Downtime

We arrived home from Spain on the 17th of March. Yesterday I booked the ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe for 6th September; hopefully we will finally realise our long planned but frequently postponed trip to Sardinia. We have been there twice before, but never in a motorhome. I remember Sardinia's white sand beaches and turquoise sea fondly.. This time as well as sunset swims and snorkeling to look forward to the island's pellucid waters demand to be momentarily disturbed by a big splash. Regular practice over the past few weeks has paid off, most of the time I can stand up on my stand-up paddleboard, but not always.

There will be 186 day gap between when we arrived home in March and the moment in mid September when we hop on the ferry to Dieppe. Since we embraced a semi-nomadic lifestyle over a decade ago the only time we spent more than 90 days in the UK was during the Covid restrictions in 2020. Even then time did not drag so as it has done over recent weeks. After lock down restrictions were eased in the late Spring of 2020 our time was taken up with the big extension we had built in June and July, and   we we busied ourselves with redecoration, paving and re-laying the patio. Fortunately none of us succumbed to the first iteration of the virus. We were lucky.

It's difficult to work out why the past few months seemed to have dragged by. It's true that generally speaking I feel morose when at home and more energised and optimistic when travelling.  Over the past few months the in-between time slump as felt worse than usual. Why? It's difficult to say, its not as if nothing has been going on, some significant things have occurred - lovely things like the arrival of Nico, our first grandchild, it's amazing to watch how babies grow from helpless newborns to super-alert learning machines in a matter of a few weeks.

A day old....

Two months old....

Three months....

Matthew and Krystina are about to become parents too, grandchild number two is due to arrive any day soon. Our two elder children both live in east London. When they first moved there three or four years ago East Village and Hackney Wick was a buzzy hub of  late twenty-something millennial couples. It still is, but now the place's stylish millennials are somewhat older and many are trundling buggies about  There definitely seems to be a mid  thirty-something baby boom happening.

Not to be outdone, Laura, our youngest, living the life in Tokyo these days WhatsApped us with the news that she and her partner Brian were about to get married. Aside from obvious romantic considerations it will simplify her residency status an she is on a one year 'young person's' visa but Brian has a work visa and Laura can share that as a spouse. It was a low key affair, but their marriage certificate is very impressive, if somewhat gnomic.

Back in May I had a landmark moment of my own when I turned seventy. I celebrated the moment by continuing my quest for verticality on my paddleboard. I am making progress. 

It seems to me that there is nothing good about turning seventy, apart from the fact that I am still alive and more or less ok I guess. On the positive side I am fitter than I was ten years ago, I've lost 12kg in weight, eat far more healthily and reduced my alcohol consumption considerably. The downside are the chronic 'conditions' the pair of us seem to have acquired. Nothing actually life threatening but definitely a tad limiting. I appreciate the NHS monitoring machine is there for our own good, but the effect of  regular checkups, blood test results, blood pressure readings and intrusive interventions is somewhat de-humanising, 'I am not a number' you think to yourself, inadvertently showing your age by channelling Patrick McGoohan in 'The Prisoner'.

But turning seventy is problematic, annual medical cover for travel becomes more difficult to come by and unaffordable when you do find a company offering it. Keeping the C class light HGV category on my driving licence proved unexpectedly fraught too. I was diagnosed about ten years ago with a mild heart murmur. At the time the cardiologist explained that it was quite common and nothing to be concerned about. No mention was made of the fact that the condition should be reported to DVLA.  So when I reapplied for my licence, the form required a doctor to affirm my medical conditions, prompting the DVLA  to refer me for a cardiogram. It took three months from sending the form back to  DVLA  to receiving my new licence, thankfully retaining the C class categories. I know I have a tendency to catastrophise, but being unable to drive the motorhome would have complicated our travelling life. My sister-in-law, Jackie ended up on the receiving end of one of my rants about the situation. I feel a bit embarrassed about it now,  it wasn't the politest of responses to someone wishing me 'many happy returns...

 

One upside of being grounded for a few months meant we could book-in the moho for some long overdue repairs and refurbishment. The van is will be 12 years old at the end of the year, not exactly elderly, but definitely middle-aged. No major issues, but a bunch of minor annoyances and wear and tear - the strange flicker from the over-hob lights (even when switched off!), malfunctioning blinds in the kitchen and dining area, the loose fly screen on the habitation door, a new hinge on the bathroom door... all minor stuff really.

