Questions and answers

Almost always our trips are planned, we sketch an approximate itinerary before we set out. Though we rarely stick to it exactly, changing our plans if a rainy spell is forecast, but in general we know roughly where we are headed. There have been exceptions, like a couple of years ago when we set out for the Italian Lakes but instead of heading next to Tuscany and Umbria ended up in the  Costa Brava! This trip is turning out to be even more haphazard, We knew we wanted to go to the Languedoc then onwards to the Girona province of the Costa Brava. Otherwise the need to present ourselves at Santander ferry terminal seventeen days hence on the 25th of October is our only certainty.

From the campsite by the Embalse de Negretin we headed back to the A91 motorway and drove west towards Lorca. Spain must have the most varied topography in Europe, arid deserts, fertile plains, mighty rivers, towering mountains and bleak badlands that look like somewhere in Utah. That's just in Andalucia! The north coast is like Devon on steroids, inland Valenciana at times resembles Tuscany, whereas the boxy white fishing villages of Cabo de Gata are reminiscent of the Peloponnese.

Gill is great at interpreting the landscape as we drive through it. She trained as a Geography teacher though never got to practice the subject. Instead she worked in special schools assessing children with moderate learning difficulties, then later in adult basic education and finally managed Adult Education centres. Nevertheless she can still interpret landforms and articulate how the underlying geology, volcanology and hydrology shapes what what we see, and in Spain topography is writ large.

The autovia between Baza and Lorca snakes its way between mountains, some over 2000m high, their peaks show clear signs of ancient glaciation. We looked up the area's geological history later. This area of Spain is interesting in so much as it lies at the southern edge of the ice cap that covered most of Europe until 20,000 years ago. Though the highest peaks of the Sierra Nevada were fully glaciated, the mountains to the north between Baza and Lorca experienced intermittent periods of freeze and thaw - this is called peri-glaciation apparently. A new word to me - always good!

At a lower altitude the rocks are much softer, limestone and marls mainly, and the area is famous for cave dwellings. The origin of these is interesting. The geology was created tens of millions of years ago when the entire region was covered by an enormous lake. Eventually river systems formed and the lake drained into the sea, leaving a deep strata of sediments. The caves however are largely man-made, hewn from the soft clays and crumbly marls by human activity. In fact the area has a remarkable history of occupation by our distant forbears. Fragments of a skull found in the area is a million years old, pre-dating modern humans' arrival by many hundreds of thousands of years. Neanderthals too lived here from around 200,000 BCE. until superceded by modern humans' around 45,000 years ago. You don't need a TARDIS for time travel, just a bit of research on Wikipedia and Chatgpt and you can drive through the distant past as you scoot up the motorway. Well you can when you have the motorway to yourself as is often the case on a Spanish autovia away from urban areas or the Mediterranean coast.

At Lorca we turned north using smaller roads. We had an idea that it would be fun to cycle on the Vias Verdes del Noroeste, the bike track that runs from the outskirts of Murcia to Caravaca de la Cruz. We've covered the central section around Bullas and Mula, but not the western end of track. So we headed to the area autocaravanas at Cehegin. It had received positive reviews on Searchforsites, but when we arrived the town itself looked dismal and the parking area was down a narrow lane behind a big garage. So we headed towards Mula instead. We've used the designated parking area behind the town's swimming pool before, it's a tad basic but serviceable. When we arrived we were the only ones, but later another moho turned up. It's probably irrational, but I always feel a tad insecure when we're on our own.

In the end we didn't do the bike ride. We woke up the following morning to a beautiful blue sky and temperatures back in the low thirties. It seemed that the heat wave was stalking us. In these conditions the most comfortable place is in the cab, driving along with the Aircon on full blast. So we set off with a vague aim to drive towards Albacete. Maybe we'll stop overnight at Chinchilla de Montearagon I speculated. It's a beautiful small town a few kilometres south east of Albacete. We stayed there back in October 2017, a memorable moment not just because of the town's splendid architecture but also it was the place where I had an unforgettable encounter with a super-bunny.

