perfect all week, I managed a dawn swim five mornings in a row.

Only on day five, when I was a little tardy getting up was my lone reverie disturbed. The cove was empty when I arrived, but as I turned to swim back I had been joined by a naked man sitting in the corner on a beach chair reading. A couple of minutes later another guy stood on the edge of the water contemplating joining me. His partner was faffing about with a big beach umbrella on a small patch of sand near the steps. Time to go.

'Morgen!', she said brightly as I made my way past. I returned the greeting, though not quite so brightly. As I huffed and puffed up the steep path I realised I was feeling slightly put out. It was not their nudity that had affronted me but their very presence. After four days of solitary dawn swims, in my head I had purloined sun-rise at Cala Figuera for myself, it had been a truly beautiful solitary experience; I felt reluctant to share it.  I will remember these mornings forever.

Chiringuito Mar Azul - a meal in a very happy place!

In this age of TripAdvisor hits, Instagram likes, Bloomberg rankings, Ofsted grades and, especially for all the total nerds out there (like me), the Office of National Statistic's Indices of Multiple Deprivation, it is difficult these days to avoid the temptation to turn everything into a league table and end up writing about your travels as if they were some sort of join the dots puzzle of hot-spots. A couple of years ago we may have quietly mocked an American couple on the table next to us in a café in Olivera when they scored every country on their 'Yrup trip' out of ten, concluding Fraince was 'the tops' but Airthens 'just didn't cud it', but we are not entirely immune from the malaise ourselves, declaring from time to time some place or other the top spot for this or that:

• Best aire de camping car: Neufchatel-en-Bray

• Top spot in Donostia for cheap pinxos: Brexta Mercat's Bar Askena

• Number one soulful seaside sleepy spot: Kattnäs Camping, Åland, Finland

• The epitome of small archaeological museums: Mycenae

• The ultimate Tuscan Sausage: 'Ancient Butcher's Norcineria' Montopoli', Toscana.

• The finest Camping Municipal in France: Loupian

• The greatest beach bar in the galaxy: The Cabana Beach Restaurant, Burgau, Portugal  

All of which is fine until you find somewhere better; so far as of the ultimate beachside bar is concerned, today the Cabana Beach Restaurant was knocked off the top spot by Cala Llevada's Chiringuito Mar Azul, which we hereby crown as the best Chiringuito this 'side of the Big Bang', to misquote Douglas Adams.

Why?

1. Location

Mar Azul sits at the foot of some pine clad cliffs at the back of Cala D'en Carlos, a little shingly cove a few miles east of Tossa de Mar. The location is semi-private in so much is it is part of Camping Cala Llevada, so unless you are staying on the site it takes a little bit of an effort to get there, car parking is limited and the track to the place is very steep. Consequently, in the shoulder season at least, both the beach and the Chiringuito never get over-crowded. That being said, if you want to guarantee a table for lunch at the week-end, it's a small place, so it's best to book ahead.

Because the place is built on a narrow rocky shelf above the beach, from the tables all you can see is the sea, hopefully deep blue and sparkling silver. Viewed through the drooping palm fronds it feels more tropical than Mediterranean. It's lovely.

2. Food and drinks

So far as the menu is concerned, the choice is very limited. In our experience the more limited the menu the more likely it is you are are going to be served something cooked to order, made from fresh ingredients and the simple truth is that no matter how skilled the chef, it's great ingredients that are the bedrock of deliciousness. Chiringuito Mar Azul serves freshly caught fish, what is on offer depends on whatever the local fishermen have netted earlier. Between the four of us we ordered a mixed fish grill and one 'big fish' - a grouper - both were perfectly cooked, maybe the mixed grill was the better of the two as it offered a medley of tastes.

The other Mar Azul speciality is fresh salads. They looked spectacular and again the ingredients could not be more freshly sourced.

There are aspects of this basic chiringuito that are extraordinary. On a steep stony slope at the foot of the cliff the owners have a established a small, but highly productive 'huerta'. I had to look-up the Spanish word, it means 'orchard'.

Though the soil is little more than gravelly sand it grows a remarkable range of fruit and vegetables on the small plot. Raised beds have been created, the low walls built using the  larger stones from the beach. There are lots of big pots and boxes too, full of herbs and vegetables that require a richer soil. I suppose the place thrives because it is a suntrap, sheltered from the wind by the cliffs but with a southerly aspect. We've seen such miniature Edens elsewhere, in southeast Sicily, particularly around Marsala, but never one on a beach. There is even a small raised bed at the front of the bar next to the wooden stairs leading down to the sand. Squash plants tumble down the low  bank  their fruits lining the edge of the sand like vegetable conches. Sustainability and zero km. produce lies at the heart of Mar Azul's  menu; it is an alluring, delicious proposition.

Like the menu the drinks on offer are not unusual, draft and craft beers, local wines and classic cocktails - but what more would you want?

