In a world where life seems ever more mediated on-line, our choices commodified and everything we do comes bundled as a package, independent campsites remain unapologetically idiosyncratic. Over the past eight years we have stayed in hundreds of them all over Europe and beyond. I swear the weird and quirky outnumber the welcoming and well organised by a factor of more than 5:1.
Even top notch places with infinity pools, water slides or a wellness spa can display some inexplicable peculiar aspect. For example there's the lovely site in Bolneuvo with a fabulous Arabic baths themed shower block and direct beach access, so popular with the wrinklies of every northern European nation seeking Spanish winter sun that it is almost impossible to bag a pitch if you are touring. If you do, you feel lucky for about half an hour. Then the place's strangeness begins to dawn on you. The pitches are in a rectangular grid, each nation has purloined a particular patch, with national flags big and small fluttering from every gleaming Cathargo, Pilote, Roller Team or Autotrail. It's like an adult version of Disney's 'It's a Small World
Then there is the perfectly lovely site on the outskirts of Moraira. Situated on a hill with a nice view of the bay glimpsed through pines trees which shade each terraced pitch; it is a place we return to whenever we are heading along Spain's Mediterranean coast. However, it's not the sea view that makes it memorable but the sanitary block doors. Male and female are distinguished by a lifesize photo covering the door - a smiling twenty-something, glowing with health, like you might find on a toothpaste or suncream advert. A nice idea you might think, certainly unequivocal, you are never going to barge through the wrong door, confusing cabellaros with senoras. However, what makes the 'optics' truly memorable is the way both bright young things have been snapped perched on the loo with their pants around their ankles. You see, quirky, idiosyncratic, you would never find this in a restaurant or hotel, but for some reason it is acceptable on a campsite.
So far as idiosyncrasies go, where we are staying at the moment - Camping Villaviciosa displays a variant of the Moraira site's peculiarity, less improper but weirder. Again, as in the previous place there is a lot to like about where we are, the rural setting, neat grassy pitches marked by neat hedging, a woodland ambience, all lovely.
There is a conventional shower block down by reception, but in the low season it is closed. I suppose the smaller one up the hill is easier to clean. It's not terrible, even if it does occupy a couple of re-purposed shipping containers. It offers winter wanderers a choice of four individual bathrooms, each with a toilet, washbasin and shower. Though hardly luxurious, they are functional and the showers warm with a decent pressure. Outside there are two commercial sized washing machines and the washing up sinks have plenty of hot water. All good so far.
In a failed attempt to conceal the shower block's former life stacked up in Europoort the exterior had been jazzed-up with big murals. The facade has an Alice in Wonderland theme. Access to bathrooms one and two is through Alice's enormous face, three and four entered via the giant caterpillar.
The lock is broken on door number three so it hangs ajar; this makes the caterpillar look like a Cyclops drawn by Maurice Sendak on acid. It is all a little unnerving.
I wish now I had taken a photo of the shower block after dark. It is at night that the peculiarity of the sanitary arrangements can be fully appreciated. The place is illuminated by a long florescent strip light running the length of the facade. It's effect is twofold, firstly draining all colour from the murals, so when standing at the washing-up sinks you are confronted by Alice's deathly grey face with a big monochrome caterpillar looming ominously beside her. Secondly, it turns washing-up into a vaguely psychedelic experience - my bottle of lemon scented Fairy Liquid glowed as if transformed into liquid amber, the white mugs went acid blue, our blue plates looked almost black and the soapy water was very trippy, the suds winked at me, some glitteringly silver, others rainbow hued. I gave up on mind altering drugs over four decades ago, I found myself musing that maybe a changed state of consciousness is not always such a bad thing, especially given the state of the world at the moment.
We put up with strange campsites because it is a small price to pay to be able to travel inexpensively through beautiful places, and the coast of Asturias is particularly lovely in early Spring. Even so, our attempt to explore the locality was not without mishap either. Camping Villaviciosa is handy for the motorway but not for the coast; it is about 5kms from to nearest beach down a steep hill, Google maps warned us. While the NHS remains uncertain as to whether Gill needs a knee replacement, cycling up steep hills even on an e-bike is something we try to avoid. Instead of heading to the nearest beach at Selerio we noted a tangle of minor roads leading to a lighthouse at Cabo Lastres. Gill likes lighthouses, it seemed to be closer than the beach and we figured because it was on a cliff-top the road to it would not be as steep.
This proved to be an excellent example of how a set of perfectly reasonable assumptions can be way off kilter in practice. Google maps cycling layer is great for planning bike friendly routes but it has limitations. One of them is it does not distinguish between a country lane, a bike track and a greenway suitable for off-road adventures. The route to the lighthouse involved all of these, but featured the latter more than the former.
The other flaw in our plan related to a misapprehension regarding the topography. We were correct in our assumption that the cliff-top lighthouse was roughly at the same altitude as the campsite. What we failed to appreciate is that the Asturias coast is like Devon on steroids, the hinterland of the coast is criss-crossed by steep coombes, the rough tracks to the lighthouse snaked up and down, there was a bewildering network of them, without Google maps' strident verbal instructions we soon would have become utterly lost.
Undoubtedly the route we took was full of hidden delights. It took us off the beaten track, down farm tracks little used by tourists. The deep valleys meant the sea was out of sight, but the wooded countryside and emerald green fields were beautiful, and occasionally you got a glimpse of the snow-capped Picos de Europa in the distance.
Nevertheless we were in a bit of a pickle, it was really hard going, especially as we are still suffering from post-Covid fatigue. Our problem was that we now were equidistant from the nearest well surfaced road and the lighthouse. We decided to press on hoping when we reached the lighthouse it would have an asphalt road to it as well.
There was no way we could glean this from Google maps as we had strayed beyond the reach of Streetview, which is the nearest thing we have in the 21st century to Dr. Livingston style unexplored territory.
What made progress even slower was the condition of the track in the cleft of each valley. The recent rains had made them very muddy, tractors had churned them up, so they were deeply rutted and full of big puddles. The only way across was to creep past the briars at the edge carrying the bikes. After three such sections I began to get exhausted. Impressively Gill pushed her bike up the steep hill beyond at pace while I struggled, getting ever further behind like a geriatric Labrador. It was only when she paused to let me catch up that I discovered she had been using a feature on her bike that I don't have. The throttle allows her to push the bike at walking speed while using the electric motor. So while she trotted along beside her self powered bike I had been pushing all 26kgs. of mine over rough ground up a 20% slope. No wonder I was wrecked.
Finally we reached an asphalt road with a view of the sea and the lighthouse. It is a magnificent coast.
Nearby, vertiginous cliffs with the wild Atlantic fizzing below, in the distance green hills with snowy mountains beyond, it is called Costa Verde not without reason.
We plotted our return journey using the car setting on Google maps to make sure we used a proper road. It was a little further but took half the time.
Still, we had set out for a gentle pedal but had a small adventure instead. In retrospect it was fun, but not really a good idea in terms of our convalescence.
No comments:
Post a Comment