Since Brexit Burstner parts have been hard to come by. The simplest solution is to take the van back to  Burstner's main UK dealership - Camper UK in Lincoln. They are professional and efficient, but that comes at a cost, three trips to Lincoln and a final bill of £1200. Add onto that  the servicing and minor  repairs required by the MOT (£468), four new tyres (£602),  the cost of replacing the cam belt (£420   a new battery (£175) then repairs and refurbishments over the past six months have cost well over. £3000.  

Expensive yes, but our motorhome is not just some luxury item that we use occasionally, it is, de facto, our second home on wheels, somewhere we inhabit for four or five months of the year. So we console ourselves with the thought that we don't incur the fixed costs of having an actual bricks and mortar 'place in the sun'. Furthermore, browsing around the gleaming new and nearly new models in Camper UK's showroom, we concluded that no matter how much it costs of keeping our current van roadworthy it is a fraction of the outlay required to replace it. I looked into this when losing my c class license seemed like a possibility. 

In Camper UK showroom there was a new Burstner almost identical to the layout of ours - yours for a mere £92,200! We bought ours when it was four years old - I think we paid £44,000 for it. These days it seems a similar spec four year old Burstner costs around £60,000. I did the maths. - a 2014 Burstner Ixeo similar to ours is advertised on Autotrader for £39,000, but with 30,000 miles in the clock it has half the mileage of ours. Knock off  the 20%- 30% mark-up on the forecourt price and I guess we might get £25,000 - £30,000 for ours if we traded it in for a newer model - so buying a replacement might set us back about £30,000. Given that second-hand motorhomes depreciate around 8% per year then in one year a £60,000 motorhome will lose almost £5000 in value. It makes our recent spending on the moho seem quite modest, especially as things like replacing the cam belt, battery and tyres only occur every five years or so. It's just bad luck that they all needed to be fixed at the same time. So given our age and circumstances it makes good sense for us to grow old gracefully along with our elderly moho! With care it will keep going - I noted on the MOT website that our first moho - a 2006 LMC Liberty - is still on the road - well done Maisy! 

Motorhomes only feel like 'dead money' if you don't use them, and this spring and summer we haven't used the van much at all - just for short trips somw coinciding with visits to Camper UK in Lincoln. 

April - Clumber Park, Nottinghamshire

Pleasant site...

with miles of cyclable paths through Sherwood  Forest.

Clumber Park once had a large stately home in the middle of it. The big house was demolished after WW2 and the landscaped grounds were acquired by the National Trust. Various farrms, a model village, a big lake and the largest working Victorian hothouse remain. We liked the glasshouse and walled kitchen garden.

May - Lincoln

Camper UK wanted the moho at 9.00am. It's 72 miles to Lincoln so a day trip to the garage was not really an option. We booked a couple of nights at the municipal run campsite on the outskirts of the city. The site is basic but serviceable and situated in Hartsholm Country Park. Nearby there are woodland walks with lakes and ponds, it's a pleasant spot. 

With the moho booked in for repair we had a whole day to mooch around Lincoln. We've been a few times before and visited Cathedral, castle and museum. This time we mooched around more modern redevelopment by the river. I imagined this was a recent change until I discovered the shopping mall opened in 1992! It seems the previous visits must have been longer ago than we imagined.

There is a sensitive balance between old and new. Maybe Lincoln is the loveliest small city in England, not such a tourist trap as York or Canterbury, though Warwick has its charms too. Though the moho was in the workshop all day not all the repairs could be completed, some parts were still on order. A return visit was required.

July - Lincoln, Louth and Rutland Water

In fact in was a further two months before the bits a pieces arrived - back to Hartsholm Country Park's woodland walks. The Peak District had been very dry and sunny, but Lincolnshire was at the point of the dry spell becoming a drought. Fields were straw coloured - not good news for the supply of veg over the coming months.

This time we headed up the high street. Beyond the Stonebow Gate the area felt a bit grungier  - a mix of vape shops, hipsterish clothes shops and nail bars - characterful we decided.