 3. Vibe

The style of the place leans towards beach bum paradise rather than Ibiza cool, featuring rustic style white painted wooden table and chairs; nets, basketry, fishing floats and local ceramics hang from the rafters, sun dried palm fronds fringe the ocean view. The staff too contribute to this laid back vibe, a young, friendly diverse bunch, service is slow paced, but nobody here is in a hurry.

Weekends feature live bands, when we were there a soulful lone guitarist singing his own heartfelt songs. Difficult to tell what he was feeling soulful about as they were in Spanish, but he was definitely unrequited about something. Usually the soundtrack is more upbeat, late afternoon DJ sessions from the place's small deck - as the music drifts across the beach people rise from their sunbathing torpor and samba about a bit. Otherwise the place has latin jazz and bossa nova pulsing quietly in the background. It's quite difficult to feel old here; that's a blessing if you actually you are sixty plus. Anyway, I tracked down a bit of video taken by someone which gives a feel of the place.

A beautiful location, delicious locally sourced food, young friendly staff, a mix of interesting music, a stunning Mediterranean view, Mar Azul exudes optimism and hope, right now that seems in short supply. Taken together you find yourself concluding most people are nice, life can be good, the pursuit of pleasure is a virtue. So we thanked the fishes for their sacrifice before we ate them, then forgave the bar staff for their minor transgression - Sarah judged her Pina Colada a tad too sweet; after all, we are not talking paradise here, merely an imperfect utopia, which is as good a state we humans are ever likely to achieve.

Postscript

Three weeks later, back at home looking over a cold, grey windswept garden as I fiddle about trying to eradicate the blog's worst typos, I reflected on the Jay Rayner's review of  The Humble Bee Café at Stepney City Farm that I read in the Guardian yesterday. The great thing about Jay Rayner as a food critic is that he will look beyond the latest culinary wunderkind who has Michelin stars in his eyes and take seriously more modest places that are producing excellent food on a shoestring budget within a particular community.

Perhaps as the world changes then our perception of what makes a great restaurant has to change too. Globalisation has opened us up to experiencing tastes, ingredients and dishes from across the world and led to new, exciting fusion cookery. What Mar Azul and the Humble Bee Cafe show is that using fresh ingredients from right outside your door can produce truly delightful food. Small can be beautiful, or as Jay Raynor put it succinctly, one of life's true delights is - A meal in a very happy place.

More of a holiday than a trip

Looking back at the previous post it reads as if I am really negative about my working life. I am about the end of it, for both of us it was something of a car crash, but we were hardly alone in that. In the first few years of the Cameron government public sector employment shrunk by half a million. I guess we were simply a couple of digits in a statistic about how 'downsizing' can be ameliorated through 'natural wastage'; that sounds fine until you find yourself included as detritus.

Both of us spent most of our working lives in Further and Adult education, it was a worthwhile thing to do opening access to learning to people who had underachieved previously. One benefit of our jobs, well, at least before we both ended up in management, was that we both could take a long break in the summer. For a decade or so we were able to travel abroad as a family for up to a month at a time. In some ways what we are doing at the moment recalls those times, a month abroad in summery weather travelling with the our daughter and her partner. As they are working remotely on-line as they travel, then we have opted to stay for a week or two in a couple of places rather than tour. We chose the first place, they the second, both have been great.

Camping Ile Matua, Cala Montgo, L'Estartit.

Cala Montgo is a perfectly half-moon shaped cove about 3 kms west of L'Escala on the Costa Brava. The rocky hill on one side of the cove is covered in white villas Opposite there are acres of empty pine forest which stretch along the coastal hills all the way to Estartit. It's developed enough to have a good local supermarket and beach side cafes and restaurants but close to more secluded spots with spectacular views to the north over the Bay of Roses and the Pyrenees.

L'Escala is a pleasant old town which has developed into a low key resort. Nearby are the extensive Graeco-Roman ruins of Empuries. We spent a lovely 10 days here in May 2017. Laura joined us for the final few days; it felt like a good place for another family get together.

Rob bought a paella pan at L'Escala's Sunday market. Next day was our wedding anniversary, a good excuse to try it out. With three enthusiastic cooks among us (I am the exception, the culinary equivalent of being tone deaf) there were plenty of ideas about what ingredients we needed, the issue was how to cook it - use the cooker in the van, the Cadac burner as a gas ring or the portable induction hob we purchased a few months ago from IKEA.

After some discussion we opted for the induction hob. It worked remarkably well so long as you moved the big shallow pan around every couple of minutes to make sure the paella cooked through evenly. Sarah and Rob provided the fizz for the occasion in the form of a very classy Cava.

We discussed what else we might do. Perhaps head towards Empuries and have lunch in the ancient village of Sant Pere Pescador just beyond the archaeological site.

