Valencia and Valenciana

We never planned to get this close to the border with Catalonia, it makes no sense whatsoever given we are heading for Santander. However, now we are well to the north of Valencia the question becomes, where next? We originally had a plan to spend the final couple of weeks exploring the Via Verde that runs south from Haro in Rioja, then have a day or two in Bilbao before catching the ferry. However the forecast for the north of Spain remains mixed with temperatures ten degrees colder than here on the Mediterranean coast. 

"What about revisiting Tarragona and then  heading back through Huesca and Pamplona?" Gill suggested. It was a good plan, especially as we had not been to Tarragona for years, perhaps in 2009 we speculated.  It seems like a long way round, I pondered. So in the end we decided to go back to Betera, visit Valencia, then spend a few days at Navajas where we could cycle on the Via Verde Ojos Negras. It was only later that I worked out that the Tarragona/Huesca route would actually have been shorter.

However we are never going to regret revisiting Valencia's Market Bar. In fact it's more or less all we do these days in Valencia. Hop onto the metro...

head into the city and walk to the market..

admire the world's most beautiful cathedral  of food, outside...

inside...

and upwards.. 

then find the bar... 

 

choose lunch...

anchovies on a fresh cheese base, similar to ricotta.... 

patatas bravas (not any old ones, definitely a bit 'cheffy')...

pork meat balls in a curry sauce with lots of mint and peanuts...

pud (cheese cake, very luscious)...

Then just wander about, buy a few things, and take pictures of the glorious produce...

...then head back to the metro, Valencia, tick!

This trip we arrived as usual at Àngel Guimerà metro station in the heart of the old city. Rather than catch the metro back from there we decided to cut across to the Turia stop.

This took us beyond the old city walls and through the crescent shaped park that follows the old course of the river Turia which was redirected last century to protect Valencia from flooding.

The city has many grand buildings from the middle ages to modern. However the place is not a museum, it's youthful, vibrant and a bit grungy in places. Consequently it has fabulous graffiti, almost as good (or bad!) as Naples.

Alongside the metro...

decorating shop's metal shutters.... 

and embellishing mundane street furniture with impromptu intimate advice...

In the end, despite the fridge glitch we did manage our trip to Valencia. Neither of us are 'city people'. More often than not I find them demoralising, but there are exceptions and for us Valencia is one of them.

Even so, it felt good to be heading up the A23 towards Navajas. The Altamira campsite is an outdoorsy sort of place next to the Via Verde de Ojos Negras. As well the cycle track there is a beautiful walk down a limestone gorge to a notable waterfall. The last time we were here in November 2014, after the summer dry season the cascade was somewhat underwhelming, this time, in springtime, we were hoping for a more spectacular display.

The site is terraced and the connecting roads very steep indeed, in fact it appears to have become much more vertiginous in the intervening eight years since our last visit. This is something we have noted throughout Southern Europe recently, the same is true for steps and staircases. I don't understand what is going on, it's probably due to some weird new EU regulations, thank goodness for Brexit.

In the Spring the area is delightful, though actually getting onto the via verde from the site can be a challenge. The bike track runs parallel to the back of the site but the unmetalled road to it is very steep, impossible to cycle-up, and very hard-going to push a heavy e-bike up the slope. It would have been very frustrating to be so close to trail but unable to find a way onto it. Another option was to cycle about a kilometre along the road from the campsite to the motorway junction where a minor road off the roundabout intersected with the Via Verde, it was still uphill but it didn't look like quite so brutal a climb. 

Gill had Aran sweater rows to do so I offered to reconnoitre the route in preparation for a longer cycle ride tomorrow. Actually, I had an ulterior motive. The last time we were here I remembered taking some photographs of a giant cube-like blue warehouse. Back then I had just completed my MA dissertation. The main part was a bog standard 20,000 word thesis, but the University' of Derby's Masters course allowed me to submit a parallel 'creative project'. It involved an exploration in prose, verse, photography and video of the Midlands section of the A38 trunk road  (a bit niche!).One thing I became slightly obsessed with was the architecture of distribution centres. These days they are common place, but nine years ago it seemed novel to have gigantic windowless structures plonked in the middle of the landscape, visually striking like something Anthony Gormely might dream-up. My favourite was the gigantic square box belonging to Argos near Burton on Trent, until I came across an even bigger and more alluring azure blue box next to the A23 on the outskirts of Segorbe, in other words just down the road from where we are staying now.