If yesterday's journey was all about glaciated landscapes, on today's drive northwards up the A30 from Murcia to Albacete the view out the windscreen today was distinctly volcanic. Around Cancarix we passed a series of low cones that looked like gigantic molehills. It was Gill that pointed them out, I do try to keep my eyes on the road even when the scenery is spectacular. We wondered were these the remnants of one big volcanic event or evidence of volcanism over millennia?:

Once again, Chatgpt to the rescue. I am unsure where I stand on the question of the moment - does AI present an existential threat to the future of humanity? The disturbing truth of the matter is that by the time we've worked out the answer AI may well have evolved beyond our ability to control it. Still, if you are an inquisitive kind of person even in its current semi-evolved state it has the capacity to answer whatever burning question happens to be bugging you, which in this case happened to be were the volcanic cones next to the motorway in the middle of nowhere between Murcia and Albacete the result of one big event or lots of smaller ones over a long time? Chatgpt's response -

Cancarix is not just a single extinct volcano. It forms part of a group of volcanic manifestations in this part of southeastern Spain.
The activity occurred roughly 8.3–6.7 million years ago, in the Late Miocene.

The rocks are unusually ultrapotassic lamproites. The local variety is called cancalita.
The famous Cancarix feature is actually the solidified volcanic conduit/dome exposed by erosion, rather than an intact cone.

The volcanic manifestations extend towards La Celia, across the Murcia/Albacete border. Geological descriptions specifically refer to the Cancarix–El Salmerón–La Celia volcanic region.

So if what you saw was a landscape containing several small, rounded volcanic-looking hills/cones, rather than the dramatic crag of Cancarix itself, you were probably looking at part of this Late-Miocene volcanic province around Cancarix and El Salmerón.

And 02499 is indeed the postal area around Cancarix, so your recollection fits extremely well. �
guiarepsol.com

The prompt I had given was this general question -
"What is the name of the area of small extinct volcanic cones to be found in the north of Murcia province?' Then give my virtual friend the more specific location of 'Cancarix' as  my best guess of where we were when Gill pointed out the unusual volcanic cones. It is impressive not only what AI can do but also how it responds positively to your prompt. That's the sneaky bit, the positive strokes with an offer at the end to dig a bit deeper. Over recent months I may have rid myself of all social media apart from YouTube and Substack, but if you are quizzically minded Chatgpt has the capacity to become equally addictive.

We stopped at a petrol station on the Albacete ring road for a fill-up and a late lunch. The question we should have been thinking about was not the finer points of north Murcian geology but where exactly were we going to sleep tonight. We'd sailed past the turn-off to Chinchilla so kind of dismissed that possibility by default. Instead we turned north east on the N322 which connects Albacete to the hill country on the border of Castille La Mancha and the northern area of Valencia provinces.

 Albacete sits in the middle of an enormous beige coloured plain, the one in Spain that the rain is mainly meant to fall on. It doesn't!  Driving eastwards across it you do glimpse smokey blue Sierras on the horizon. They mark the valley of Rui Cabriol which forms the border with Valencia province.

This Valencian hill country looks very different to either the bleak plains of Castille La Mancha or the palm trees and orange groves of Valencia's littoral. In fact the area looks more like Tuscany or Umbria with clumps of Mediterranean pines lining the road side and small valleys covered in vineyards and olive trees. 

 Pantile roofed farmsteads surrounded by slender dark green cypresses complete the Italianate illusion. 

It's quite remote, places to stay are few and far between.We decided to head to Kiko Park Rural in the Utiel/Requina wine area. It's a big site by an embalse offering water sports and outdoors pursuits as well as camping bungalows and one of the few places that operates all year. We stayed here in October 2018 around this time of year, coinciding with Valencia province's national day. So we know it can get somewhat raucous, but really there is no other option apart from area autocaravanas without facilities. We need a laundry and a service point, so Gill phoned ahead to book us in.

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Towards adjacent autumn

All the while we sweltered in a sub-tropical climate on the coast it was autumn inland. Temperatures in the mid twenties, dropping towards single figures overnight were typical in Castille La Mancha and northern Valencia. We would have headed there straightaway, but the lower temperatures were accompanied by violent thunderstorms. However the forecast now looks to be improving in central Spain. We decided to seek cooler conditions inland. I found a campsite near an embalse in the mountains near Baza. Maybe I could use my paddleboard there, I wondered.