The plan never materialised. It rained steadily for the next day and a half. Worse still for Sarah and Rob living in a tent, it blew a gale. Though it was a bit miserable in fact we were lucky, a couple of hundred kilometres to the south full blown storms raged in Valencia and Murcia. Torrential rain caused flash flooding. As well as widespread damage to property there were a few fatalities. The freak weather seemed to belocalised. About fifty kilometres south near Tossa De Mar sunshine was forecast even though nearby in Barcelona the storms seemed set to continue. We were heading towards Tossa de Mar anyway, so we brought our plans forward.

Cala Llevada, Tossa de Mar.

Sarah and Rob had stayed at Camping Cala Llevada twice before on trips to and from Lisbon. It is a large sprawling site in the pine clad hills between three coves. Most of the terraced pitches are only suitable for tents, steep wooden steps connect the different levels, most spots have a sea view through the trees. Leading off from the metalled roads are bigger pitches suitable for caravans and motorhomes, some easy to access, others requiring advanced reverse parking skills to squeeze between the trees. Sarah and Rob found a pretty pitch with a sea view. We compromised on the picturesque for ease of access.

The first few days coincided with the arrival of 25 coach loads of first year students from Lyon University, their arrival was a matter of some anxiety to the site's staff, the receptionist particularly regarding the invasion as some kind of impending apocalypse. In fact a lot of planning had gone into managing the invasion. Half the the site had been cordoned off and the two day student party concentrated in the camping bungalow area down a separate road screened from us by trees. About a dozen beefy looking security guys were on hand to keep order. In fact there was no trouble at all. However, though the 1300 partying 18 year olds were largely invisible, they were not inaudible. Thumping dance music until 4am. disturbed our sleep for two nights in a row. Sarah and Rob were more affected than us, they were closer to the party and a tent affords no sound insulation whatsoever. One night they opted to use the big drop-down bed in the van proving that you can accommodate four adults and a dog in a 7m box.

Everyone was relieved when the coaches left and the site reverted to being idyllic. When Sarah and Rob first started planning their itinerant existence we bought them a book called 'Cool Camping'. It is a guide to Europe's sites with a natural vibe providing 'glamping' with an environmentally friendly ethos. Camping Cala Llevada featured on the front cover, which is how Sarah and Rob discovered it

At the height of the summer season Camping Cala Llevada is probably frenetic, but in June and September it is quiet and beautiful. It is named after the biggest of its three coves,. The beach at Cala Llevada is the biggest with a restaurant, leisure facilities and a beach club. It was the one occupied by the horde of French students, luckily the furthest from where we were camping. Consequently we only ever saw it from afar from the beach at Cala den Carlo on the opposite side of the bay. Whichever beach you choose involves a steep climb. Shuttles operate in high season but not in September. The track is beautiful winding through the pine covered hills and at the end you are rewarded with a perfect little beach, good for swimming, with a stylish Chiringuito playing jazz with a Latin flavour and at the weekend live music. It's the Mediterranean we dream of on chilly days back home.

We stayed for a week in Cala Llevada and only left the site twice. First a shopping trip to Mercadona in Lloret de Mar; in fact the onsite supermarket is well stocked and inexpensive so there was no need to head out other than to reduce the sense of being a bit trapped. The only other sightseeing we did was did was a late afternoon visit to Tossa de Mar. Sarah, Rob and Ralf walked the precipitous 3km coastal path; we decided our knees weren't up to it and caught the bus.

The old town of Tossa de Mar is spectacularly situated on a rocky headland between two bays.

"You must climb up the coast path for a couple of hundred metres, the view is stunning!" Sarah insisted when we met up at the small beach behind the castle walls. She was right, the old town looks stunning from above.

Much of the rest of Tossa is a tourist trap, but it's a pretty one that still retains a bit of character. Without the influence of our off-spring we would never have found ourselves in a Rock themed craft beer bar. Interesting!

Sarah had booked a table at 'Portal', a restaurant she had found on her previous visit. It has an inventive tapas menu, a mix of traditional Spanish classics with Asian influenced dishes and contemporary European cooking.

The prawns in brandy and patatas bravas were well cooked Spanish favourites; the technique behind the swordfish ceviche originally came from Peru; the fish tataki was a Japanese dish and the beef cheeks with lime infused mashed potato and onion tartin with a mild cheese foam both the chef's own inventions we suspected. Tapas is a great way to eat well, a shared gastronomic experience - inexpensive too, the entire mini feast including a bottle of wine worked out at a little over £21 each.

It has been great to travel together, especially with younger people whose energy and creativity becomes infectious. After a week at Cala Llevada we packed up and headed back towards France. Sarah and Rob are staying on for a few more days then catching the ferry from Barcelona to Cittavecchio. They have rented an apartment for a month in Lecce. We are heading home to a winter of  project management. This September may be the first we have been away from home since 1978, however October is our first in England for five years. Winter comes early to Buxton, I wish we were heading for Italy too. Britain is a gloomy and divided place right now. The Turpies are very much British Europeans, it feels very strange to be so at odd with the zeitgeist at home, a stranger in your own country.