Today dawned  beautifully warm. The last time we we here it was late autumn, clear but chilly. Now feels almost summery and the the Via Verde  lovelier than I remembered. 

But appreciating the beautiful countryside was not my main concern. It was this....

I really do think it is a hauntingly beautiful building, so of our time. Chartre Cathedral expresses how religion was central to medieval culture, Versailles the secular heft of the Divine Right, but this obscure giant blue box is a fitting icon of our culture, driven by a Faustian pact between consumerism and global capitalism. 

 I love the juxtaposition of the building with the olive trees.

Of course the thing only becomes truly magical when the sky is blue, in dull weather it is just another big warehouse. I suppose I should stop posting pictures of it now, I took about a dozen!

Next day we headed both headed up the trail in the opposite direction. Again it was a  warm spring day. Because the old line runs along a contour about halfway up the valley side you get great views of the craggy hills and the embalse del Regajo.

The ride takes you through beautiful woods and remote valleys.

There are a few tunnels, none of them very long, but quite primitive, roughly hewn through bare rock.

We cycled as far as the next town, Jerica, or at least the site of its disused station. 

The round trip was about 20kms, once you factored in the steep slope up to the Via Verde then back up to our pitch then I think it counted as enough activity for one day.

The other notable site in Navajas is the Salto de la Novia. As I mentioned previously the famous waterfall was a mere trickle the last time we were here. This time we hoped for the full works, especially as it's a short but challenging hike.

There and back is less than 4km. but the way involves steep climbs over uneven ground, on the edge of what Gill should be doing given the condition of her knee It was worth it, the falls were in full flow. 

The river Palancia is beautiful too, with mirror-like pools and small cascades and a number of 'fuentes', natural springs that had been tapped as sources of mineral water 

The gorge itself has spectacular  limestone formations where the petrified roots of ancient tree form intriguing patterns on the fissured cliff faces.

As for the Navajas itself, there is nothing remarkable about it, a typical small town with an ancient centre, but it is in a lovely setting.

The campsite is good too, very steeply terraced, not an issue for people a couple of decades younger than us, not impossible for us either right now, but I could see how it easily could become so. 

The place is part of the Caravan Club's 'prepaid overnight stop vouchers' appealling to British travellers who like to go somewhere recommended,  attracting fellow club members who are similarly minded. There were clusters of them dotted about the site being chatty and sociable. I am truly terrible at small talk, luckily we had been given a pitch some distance from the part of the foreign field that is 'forever England'.

We were parked next to a couple from Bavaria. Their English was limited but they were amiable. He was a bit of an Anglophile. Over the course of a few halting conversations we learned he loved the Royal Family especially 'Lady Di', was very sympathetic over the our recent loss (Queen's death), and couldn't understand Brexit at all because there wasn't 'one good thing about it'. Well at least there was one thing we could agree about! 

He was in his early seventies, but quite spritely. When he told me he was a master baker by trade it didn't surprise me. He had an interesting, lively face with a very well trimmed mustache. So it came as bit of surprise when he became quite excited and spoke at length of his lifelong love of the Rolling Stones. Then almost as an afterthought.. alzo  Barclay James Harvest...

Later Gill mused, what was their famous song, 'Mockingbird'? I nodded, and 'Galadriel', that was another one I added. This gem of prog-rock trivia proved fateful, for days snippets of 'Galadriel' have plagued me, especially the descending cadence that ended with the phrase, 'Oh what it is to be young...' its so bloody infuriating, it won't go away. 

Camping Lingerie

Luck was on our side when we chose Tambo Motorhomes, they did a good job, and the people were friendly and professional. On the the way to the place we passed the factory where Benimar motorhomes are manufactured. I wondered if there was a connection between the two, maybe the repair place had been set up by a former engineer. When I asked the mechanic he said no, in fact he was somewhat dismissive of the local company, at least indirectly, implying it was no accident that he owned a German built one.