We needed to shop on the way, which probably meant having a stop-over between Los Escullos and our intended destination. Back to Mercadona at Campohermoso then onwards to the southern end of the Cabo de Gata national park to the free parking area at La Fabriquila that we've used before.

 It's got a great view of the crescent shape bay that sweeps southwards from the Cabo de Gata lighthouse to the mountainous promontory beyond Almeria. In other words it's quite an exposed spot, and the disadvantage of staying overnight here soon became apparent.

By early afternoon the temperature inside the van reached the high thirties despite every skylight and window being wide open.  We were heading for a very uncomfortable night. So we packed up and headed inland to the free area autocaravanas at Guadix. Though the town is in the middle of the desert at the back of the Sierra Nevada, it lies at over 900m and at that altitude nights are cool no matter how hot the day.

The town itself is famous for the troglodyte houses on its outskirts and an impressive collection of Baroque buildings around the cathedral, but we've visited them before so we just stayed put in the big dusty carpark behind the main shopping street. It's unprepossessing, but practical and free!

Camping Rural La Cabañuela, our planned destination, lies in the the Sierras north of Baza. The villages nearby are famous for troglodyte dwellings, in Frailes the majority of the older houses are fashioned from caves. However the area by the Embalse de Negretin where the campsite is located feels semi-abandoned  The stoney garrigue is dotted with villas that judging by their 'neo- mudejar' styling look to have been constructed in the  nineties. Half finished and abandoned ones out-numbered those that were occupied.

It was only when we walked down towards the embalse the following day that we were able to make sense of this. According to the information board in the car park the reservoir was completed in 1986. Clearly part of the plan was to develop the area for leisure and tourism, hence the children's play park down by the shingly shore and the 'beach bar' next to it.

 Both looked to have seen better days. On the side of the hill above them there used to be a restaurant, its lovely terrace taking in a spectacular view of the reservoir and the wrinki cliffs on the opposite shore. The place was in ruins.

The campsite looked to  date from the same era. It was still functioning though the facilities were now somewhat worn. 

When we booked-in the receptionist mentioned that the forthcoming weekend would be very busy as the following Monday was Spain's national day. We have experienced how Spanish people celebrate - loudly and very enthusiastically. We booked-in for two nights planning to find somewhere quieter to stay over the holiday weekend.

 Our plan to find somewhere cooler was at least partly successful, it was very hot in the middle of the day but the temperature dropped considerably overnight. It meant we slept more soundly and mornings were pleasant.

My plan to paddleboard on the embalse didn't happen. It turned out to be a 500m trek down to the water and the road was steep and gravelly. Furthermore the big embalse had a rocky shoreline, it was a little too daunting. Sadly I've got past the stage of being adventurous, seeking Zen like calm rather than excitement.

And simply trotting about the area was quite calming with fabulous views westwards towards the distinctive bulk of Cerro Jabalcón...

and the fascinatingly scrunched-up cliffs on the opposite side of the reservoir...

The campsite was almost empty until a dozen or so all-terrain motorhomes turned up. Maybe there are unmetalled tracks over the nearby badlands where you are allowed to enjoy the vehicles' off-road capability. 

Otherwise owning an 'expedition truck'must be simply annoying, too big for most campsites, impossible to park in a supermarket carpark and guzzling diesel at a rate that would empty most people's bank accounts after a few months use. Like supercars and superbikes they are undoubtedly 'boys toys'. How many females own a Harley or Ferrari? Very few, I suspect, but more likely than finding a woman driving a Man monster expedition truck. Intrigued I researched them. To buy one secondhand, around five years old with less than 100,000 miles on the clock, will set you back about £275,000 according to Chatgpt. In truth I can't remember seeing a UK plated one, the ones here at the moment are a mix of German, Swiss and Dutch plates. Anyway, they are ridiculous objects even if they do have a Miele washing machine and dishwasher built in.

We took the receptionist's advice and left before the weekend influx, but with no real plan as regards where to go next, which is unlike us; we're not given to just wandering about.

Thirty days of thirty plus

A few posts ago I wrote about 'where the south begins, pinpointing Millau as our point of entry. To my list of defining qualities like olive trees, shady squares with shuttered houses, shadow striped straight roads lined with plane trees, our digital thermometer added a final touch to  my of inventory of southern clichés by notching up from a hot but manageable 27° to a stifling 36°. 

