From San Sebastian, drove to Bagneres de Luchon in the Pyrenees which my son’s youth brass band visited a few years ago now, – we weren’t part of that trip so it had been on my radar, with my decision to visit confirmed when Sharon and John recommended it.
Stayed a couple of days on a really nice campsite about 1km from the centre, for the price of 9eu per night for me and Monte, no electricity, and took advantage of the Thermal Spa to have a massage and visit, according to the town’s claims, the only naturally-occuring ‘Hammam’ – its Vaporarium – in Europe, discovered by the Romans. I’d describe it as a sauna space – humid and steamy, like a mining tunnel in the hillside.
There’s a small ski-resort here but unfortunately I was there just before the running of the cable cars in the Summer period and as I didn’t want to cycle upto the resort at 1700, nor move the van, decided just to do some bike exploring on the valley roads. Really beautiful, quiet, understated …… Quite alot of hotels/restaurants for sale in the town – in some respects conveys a ‘faded/former glory’ feel as many of the buildings are grand and beautiful, but perhaps the town could do with investment in some of these. The last 3 photos are from a nearby hamlet, with one showing the cable car route up to the ski resort at the top of the hill.
Had one or two conversations with Will, the only other Brit on the campsite who was on his own – see separate post under ‘Meetings.
Due to using campsites and their electricity upto this trip, I had only put gas into the van on a max of 2 occasions, each time in fear and trepidation, given the heavy duty industrial nature of the whole thing, and the explosion when disconnecting! Add to this the fact that France uses a different attachment to that of Spain and Portugal and indeed the UK. Having very smugly purchased 4 adaptors before leaving, if I wanted to rely on solar and save dosh, I would have to gird my loins and actually use them.
My first efforts involved driving in and out of garages on my non-toll road, hence longer than expected, route from Pau to Carcassone, in increasing frustration until tadah – a supermarket sign indicated the required fuel. Thankfully, the bays were empty, with no-one to observe the activity that then ensued in trying to get the van in the first place alongside the pump, never mind lining up the actual gas inlet; in a nutshell, design of the bays and their approach had patently not envisaged a 7m vehicle even one as narrow as the Sprinter! interspersing minute manoeuvrings with constant in and out of the cab checkings, at one stage I feared that the van had become completely wedged, and that a tyre was going to puncture, the van ‘nose’ was going to get scratched to get it past the pump, and/or the pump would get damaged; sweat dripping, it was also hot, the final manoeuvre to give up on the whole thing but get the van out of the bay, resulted in hearing the sudden escape of water; the outlet pipe had become disconnected from the waste tank, (at least not the full tank of clean water). T(h)ankfully – pun just presented itself – I was able to re-connect it after a fair bit of faff. All this did seem to be done without another human coming anywhere near, so at least my pride was spared. It’s abit difficult to picture if one is not familiar with the real size of one of these vehicles, but causing me lol as I write this, 2 months later.
The story goes on, as this attempt was abandoned, leaving me still in the position of needing to get gas on board. I decided to go to a campsite, connect to electricity and recover from my ordeal in peace and quiet for a couple of days before re-gathering of forces for a new attempt. The day of departure dawned bright and encouraging ready for the assault on the next LPG-supplying garage identified at Carcassone. The pump was easily accessible to drive Monte alongside and the adaptors at the ready. Great. Of the four, only one appeared big enough for the French nozzle – but could not for the life of me work out how to get the two securely connected. Came under further pressure as a small lorry then drew within 2 feet alongside. Fortunately the driver was approachable and pleasant, didn’t want to use the pump, which was unfortunate as my non-correct jargon French established that he also couldn’t really help, although willing. I ran into the service station – do I lock the van and let the man think I didnt trust him? – to ask for help from the only member of staff behind the counter; this resulted in a reasonably kindly but nevertheless gallic shrug of the shoulders and “boff”, and the awaiting constant queue meant he couldn’t come outside to ‘see’; ran back as quick as poss to try again, because the lorry did need Monte to move to enter a building behind the pump. In the meantime, the lorry driver had managed to get a proper connection, but given the lack of motor sound from the pump, no reaction from pressing the big green button, and no instructions beyond what we’d already done, I ran back into the service station, spoke in my best French to the guy again, whereupon I got the key information – in French of course – that the button needs to be continuously depressed; back out to try this – still no motor sound, so called on all my IT support previous experience to do the equivalent switch on/off again, and start from scratch and …….YES; WHAT JUBILATION ensued; the world was mine.