In one area however Tambo was less than ideal, there was no waiting area for customers. Gill spotted a chair, purloined it, and switched on her Kindle. I leaned on a nearby post and tapped away on my phone and updated the blog, then every so often did a circuit of the small industrial estate. Boredom set in and I began reading the online reviews of nearby campsites. In Benicario itself - Camping Alegría del Mar, a beach-side site and a bit of a resort it seemed. Then a few kilometres inland, 'Camping Paradis L 'Orangeraie' as the name implies, French owned, situated in a more rural location near Calig, which looked like an attractive village. "Camping l' Orangeraie" seems more our thing," I commented.

Gill glanced up from her Kindle looking slightly bemused, "Camping Lingerie?" she queried. It only goes to show, my French pronunciation may be dreadful, but I can speak Franglais like a native.

We paid up, then headed for Camping Lingerie via Bencario's newly opened Family Cash hypermarket. It had a petrol station with diesel at €1.41 per litre. Perhaps 15 cents less than the rate at Repsol, so on a typical 60 litre top up a saving of €9. Given we had shelled-out €400 in the past two days to get the fridge fixed, the saving on the fuel was a modest gain. Nevertheless we were inexplicably pleased by our small windfall.

The campsite proved to be as lovely as the blurb in the ACSI book promised. The northern part of Valenciana resembles the Mediterranean landscapes of the Costa Brava, Cote d'Azur, Tuscany or the Amalfi Coast. Dark green maritime pines, crags and cliffs of reddish or pale grey rocks, an outrageously blue sky and sea, olive groves and vineyards, cream stone villages and colour washed ports, it's a fatally alluring stereotype for northern Europeans. Happily in many places it also happens to be true.

For us it is without doubt 'our happy place', fuelled partly by a string of books published in the nineties and noughties written by people who had upped-sticks and moved to some inexpensive ruin in the South - 'A Year in Provence', 'Under the Tuscan Sun', 'Extra Virgin', we read them all and truly believed that one day we might emulate them. In the meantime working in education meant for 15 years or so most Easter and Summer holidays we managed to head south on camping trips with the kids. So Valenciana's more verdant Mediterranean landscape, in early Spring with fruit trees in blossom and evenings seemingly longer after the clocks  changed, all felt reassuringly familiar.

The nearby village of Calig also looks  'un-Spanish', flipping through our photos it quite easily could have been somewhere in the South of France, Liguria or Tuscany.

The campsite was managed by French people and many of the customers were from 'la Republique' too. There was a quirkiness about the layout and the facilities tended to value style over function, it all added to its Gallic ambience.

I suppose we should see this as our 'French fix'; for the first time we won't be making a mad dash north through France, opting to catch the ferry from Bilbao instead. This may be fortuitous as France is in revolt right now with millions of people taking to the streets to protest against raising the pension age to 64. The protests have sparked strikes affecting oil refineries and fuel deliveries leading to forecourt shortages. I have been dreading the long sea crossing but now it seems to be the better option. 

We depart two weeks today, the good news is a plume of summery weather is forecast for the next few days predicting temperatures nudging into the upper twenties. Overall we have had mainly dry days but not especially warm.  Gadding about weather rather than relaxing in the sun. It would be good to get in a bit of lounging about before we head back to Buxton's more bracing climate.

 

 

 

Fridge glitch 2

Sequels, they never quite match the original. Well ok, there are exceptions, arguably Godfather II is a greater film than the first one. In the case of our own screwball comedy, it is difficult to imagine how 'Fridge glitch 1' could be bettered, but we have given it a go over the past few days.

We had a plan (we always do). It didn't work out (it seldom does). Rather than go directly towards Valencia we decided to head north by a more circuitous route towards a remote campsite about 10km from Utiel. Kiko Park Rural, is very rural, in the middle of nowhere by the side of a big embalse. Out of season it gets busier at weekends full of Valencians seeking some peace and quiet. Mid-week it's more or less deserted, if you  are seeking solitude with decent facilities and a laundry I can't think of anywhere better in Spain.

From Mula to Kiko Park is about 250kms, doable in a day, but we decided to be relaxed about it and split the trip, staying in an area autocaravanas in Yecla. We have used the little used motorway north from Murcia before. At this time of year it's particularly pretty, the valley covered in cherry and almond trees all coming into blossom in early March. 