This prompted a heartfelt peaen from the cab concerning the joys of aircon and a lengthy discussion concerning how five of us plus, bikes, frame tent, camping beds, travel cot, two ring stove and sundry clutter managed to travel in a Nissan estate car to 'le Midi' in July and August back in the nineties. I'm certain the first car we owned with aircon was the Ford Galaxy we bought in 1999, recognising that a teenager, a precocious tweeny and a feisty four year old were not going to be able to share the back seat without bloodshed. We needed a third row and a camping trailer. It was a good move. The set-up enabled us to venture further afield, to Corsica, Sardinia and Croatia. 

The heat could be challenging, but we seemed to manage. I don't think it was unbearably hot all the time, there were cooler days, and with crystal clear skies the night-time temperature dropped quickly. We don't travel south in midsummer these days, but even in September we have had times when we have sweltered in thirty plus temperatures,. Not everyday though, the weather in Greece and other parts of the Mediterranean has always been mixed in September. 

Not so this year. Yesterday was the thirtieth day in a row with daytime temperatures in the mid thirties. What makes things worse is it's very humid and overnight temperatures aren't dipping much below the mid-twenties. At least when you are too cold you can always put an extra layer on both the bed and yourself. The same is not the case when it gets too hot. There comes an absolute point when you simply can't take anything else off or open any more windows. I also wonder if age is a factor. In July after a series of hot days at home when I had been working outside in the garden I developed heat exhaustion. I guess it's inevitable that the seventy plus me is less resilient than I used to be, but I resent the change, ageing offends me, I take it personally.

While we were staying in the Valencia Camper Park the weather forecast changed. No end to the heatwave but thundery downpours were predicted. Scorching temperatures and rain is not something we can cope with as having all the skylights wide-open overnight helps the van cool a little. It looked somewhat dryer further south, so we decided to head towards Mazarron, a resort town just south of Cartegena. The town itself is a little dismal, but the coast to the east oftowards Isla Plana is beautiful, and Camping Las Madrilles is comfortable, if somewhat bungaloid.

Booking-in, however, is not straightforward. The place doesn't take reservations for short stays, expecting you turn up on spec in the morning and take pot luck. Furthermore, the site insists on a three day minimum stay. What we tend to do is park-up the night before at a nearby area autocaravanas so we can maximise our chances in the booking-in lottery by arriving early. Usually we stay at the Puntas de Calnegre, this time we found a place in Mazarron itself. Area El Moreral is closer to Las Madrilles and within sight of the Mercadona carpark on the town's outskirts. We know this supermarket carpark well; it functions for northern European motorhomers as a winter gathering place - like Avebury, Carnac and Stonehenge did for our Neolithic forebears.

In winter I suspect that the Area El Moreral is very busy. Today in late September there were less than a dozen vans in an area that accommodates around forty. A couple of them were 'expedition' style mega trucks - they tend to be German or Swiss owned by Bear Griilis wannabees. Three of the French motorhomes had box trailers in tow, one contained a gleaming Honda Goldwing, the other two housed bulbous quad bikes. It seems for some recently retired northern European males owing a moho is not enough, it has to be accompanied by glitzy boys toys too. Off they all went in a cloud of dust, their 'understanding' other halves riding pillion.

We were sitting under the awning in the shade when unexpectedly a slim, older chap wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy swimming trunks appeared from behind our van. He advised us that he was 'a Brit' and had 'come for a chat'. It was good that he made his intentions clear at the outset, otherwise his startling demeanour may have seemed a tad alarming rather than simply idiosyncratic.

Over the next twenty minutes we learned where he was from (Devon), the names and occupations of his two sons, the fact that one of his grandchildren was at university and the other had just opened a beauty salon and was doing well, then got a comprehensive update his various health conditions and were  given the opportunity to concur with his view that Brittany Ferries' website and automated customer service chat bot was a waste of space. Eventually his wife turned-up, she was more fully clad. Oddly he then announced, "Well I'll be off then", and disappeared. She stayed to chat for a few more minutes to ensure we were fully informed about both their health conditions.

