I’ve really enjoyed driving more slowly – around 50 – 60mph – on the equivalent of ‘A’ roads to get to my next destination. In some cases, the non-toll motorways have also come up trumps. The countryside I’ve passed through has been really interesting and mostly pleasant if not beautiful.
What’s made the journeying less stressful has definitely been the removal of the electric step back at Malaga. I almost do maneouvres, eg pulling into car parks, with gay abandon now; it can only be an ‘almost’ until the other cause of grounding, ie the tow bar, is also removed. I’m sure it can be replaced by a better design to accommodate the Mercedes van back step.
If I didn’t think I’d managed to leave schedules behind, I do after today. And the story is:
Google maps on my little screen (smartphone as opposed to non-digital more contextual map) said the distance to Lagos was about 5 miles. Eminently cyclable it seemed so duly set off fully loaded with beach stuff, including parasol, book etc. Well at least twice that later via main road I finally arrived determined to sort out how I was going to get back without having to cycle that same distance/route, and knew that there was a train line and station, so thought I could at least get most of the way back. It has to be said that the pressure is mounting for the purchase of a Brompton folding bike which I could sling onto a bus, or in a normal-sized taxi.
Turned out there was a water taxi, from Lagos to Alvor which would have taken my bike, subject to space, but not operating today due to rough seas, so the station turned up trumps with a local train running at 15:13 which would get me to the nearest station of Portimao, meaning I’d only have to cycle the 3.8 miles then back.
So I only spent about 1.25 hours hanging around Lagos, before arriving back at the station in very good time, to enable me to negotiate whatever it would take to get me and my bike on that train, including fighting off any other cyclists (number of bikes limited) who may not want to queue in an orderly fashion according to arrival time. Therefore at 14:45, entered the station – no-one around, train in – brilliant. Happened to glance up at the station clock to see it showing 13:45. This now ‘chimed’ (pun appropriate) with my having previously noticed but absentmindedly dismissed as just a phone/GMT thing, the time on my phone being an hour behind my watch. 🤔 Decided I’d better check that the station clock was accurate! and having this confirmed, meant that I had been an hour ahead of everyone else in Portugal since I crossed the border 7 days ago. It also explained why everyone was getting up about an hour later than me, and corrected my assumption that people seemed alot more laid back here.
Anyway – the bits I saw of Lagos indicated it was indeed a busy, but pleasant holiday hotspot, very nice marina, beach, waves.
replica of the sort of ship they sailed in 15th century to explore the seas
So landed yesterday (Sunday 12/5) at Camping Alvor, in Alvor, Western Algarve, after a really enjoyable 65-mile drive on non-toll roads seeing some of the countryside behind the Algarve coastline. Set up to watch the Race for the Title matches, at the back of the van despite the heat etc, to try and mitigate the noise and the irritation it caused, of the strimming being carried out on pitches around mine. Was achieving this reasonably successfully until all of a sudden there was a sound as if a whole load of earth had been chucked at the bonnet of the van. The strimmer stopped ominously. Basically a stone had been thrown up at my passenger door window, resulting in its complete shattering.
What was originally intended as a 2-night stay, I could see turning into more than that, and my sister had literally just booked a flight out on Sun 19/5 to join me in Lisbon and up to Porto for a week.
Long story short, the campsite have organised through their insurance to get a new window which will have to be sent to whichever service centre in Portimao. It will apparently arrive by tomorrow evening, meaning they’ll fit it Wednesday (hopefully!)
The good is that this is a very nice place to stay – spent 4 hours cycling around and about – to Portimao, and back along coast past Praia da Rocha, and these iconic beaches. There’s lots more to explore/do etc, and the campsite is well set up, given that it has a static caravan ‘permie’ presence. Have a very nice pitch under the trees, and have put the awning out for the first time this season. 🙂
Other posts may make mention of the same journeys which only goes to show how traumatised I’ve been by ending up, yes naively, on routes, where one has past the point of no return for a variety of reasons; which have taken the van ever higher on ever-narrowing, hairpinning roads, gripping the steering wheel for dear life! and practising some severe cognitive behavioural therapy to keep going, and not to be so ridiculous. And I have to acknowledge that the lesson of the first Pyrenean route to look at maps, altitudes etc was not learned as I tried to get to a campsite already high up in the Sierra Nevadas as a base for visiting Granada.
It may be concluded that I don’t like heights, and will endure them for a greater goal, eg on some kind of ski-lift, but I would rather drive a 40-mile slow single-track route to get out of Applecross in Scotland, than drive back over the infamous Belach-Na-Ba pass.
Unfortunately my photos don’t really capture the white-knuckle ride I endured as I drove ever up on the other side of the valley. The campsite is just below Guejar Sierra at 1000m and looking down on the Canalis reservoir.
This is very much a ‘good’, and links into empty or not busy roads which would be busy in full Summer, which are a joy to drive and obviously safer to cycle on if necessary, not having to book campsites, so ultimate flexibility, and one less job to do, and alot cheaper prices, so that’s great. The weather, after being unseasonably coldish in April in Spain – their worst Easter time for 50 years with floods on some costas, has been stable over the last couple of weeks, in the twenties, and reached 30 degrees yesterday as I drove just behind the coast in south west Portugal – so that’s Atlantic side, and not Mediterranean-sheltered.
One of the other things that I value, now that I’ve become slightly older in age, ie peace and quiet during nighttime sleeping hours, (and dare I admit to it, even in the daytime) may also be in short supply in the high season as some of the places I’ve really appreciated turn from Jekyll into Hyde apparently. For example I’ve been told that the campsite at Tarifa becomes packed full of young people, up all night, vomit everywhere as it becomes party city with the kite-surfing, so much so that a German woman only in her mid-30s who lives on the site the rest of the year feels the need to escape.
Have become aware of how difficult it can be to make decisions and then actually implement them, particularly those which involve stepping out of comfort zones, when one is doing this completely solo. And all sorts of things are outside the comfort zones, from driving a 7m long vehicle along unknown roads guided by satnav, to waiting for buses where no obvious stop is evident, to wondering whether the cycle track to Malaga really does involve that bit on the busy main road, to buying a crossing on a little boat to the beach and not knowing how often the little boat expects to enable the return journey! And I’ve found that it doesn’t get easier. But what propels me to make the next decision and the next are the prizes I have seen – amongst them the Canal du Midi, Carcassonne, the Rondas, Malagas, Cuencas, Cabanas beach, Andalucian countryside, Bay of Cadiz and more. It has been and so is, worth it. I must and will keep doing it. After all, what’s the worst that can happen, apart from eg ending up at 2000 metres in the Pyrenees with it snowing, down to 0.5deg and no snow chains?! And almost repeating the exercise 4 weeks later in the Sierra Nevadas, although at least it wasn’t snowing, and the road hadn’t got narrow enough for me not to be able to turn the van around. And I do not enjoy mountain driving unfortunately. Takes me about a day to recover from the adrenalin and stress hit. Still, seeing Granada is worth staying on a campsite up there in the foothills.
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here:
Cookie Policy