Beyond the fruit growing area are two wine towns, Jumillia and Yecla. Waitrose regularly has wines on deal from them; as often is the case we had sampled the wine well before becoming familiar with the terroir. In fact so far as Yecla goes the wine proved to be considerably more alluring than its place of origin which looked to be a sprawl of utilitarian mid-rise apartment blocks, ugly factories and warehousing. 

The area autocaravanas occupies a dusty piece of waste land on the edge of town next to some newly built sports facilities. The skate park was enormous. 

 

We arrived early afternoon so had plenty of time to mull over the pressing issue of the day. Has the fridge given up the ghost or was it underperforming because we have put too much stuff in it?  I scrabbled around the van's nooks and crannies in search of the small digital thermometer we used to carry. Clutching a carton of milk then attempting to estimate if it is warmer or colder than it was half an hour ago proved an unreliable method of testing the efficiency of a fridge. The thermometer did the job in ten minutes proving the interior of the fridge was in fact the warmest place in the van by 2°.

Whereas the last time our fridge failed it took us two days to accept we needed to find  place to get it fixed; this time, after a cursory glance at the Dometic handbook we got straight onto Google to find somewhere. Heading for the 'lone splendour' of Kiko Park no longer made sense. We decided to drive towards Valencia on the basis that the third biggest city in Spain had to have a few  motorhome repair places Which it did, but we had additional criteria - not in some scary urban area with nightmare traffic and  close to somewhere to stay overnight if the place couldn't book us in straightaway. Which is why we settled upon 'Van'camper' on the coast at el Perellonet about 20km south of the city.  

Choosing somewhere to fix a motorhome in a foreign country when you don't speak the language is something of a lottery. Vanicamper's website mentioned 'Dometic', the on-line reviews were positive, the woman who answered the phone, seemed friendly, helpful and spoke English fluently. We arranged to arrive late morning exiting the Yecla area autocaravanas early. 

Though we have visited Valencia city numerous times the surrounding area is unfamiliar territory. There is a big fresh water lagoon to the south of the city; the Parc Natural de l'Albufera is a protected wetland, popular with birdwatchers and important agriculturally as it irrigates Valencia's rice fields. No lagoon, no paella, a true gem of both ornithology and gastronomy! 

The countryside immediately behind the coast is protected but the littoral is not, a string of small resorts merge into a sprawling ribbon development all the way from Valencia to Cullera. El Perellonet, our destination was roughly halfway between the two.

We were following directions on Gill's phone rather than the satnav as it's more reliable in built up areas. We arrived at the 'Vanicamper spot' on Google Maps, a lampost in the middle of an seaside villa development.

This cannot be it, we agreed pulling into a parking bay. Across the road a group of people were chatting . We hopped out, phone in hand to enquire where Vanicamper might be. Nobody had heard of it, instead they were hell-bent on directing us to the nearest campsite, concerned that we were about to turn their peaceful villa complex into an impromptu area autocaravanas. 

Gill Whatapped the company who immediately sent us the correct location, on the other side of the main road  I.6kms away. We showed the screen to one of the locals. He advised, "This is in the  tomato greenhouses, down sand roads only used by farmers, it is not possible for a garage." He was right about the first bit but entirely wrong about the latter.

It took me three attempts to find the correct narrow sand track, every failure necessitating a two kilometer round trip to a roundabout where I could swing around to have another go. Each go prompted a different catastrophic prediction from the driver: we will end up in a cul-de-sac with no way of reversing out, the van is useless on soft sand, we will get bogged down ... 

In the event none of these things actually happened but other tricky things did. The ocean of plasticulture was crisscrossed by a grid of narrow tracks, some drivable others not. Each corner involved a right angle turn only just navigable by a 7m vehicle. The area once was wetland, now drained, its narrow tracks edged with deep ditches. 

One section featured  a three meter drop with water on both sides forming a precarious causeway barely wider than the van. However,  we were making progress with each hazard navigated we drew steadily close to the spot on the map we had been Whatsapped. As I edged around the corner of yet another enormous plastic greenhouse Ms Google announced  "In 30 seconds you will reach your destination on the left."