It got me thinking about the random conversations we've had over the years with other motorhomers. What struck me is they were not random, there is an element of social stratification about the exchanges. There are some absolute boundaries, in twelve years of long term travel we've never had a friendly chat with a caravanner. The two tribes live side by side barely tolerating one another, like City and United fans in Manchester. Millennial and GenZ van-lifers tend to socialise together, in parallel but rarely interacting with adjacent grey haired motorhomers. There are other odd patterns of socialability. Venerable drivers of C-class vans often wave to each other as they pass, but not people in A-Class or panel vans, nor drivers aged under forty. Humans are deeply tribal beings.

When Gill was training to be primary teacher in the mid- seventies students on teaching practice were encouraged to produce sociograms. This involved asking all the members of a class to write down the names of who they regarded as their friends. Analysis of this revealed patterns of social groupings and hierarchies. As I hinted at earlier, unspoken affiliations exist within the moho community too. When we began our extended travels in 2014 if we did fall into a conversation it tended to be fellow early retirees. 

Once the inevitable opening exchange of 'where are you from' had been settled, more often than not the conversation would turn to 'what did you do'. We soon learned that in our case a straightforward answer had a chilling effect on nascent moments of sociability. So when at the outset we gave the straightforward answer 'we both were teachers' people tended to make excuses and beat a hasty retreat. Sadly teachers are usually placed in the same category as other authority figures such as the police or tax inspectors, socially necessary but not particularly people you want to befriend. Indeed, whereas as it is the case that only a minority of people have been collared by the 'rozzers' or run foul of the inland revenue most of us can recount a less than positive run-in with a teacher, and for those of us now aged over sixty the consequences were occasionally painful. So without ever having talked about it we both adjusted our answer to the 'what did you do' question - Gill went for 'manager of an Adult Education centre' and I was even more evasive explaining that my last job was as a 'manager at a local college'. This did the trick, our answers were avoided the T word and were vague enough not to alarm fellow travellers wishing to engage in a friendly chat.

In fact these days it's quite rare for people to pause for a chat. At some point as you head inexorably towards septgenarian status mysteriously you disappear. Enveloped by something akin to a Romulan cloaking device, you become unseen, apart from on public transport in Italy and Spain where kindly GenZs now offer up their seats as a matter of course. 

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However since I turned seventy there is a group of people who've become much more interested in me - the medical profession. Suddenly I am eligible for a whole range of extra jabs. For the past decade I was supposed to have annual an review of the meds I'm on for hypertension. Years went by without it ever happening. Now it does.. A few months ago I found myself being interrogated by the practice nurse. I noted some additional questions - could I walk a mile, what was today's date? In other words - how's your mobility and do you suffer memory loss? Well intentioned I know, but I felt affronted. 

I guess if everyone our age is being collectively medicalised then it should not be surprising that when we fall into casual conversation health conditions are the one of the few things we have in common but  I'm having none of it, I won't play along. I guess I have a stereotypical introverted personality. Given the choice of passing the time of day with a friendly stranger or sitting in a shady spot with a book, the latter is always going to win out. Which is a good thing right now, as seeking out a shady spot is the best option when daytime temperatures hit the mid thirties by mid morning.

Next morning we double-checked the weather forecasts before setting off for Camping Madrilles. They had changed from yesterday, now it seems the stormy weather in Valencia is predicted to head here, and thundery downpours are expected to arrive by mid-afternoon. Almeria province to the south of us looked calmer, so we changed tack and set off towards the Cabo de Gata national park, 150kms south of us. 

It's a couple of hours down the AP7 to the Capa de Gata. The landscape becomes increasingly arid and tortured as you reach the Almeria border. The Tabanas desert to the north is the only place in Europe that qualifies as a true desert. 

The area between there and the coast looks like one even if it doesn't quite hit the all the criteria. Much of the landscape is shrink wrapped - plasticulture supplying the rest of Europe with fruit and veg. The exception is Cabo de Gata national park. Its stark volcanic peaks is the biggest area of protected landscape on Spain's densely developed Mediterranean coast. The Donana, at the opposite end of Andalusia is larger, but lies beyond the Straights of Gibraltar so abutts the Atlantic. 

We first came here twenty years ago before we retired. I think we'd rented a villa in Mojacar and took a day trip out to the Cabo de Gata lighthouse because our AA guidebook to Spain mentioned the nearby lagoons were home to a large flock of flamingos. Back then village of La Fabriquila was abandoned, the salt works disused, the workers single storey cottages boarded up and the striking silhouette of the Iglesia de Las Salinas turned out to be a ruin when you got up close.