Rather than drive straight home we decided to take a couple of days to visit the Lincolnshire Wolds and Rutland. We don't know the East Midlands particularly well. It's not a spectacular landscape but pleasing nonetheless. The Searchforsites app marked a motorhome 'aire' in the cattle market in Louth - a very rare occurrence in the UK. It was tricky to find the entrance and the service point was somewhat primitive, but at least it exists, a rare thing in the UK, a town that welcomed motorhomes!

Louth itself is lovely, a great example of an English market town that seems to be thriving, with lots of locally owned shops, traditional butchers and bakers and a busy produce market. There is a downside - the fruit and veg were being sold in pounds and ounces, a surefire sign of right wing leanings. I suspect enthusiasm for the Brexit party has morphed seamlessly into support for Reform UK. I am happy enough to appreciate the beauties of rural England as a visitor, but I couldn't live in a traditional country town, even though I grew up in one. Too conservative and traditional, too many toffs and too much respect for King and country. I can't be doing with it 

However, it's undeniably very beautiful and has an astonishing Perpendicular church with the highest spire of any parish church in England.

After a night in Louth we spent a couple of days camping on the shores of Rutland Water. There are footpaths and cycleways around the reservoir,  it's a gentle, bucolic landscape, profoundly English.

The only place you are allowed to launch a paddleboard on the reservoir is from the watersports centre on the opposite side. We had to unpitch the moho and drive there. It was fun, but at £25 for a day  pass considerably more expensive than most places. It's owned by Anglia Water so I guess they've got to finance the overblown salaries of their executives by monetising everything.

So, only three trips over the past few months. Undoubtedly we should have 'got out more', especially as we've just had the driest spring and  warmest summer on record. So what's our excuse? - partly the great weather we've had. - Buxton is surrounded by the Peak District national park, there are lovely walks and great cycle trails all within a ten minute drive. 

It's been a good year for gardening too, which is rarely the case 1000' up in the Pennines, so we've spent hours just trimming and weeding and generally mooching about outside.

Also, its been fun watching Nico develop from a sleepy newborn into an alert, responsive baby. We visited London twice, and spent more time with our growing family when Sarah, Rob and Nico stayed with us for a week.

Matthew and Krystina arrived a couple of weeks later. When people come to visit we do get out and about more.

Arbor Low stone circle is a few miles south of Buxton. It is part of a network of neolithic monuments covering the uplands near Monyash. 

Next day we all headed for Chatsworth - it is magnificent, again somewhere we tend to overlook just because it's on the doorstep.

So with all ths positive stuff happening why do I feel a bit glum? A mixture of things probably. Generally I am happier when travelling than at home. For both of us this has been exacerbated by the consequences of catching Covid in late July, our symptoms were unpleasant but relatively mild. However its an evil virus which hangs around in your system for months afterwards, haunting its victims with ghostly flue-like symptoms which don't seem to be physically detectable - you feel fatigued and feverish but your temperature is remains on the low side of average. As an ailment its very on trend - a virtual illness.

We also appear to have acquired a Goalhanger pod-cast habit spending most evenings watching Youtube, either The Rest is Classified, The Rest in History, or the Rest is Politics, either Rory and Alistair's version  based in the UK or Katty and the Mooch in the US. The first two podcasts covering Espionage and History are entertaining and presented by engaging, knowledgeable presenters who make the topics really come alive. The latter two more politics podcasts are very good too, but they enlightening rather than entertaining. I am not sure that being presented with insightful analysis about the state of the world on an almost daily basis is actually good for the soul. It is no surprise given the increasingly chaotic state of international relations, the growth of divisive, authoritarian regimes and right wing popularism that parallels are drawn between the 2020s and the 1930s. It is a sobering thought, because we all know what happened at the end of the thirties.

I've written this post in dribs and drabs over a few weeks, it probably shows!. For some reason I can't seem to concentrate on anything right now - maybe that's a post-viral symptom too. Anyway, now our ferry is two weeks hence. Before then we are heading to Abbey Wood Campsite in London so we can visit our Sarah,  Rob and Nico, and Matthew, Krystina. Visiting Laura and Brian in Tokyo is not so simple, but we have plans - to spend a month in Japan next May - the flights are booked!

In fact it's taken so long to write this that the family has actually grown! Matthew and Krystina are no longer expectant - Jesse arrived three days ago - all seems well, which is great. 