 A small farmhouse on an island in the lagoon appeared. It was linked to the mainland by a narrow hump backed bridge with no parapet. I could see some ancient looking campervans parked in the yard. This has to be the place we agreed. Gill hopped out to guide me over the bridge. A woman came to greet us. "Did you get lost?" She enquired.

It all looked somewhat ramshackle, specialising in converting elderly vans into venerable campers. It was all a bit alternative and I was unsurprised to note surfer decals splurged all over the owner's converted Mercedes TN. 

 I figured if you can build a campers from scratch the mechanic should be able to fix a fridge. He set to with a multi-meter trying to trace the fault. The fridge seemed to be in perfect working order; he concluded that the problem lay with our ten year old leisure battery which was delivering insufficient current to run the appliance. This seemed a compelling explanation as the fridge problem in our previous van was caused by a poor 12 volt connection. So we agreed that he should fit a replacement leisure battery - the cost fitted €220.

As the mechanics fiddled about in the van we mooched about the farm. It did not belong to the Vansicamper people, they just used one of the sheds as a workshop. There was some kind of self sufficiency thing going - enclosures with goats, pigs and chickens.

I presume some of the nearby greenhouses must have belonged to the place too. Given the island location in  small lagoon, the swathes of surrounding plasticulture and the distant view across the water of  high-rise hotels on the coast, the whole place had an odd post-apocalyptic feel. It felt more like a movie set to than a real place. 

I was relieved when it was time to leave. I only got lost once in the greenhouse maze on the way out, it did involve a very tricky reversing manoeuvre onto a small jetty, but with Gill directing from the rear we extricated ourselves without incident.

Phew! We headed for the Valencia Camperstop at Betera promising ourselves a great lunch tomorrow at the city's Central Market Bar, one of our favourite food spots in Spain. The camper park was busy when we arrived in the late afternoon. No pitches with Ehu in the main part, we had to make do with a night in the overspill area. In fact the lack of hook-up proved fortuitous, but not in a good way. Without a 240volt connection we needed to run the fridge on gas. It soon became clear that whatever  problem was with the fridge the leisure battery had  not been the cause. We still had a warm fridge.

Groundhog Day! We need to find a (different) place that can fix the fridge, preferably near somewhere to stay but not in a post apocalyptic film set hidden in a tomato plantation. I got very literal with Google specifically querying 'Places in Spain that can fix a Dometic fridge'. Tambo Motorhomes! It came out as the top contender, about 50kms north of us in Benicario. At least on Streetview this time the place looked like a proper garage with a big forecourt beside a main road. Reviews were positive, there was an ACSI campsites in the town - all good. Gill phoned them, explained the problem and arranged to arrive late morning tomorrow.

As soon as we got there the mechanic started to investigate what was wrong. He was a nice guy, spoke English and owned a similar motorhome to us, in his case a 7m coach-built ten years old Knaus. He diagnosed the issue more or less straightaway, the flues at the back of the fridge were blocked. "These should be cleaned at least once every two years," he advised. 

I did know this, but had assumed it had been carried out as part of the annual domestic service. Clearly not! It was a simple job but an awkward one, it's a very shallow space behind the fridge with the vents removed. The diagnosis and spring clean took an hour or so, he clearly was aiming to have the job done before the place closed for a three hour Spanish lunch break at 2pm. Sadly when he reconnected everything the fridge still would not work on gas; in fact it wouldn't work at all, not even the 'on' light lit. It was dead as a Norwegian Blue.

Clearly some crucial wire had come loose, an unintended consequence of all the poking about. Luckily the mechanic was willing to work through his lunch break to track down the problem. Another hour elapsed before the thing was finally fixed, I am not sure what exactly he soldered back together, but whatever it was it worked. The bill for the repair was a little more than we anticipated - €180, but at least we had a working fridge and some degree of normality restored.

The mechanic was not the only one having a late lunch. We headed to the nearby Family Cash supermarket to buy provisions, including replacing the perishable goods from the fridge. Over our usual bread, cheese and chorizo we had our predictable 'well it's only money' conversation.

"Camping Lingerie?" I queried. "Why not!" came the reply. Why Camping Lingerie? Well that's another story.