I remember being shocked by the shanty towns nearby that surrounding the big plastic greenhouses. The African migrant workers were living in ramshackle, insanitary conditions. Since then things have improved remarkably, the salt workers cottages have been repaired and used as holiday accommodation, the church is restored and the intensive agriculture seems to be better managed. The migrant workforce seems better housed in the nearby town of Campohermoso. However the improvement has been accompanied by expansion - over the years the sea of plasticulture has spread inexorably towards the edge of the national park. 

The contrast between the quasi-industrial sprawl of the plasticulture and the 'preserved' volcanic hills of the national park is unsettling - it's an unnaturally natural landscape. Is this what the future will look like? Most of the earth entirely humanised, the only wild places left preserved as museums.

We headed for Los Escullos campsite. The section of the national park from there northwards towards Las Negras is furthest from the plasticulture creep. It retains its wildness, we love it. I searched our blog posts that contained 'Los Escullos' - apparently this is the eleventh time we've been here. It has to count as our favourite place I guess.

What's great about the area is it's easy to get out and about. Local beaches with astonishing wind sculpted fossilised dunes are an easy bike ride away. Stony tracks lead off onto the garrigue and if you are feeling adventurous there's a longer walk up to a hidden old caldera that has a unique micro-climate which sustains sub-tropical flora and rare butterflies.

However, in a heatwave all of this is challenging. In the four days we were there we did manage to get out a few times....

a short walk up the track at the back of the campsite

...a pedal down to the nearby beach with strange rock formations

... then on next day a trip to the next cove along. You get a great view of the ancient calderas.

I wondered when the area was last active. Seven million years ago Chatgpt advised me - interesting about the submarine nature of the eruptions...

In somewhere like San José or Los Escullos, you're looking at the eroded remains of a volcanic landscape that existed millions of years before humans appeared in Europe. Some of the rocks beneath your feet were originally produced by eruptions beneath the sea, and the present coastline is the product of millions of years of subsequent uplift and erosion.

That's why Cabo de Gata looks so different from much of the surrounding Almería countryside: the mountains are essentially the eroded skeleton of an ancient volcanic province.

So we made a few short trips out - it's actually more comfortable in a heatwave riding an ebike rather than sitting still - you get a cooling breeze as you pedal along. 

Mostly though, we hunkered down under the shade of the awning. When we booked-in the receptionist warned us that there was a poolside jazz festival happening over the weekend. We could hear it clearly but it was not intrusive - a mixed bag of performers ranging from a funk style gospel group, a bebop inspired quintet and finally, a bigger ensemble that channelled the big band style of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. 

Finally the weather inland looks somewhat more expensive, sunny but 10° cooler than on the coast. We found a campsite by an embalse near Baza that's in a nice spot and has paddleboarding possibilities. Let's go there we decided. After thirty days of thirty plus you'd think I would have finished the Margerat Atwood I'm reading given all the sitting still in a shady spot we've been doing. No, what I have done is excelled myself in writing the most rambling blog post ever, like a shaggy dog story gone feral. 

 

 

Out to lunch

Our plans were simple and revolved around food. Day one in Valencia -  we headed to Platja de Cabanyal, a beach area to the north of Valencia port.

We weren't interested in the beach which is somewhat bleak, we wanted to revisit 'La Cabinyata', a small tapas restaurant tucked away amongst the grid of half abandoned modernista warehouses behind the promenade. 

It's a modest looking place and the menu is nothing special. What it does is serve up Spanish tapas classics exactly how they should be, and that is not always the case.

Returning to a restaurant that you remember fondly is to court disappointment. Are things ever quite so good as you remember them? Well sometimes they are, and what we had at La Cabinyata this time proved to be just as delicious as before. We chose two tapas dishes to share and finished with a pud.

 The tuna ceviche salad was good, but not so delicious that we might still be talking about it days later.

However the croquettes were definitely memorable..

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Gill worked in professional kitchens in her youth so knows about the complex processes involved to make a commonplace dish outstanding. To get the perfect balance of squish and crunch in a croquettes involves heating and cooling the bechamel a number of times and split second accuracy in the fryer.

