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.