Once we had decided to make for the sliver of sunshine forecast to make a brief appearance on the Cantabrian coast we had to work out how to get there. Though it's a 700km drive there's an obvious route, Viseu, Salamanca, Palencia, Santander, motorway the whole way.
Over the years we'd covered most of the route at some time or another, but we were happy enough with familiarity since the forecast for the next five days across the whole of Iberia was wet, windy and cold. Not exactly sightseeing weather.
Luckily when we arrived at Viseu, our first stopover, there was a brief dry interval so we headed into the centre. This is what Lonely Planet has to say about the town:
One of Beiras' more appealing cities, Viseu rivals more-visited Coimbra for sheer charm and vitality. It's well preserved historical centre offers numerous enticements to pedestrians: cobbled streets, meandering alleys, leafy public gardens and a central square - Praça da Republic, aka the 'Rossio' - graced with bright flowers and fountains.
By the look of them they seemed to have been built in the latter part of the fascist era, mostly dating from the mid fifties to early seventies. Modern Viseu is quite ordinary, with a dour aspect typical of a hill town. We recognise the signs, we're experts having lived in Buxton for the best part of four decades.
However, I don't really ascribe to the assumption which sits behind most guidebooks, the National Trust and English Heritage that old things are intrinsically more interesting and significant than newer ones.
Yes, I paused to take a photo of the cathedral but I also was attracted to the big slab of the 1960s tower block which houses the offices of Portugal's equivalent of the DHSS.
I liked both buildings, each one typifying a particular moment in time. Is one really more beautiful than the other? When it comes to their respective function which is preferable - centuries of imposed religious orthodoxy or the more recent development of the 'welfare state'?
As we walked back to the van the rain resumed, but we made it back before the drizzle became a downpour. It wasn't the most peaceful of nights with incessant rain thrumming on the bike covers a couple of feet from our bed. Then at 7.30am a mechanical street cleaner arrived. It trundled to and fro across the car park, an annoying rumble rising in volume to a jet engine roar as it swept past repeatedly.
We made an early start heading through the highest mountains in Portugal on our way back to Spain. In clear weather it must be a spectacular drive, today it rained relentlessly and visibility was poor.
As we approached the Spanish border the view changed from forest clad hills to an upland plain dotted with pale coloured granite boulders; they dotted the landscape like a flock of giant petrified sheep. It's a bit weird.
On either side of the border the authorities seemed to have given up on road maintenance. The motorway is cratered rather than potholed. In rainy weather it's impossible to know if you are heading for a puddle or a small pond; it makes for a nerve-wracking drive.
A little over halfway to Salamanca we passed the walled town of Cuidad Rodriguez. A decade ago we stayed overnight here, the only people in a ramshackle campsite by the Aguenda. I remembered how we liked the place and promised we would return one day. Not today! The bleak plains of Castile y Leon looked uninviting as wraith-like heavy downpours pulsed across the empty landscape. The area does feel remote and half forgotten. However, due to the town's strategic position between Portugal and Spain the place was besieged twice during the Peninsula wars, by the French in 1810 and retaken by Wellington two years later.
The weather had improved a little by the time we arrived in Salamanca, very gloomy rather than very wet. We considered staying a couple of days in Salamanca. It is a beautiful, stylish city, not just in terms of architecture and culture, the place has a Valor café, one of just a handful in Spain. As chocoholics, the chocolate and churros we had there remains a stand-out food memory - on Monday 20 November 2017, the blog told us, when I looked it up after settling into Camping Regio.
I do think we have become less intrepid over the years. Back then I do think we would have stayed a day or two in Salamanca whatever the weather. Instead we stayed one rnight then pressed on in search of the promised sunnier climes further north. We planned a lunch stop in Palencia. We've used the car park on the edge of town a few times, it has half a dozen bays dedicated to motorhomes and the city's big Mercadona supermarket is closed by. Perfecto!
Onwards, through thundery showers and spectacular cloudscapes. There are not many places to stay on the A67 between Palencia and the Cantabrian mountains to the north. We consulted 'Searchforsites' and headed the free area autocaravanas at Herrera de Pesuerga. The town itself is a workaday kind of place situated between two rivers, the eponymous Rio Pesuerga and its tributary the Rio Burjeso. The area autocaravanas is next to the latter near the entrance to a park. It took a bit of finding. During our impromptu diversion we discovered the town produced a famous delicacy - crayfish and the settlement had ancient roots going back to the Roman period.
However the weather was not conducive to exploration. Instead we sat in the van and worried about just how swollen the Rio Burjeso had become, it was less than 20 metres from us just across the road. Our news apps were reporting catastrophic flooding in eastern Andalusia and Murcia, we had no desire to become part of the story.
In the end though it rained steadily all night the river did not burst its banks and the only memorable thing about our stay turned out to be the area autocaravanas service point which was one of the most insanitary I've had to deal with. Maybe we should pack a Hazmat suit, I pondered, as I gingerly removed my Marigolds afterwards.
Next day as we drove north spectacular storm cells drifted across the bleak plain to the west of us. The towering thunderheads closed in, but they never quite reached us. As the motorway curved northeastward across the southern foothills of the Cantabrian massif I watched the spectacular cloud formations diminish in the wing mirrors. Soon, climbing still, we were back in cloud, and remained so until we began the long descent towards Torrelavega on the north side of the mountains. The forecast proved correct, after days of rainy weather across the breadth of Iberia the sun was shining on the Costa de Cantabria.
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