At the macro level the world right now may seem  to be channelling the doomsday vibe of Yeats'  'Second Coming', but its microcosm is more nuanced, small is  beautiful, and nothing more so than a newborn. It will be great to see Nico again and make Jesse's acquaintance. Beyond that, I can't wait to be on our travels; taken moment by moment life is full of small pleasures and beautiful things, its only when you connect all the dots that it all becomes scary. 

 

 

Momentarily smug then endish

As we drove from the dull south into the sunnier north we were feeling somewhat self satisfied. We had read the meteological runes and dodged the rain in Spain. However, our smugness was short lived, we discovered all too soon that we were not alone in this, it soon became obvious we were just one of many motorhomers who had headed north and now were wandering about looking for somewhere to stay. 

The northern coast of Spain is not famed as a winter sun destination. It's the place that Spanish families head to to escape the blistering mid-summer heat. Consequently the Asturian and Cantabrian coast has scores of beachy campsites, however very few open before Easter. There are also areas autocaravanas. Some are open all year; we discovered they were surprisingly busy in early March.

Our plan was to stay overnight in a free parking place on the outskirts of Santillana del Mar. The road to it was blocked and diversion signs pointed in the opposite direction. We couldn't work out how to reach it. Undeterred, we headed for an area autocaravanas nearby on the coast at Cobrés. It was full. Onwards towards Comillas. The sat-nav took us by the most direct route, down narrow country lanes. It was very pretty, but hair-raising. Cantabria - like Devon on steroids, I observed a while back on the blog.

Comillas is a world famous ancient village. The area autocaravanas is a couple of kilometres from the centre by the side of the main road. It too looked packed. We decided to cut our losses and head for the campsite at Zumaia in the Basque Country. It meant a 200km drive west along the motorway past Bilbao. However it's a comfortable, well appointed site and we like Zumaia's small port vibe and the spectacular Jurassic rock formations by the beach. We were certain the site would not be full, but given the experience of the last few hours Gill phoned ahead just to be sure.

Our winter trips have distinctive beginnings. Celebrations of arrival - Seville's southern light in January, its orange tree lined boulevards and street flamenco, or the buzz of Logrono's Pinchos bars or Valencia Mercat Central's urban cornucopia. All these things signal escape from the gloom of a Pennine winter. Return is more challenging, homecoming is always low key involving a minor slump - 'endishness' as Gill puts it.

Sunday - Zumaia , memorable for three things - at last, a sunny day when it was comfortable enough to sit outside in a cafe...

We decided that since we were in Euskadi we should celebrate the fact by having a Basque cheese cake with our coffee. We rarely do this on spec, before we sit down the chances are we've consulted reviews on Google and Tripadvisor - we are very picky. However, it turned out our chosen place was closed on a Sunday, so we found another cafe next to the steps that lead up to the town's famous flysch. Accidentally we happened upon the worst cafe in town. We ordered two coffees and a Basque cheesecake to share. The coffees came but the waiter informed us that they had just sold the last slice of cheesecake, offering us apple pie instead. Being generally amenable we agreed. The coffees were cold, the apple pie sraight out the freezer and only partially thawed in a microwave. Outrageously we were charged €15 for for the pie. No more choosing on spec we agreed.

Still, you can't be grumpy about being in Zumaia on a sunny Sunday - the 'flysch' here and in nearby Deba has to be one Europe's greatest geological wonders.

Next day we decided to take the train to Donastia. The coastline is so hilly that much of the 35 minute journey is spent in a series of tunnels, a bit like the line along the Cinque Terre. Donastia has to be one of Europe's most appealing small cities. It's very walkable, has a world famous food culture and one of the most beautiful urban beaches on the planet. Unsurprisingly it gets flooded with tourists and increasingly the locals are pushing back on the invasion - like in Barcelona.

Like Bologna, Donastia seems to be a very politically active city. This time pensioners were out in force campaigning for improved benefits. British people generally aren't natural campaigners - we enjoy moaning but are more reluctant to take to the streets than some of our European neighbours. No wonder Australians dubbed us 'whinging poms'.

Following tragic pie Sunday we felt we were 'owed' gastronomically. Bar Gorreti supplied  tortilla pinxtos and a glass of Txacholi....