These had been cooked to perfection, had real depth of flavour and the velvety filling enlivened by tiny shards of red pepper and leeks. They were delicious. Would they achieve 'food memory' status - the private roll call we have of stunning dishes we have eaten over the years that we can still recall?

Our pud was pretty good too - a cheesecake drenched with an oozy chocolate ganache covered in chopped pistachio nuts - yum! Gill greeted it's arrival with enthusiasm....

The last time we were here the place had been quiet mid-week. It was almost full today, I guess this is to be expected, the place has a 4.7 score on Google Maps and in TripAdvisor squeezes into the top 10% of places to eat in Valencia - which is a very foodie city with over 4000 restaurants listed.

Other small delights included discovering that the locally brewed Turia 'tostada' beer was delicious and having a group of very affable Italians sitting next to us added further sparkle to the experience.

On the whole you don't come across many Italians touring around Spain. Valencia seems to be an exception. As well as in the restaurant, there were at least half a dozen Italian mohos staying at Valencia Camper Park. It could be Valencia's beautiful architecture that attracts them, but equally it might well be the food scene. Is Valencia Spain's Bologna, we speculated.

Getting to from Valencia Camper Park to 'La Cabinyata' took a little planning. The motorhome aires is well connected to the city but the station nearest to it is the second to last one on the line so it takes 30 minutes or so to reach the city centre.

The restaurant was at the end of a tram line running south from the centre so you have to change from train to tram. Overall the journey takes about an hour and a half once you factor-in connection times.

Going was ok, but our return coincided with the end of Spain's long lunch break around 3.30pm. The metro platforms and the trains themselves were rammed reaching Tokyo levels of human sardineness.

Our plan for the following day was more straightforward - jump back on the metro and have lunch at Valencia Market's Central Bar - definitely a place of many 'food memories' for us. It shouldn't be possible to become hopelessly nostalgic about a de-constructed carrot cake, but we still reminisce about the one we had here in November 2016.

Richard Camarena, a Valencian Michelin starred chef, opened his market bar in 2012. It was groundbreaking at the time, elevating the workaday market bar with a more ambitious take on tapas that utilised the cornucopia of fresh ingredients available at Valencia's enormous central market.

I guess the development should be seen in relation to the zero kms. food movement that asserted the local over the global. Sadly over recent years the trend has reversed. Amazon can deliver more or less any ingredient on the planet to your door within a day. I don't see that as progress.

We first came across Central Market Bar in 2014 and have revisited it regularly since then. It hasn't changed aside from becoming ever more popular. However it looks as if there are new developments afoot.

One half of the bar has been closed and an area adjacent to the place was fenced-off pending new developments. After fourteen years I guess refurbishment is necessary, the basic set-up and decor has not changed at all since it opened.

The downside was that extra bar stools had been squeezed into the half of the bar that was still functioning. We were squashed into a corner that had been repurposed as a seating area by hooking a precarious stainless steel extension into the end of the bar. The food was as good as ever, but it wasn't a relaxing experience

Like yesterday we stuck to Spanish lunchtime classics....

 like patatas bravas..

... and meatballs, simple but delicious,

...and yet another take on a chocolate cake, a less oozy affair than yesterday's, but formidable in its depth of flavour.

It's likely we will be back in Valencia in February, will Central Bar's refurbishment be complete by then? I am sure we will be back to check.

The weather has changed after weeks of wall to wall blue and temperatures in the mid-thirties. It's still as hot as ever but somewhat more unsettled with chunky fronts bringing stormy weather to the north of Spain and the Mediterranean coast becoming showery.

Last night we we were woken by thunder and lightning at about three in the morning. This was followed by a downpour. By the time I'd hopped out of bed to close the skylights there were puddles inside the van. If the combination of showers and extreme heat persists it's going to make life tricky as we won't be able ventilate the interior by fully opening the skylight. As it stands the inside of the van is not dropping below the mid twenties overnight  making it uncomfortable to sleep.

It seems dryer to the south of us, we've decided to head towards Mazarron. If the weather is more settled there we'll stay for a while at Camping Madrilles at Isla Plana. If the forecast remains rainy we'll push on further to the Capo de Gata. Hopefully in the next ten days the weather will settle down in the north because we do need to start heading towards Santander by mid October; our ferry is on the 25th.