Sadly Bar Goiz Argi - our favorite spot for prawn fritters was closed. The owners had gone on holiday.

We found somewhere nearby called Danena Taberna that looked promising. The croquettes  were good, for some reason we decided to have another tortilla. Not as good as Bar Gorreti's, Gill decided.

Yesterday after our Basque cheesecake fail I'd googled 'best ones in Donostia' - it turned out there was a bakery chain entirely given over to them, named eponymously 'Bassk Cheesecakers'. We headed there.

It's possible to put two kilos by simply looking in the window.

The shop assistant inquired if we wanted a traditional or a chocolate one. We couldn't decide so she kindly sold us a half portion of each. There was a handy bench seat on the pavement outside, so we settled down there with two take-out espresso macchiata. Both cheesecakes were delicious, but the traditional one was the best.

Time to head back to the station - a sunny day, warm enough to sit outside, it's what was had driven 700kms for, briefly it paid off.

The outlook forecast predicted a return to stormy weather. We decided to start making our way back towards Santander. Though most campsites on the north coast of Spain remain closed until Easter, we found one near the western suburbs of Santander that seemed to be open all year. Reviews of Camping Virgen del Mar were mixed, so we had low expectations of the place. At least were weren't surprised, it was all a bit ramshackle and unloved, but serviceable just about.

As the name suggests the site was close to a small pilgrimage church dedicated to the Virgin of the Sea. The rain eventually eased off and we set off to have a look at the monument. The coast nearby is rocky and indented, the church set on a small island connected to the mainland by a footbridge,

Rather than a statue, the Virgin Mary was commemorated by a kitch wire sculpture. Some religious buildings can feel sublime, even to non-believers, but here the shrine felt bleak, a tad melancholy and somewhat ludicrous.

The whole area felt a bit downbeat, so after two days of sitting in the van watching the rain come down we decided to move on. We needed diesel and a top-up of LPG, so we found a garage then headed for a free overnight stay in the parking area outside the entrance to Parque de la Naturaleza de Cabárceno, or as we call it - the elephant aire. Cabárceno's main attraction is a Safari Park situated high up in the hills in a disused quarry. Access to it is by cable car, the car park beside it is enormous and allows motorhomes to park there free overnight. It's an attractive spot next to a lake with views of the Cantabrian mountains beyond.

However, its not the location that makes this one of the most unique places you can stay overnight for free in a motorhome. About 100m up the track beyond the car park you reach a 3m high green metal fence. Beyond it is a big tract of open country housing Parque Cabárceno's herd of wild African elephants and water buffalo. It's brilliant.

One thing we hadn't factored in was the altitude. The weather on the coast ha become showery by the time we left. Up here it was positively stormy. Hailstones sound like it's raining boulders in a motorhome.

Our ferry crossing was now only two days away, departing from Santander mid- morning. We headed for the area autocaravanas situated in the marina. It's fairly basic with a service point but no other facilities but quite adequate for an overnight stop before an early sailing.

The marina is in an industrial area but beyond it we found an attractive walk along the shoreline through big umbrella pine trees with a view across the big bay towards the ferry port. 

Loading next day was a bit chaotic, somehow the people disembarking became entangled with the queue of motorhomes and caravans waiting to board. It all got sorted eventually with much waving of arms and pointing. What did I learn? Grey-haired British caravanners come in all shapes and sizes but a fair proportion of them seen very impatient and short-tempered. What's the rush, shit happens, it does gets sorted by and large.

On board, usual thing, dreary food, grim coffee, but clear and calm.

It was after dark when we arrived in Portsmouth - Searchforsites lists a free place to stay overnight on the outskirts of the city at Port Solent Way. Its best to phone ahead, which we did. Though a tad tricky to find it really is a boon if you disembark in the evening.

Home next day - of course it rained most of the way. We don't usually return this early in March but we have an eventful month in store. Sarah, our middle daughter is due to give birth in two weeks time - our first grandchild. We're dachshund minding for a few weeks to simplify things when the big day arrives. It's been a trip of memorable moments squeezed between wet ones. 

In fact it has been so wet in Spain that it became big news. At least the deluge has filled the peninsula's enormous reservoirs - the rain was not great for tourism and at times destructive and disruptive. However, the end of a four year drought has to be a good thing for Spain in in the long term.