About a month later, being told that at Tarifa a particular service station had LPG, I was over the moon to find that an attendant would put the gas in and I had the correct adaptor for Spain. Success & elation once again.
Fast forward a few weeks, into and out of Portugal, was disappointed to find that the gas pumps at a promising Repsol service station with a helpful attendant, did not seem to have the correct pressure to get gas in. Damn. Not quite depths of despair – as always attempting this when around a third still left.
The fifth repeat of this exercise was even less successful due to failure to get the connection to work, at an unattended station in the Pyrenees.
All that can be said of all this is that practice goes on and confidence remains a long time coming! But the good news? The fridge continues to light, and stay lit, and keep the food cold – see separate post.
After the first 3 months of travel, I’ve been on my own for up to 6.5 weeks at one time – the first 3 weeks I was with my sister, and for one of those weeks with other extended family also, followed by the week visiting Lisbon and Porto, when my sister again joined.
The following are my reflections (not complaints) on how I’ve experienced this time and its content – for other travellers some or all of this may not of course be applicable:
Mentally and physically tiring – having observed the arrival/set up/take down/days out/departure activities of fellow motorhomers in couples, it occurs to me that doing the whole thing on my own has an impact for example on whether I want to make the effort to use the van as a vehicle for days out from a site rather than as a caravan, or even simply set up the outside table and awning, if I’m only going to be in a place for one or two nights;
to get to every new place, I’ve been the solo navigator, the solo driver of a heavy, 7m long vehicle, the solo motorway toll payer
to set up in a location, I make the arrival contact, select the pitch, determine the positioning of the van, negotiate getting it into/onto a pitch, and the use of ramps to level it, sussing out the services on the site etc
to visit/explore, I am mostly the sole ‘resource investigator’, the bus/train coordinator, and very importantly the KEY HOLDER.
Doesn’t sound like I’m selling this, but becoming mindful of it has enabled me to pace it, and hence enjoy it all better.
Neighbours – these are certainly more impactful I feel than if I were travelling as part of a couple; there have been two specific occasions where I’ve felt distinctly uncomfortable for completely different reasons, and which would not have arisen in my opinion had I been with others; the discomfort may not even have been justifiable – but given my subjective perception, was ‘real’ enough; the beauty of travelling like this is of course that one can move the vehicle even within a location, or simply drive onto the next one, which I duly did.
Both of the above two themes will result in my ‘hiding’ in my wheeled apartment, where I would therefore confirm a perceived british motorhoming stereotype – see post ‘Cock of the Aire’ 🙂
Particularly stressful events – these have been few – from the mountain drives, to equipment repair, but the one that tops it all sits in a continuing context of lack of practice and hence confidence in filling the LPG tank – see separate post. This is necessary to run the fridge when not on hook-up, and cooker, particularly in the latter case given that I damaged my portable induction ring.
Occurs to me, albeit somewhat late, that I may be assuming an understanding of what an Aire is, so by way of a quick explanation – these are glorified car parks dedicated to motorhomes which towns in many countries on the continent have seen fit to provide either for free or for a small car park charge. A different word/phrase is used depending on the country. The word can also describe privately-owned offerings and the rest areas/motorway service areas in France. They usually have water provision, and emptying of grey water – ie dirty waste water, as well as provision for emptying of chemical toilets. Here’s a rather lovely free example by a village called Barcos in the Douro – left-side pictures, and right side is a free aire in a tiny hamlet in the Pyrenees.
After 3 months of travel where I’ve taken advantage of these quite a bit, have decided that the French motorhoming tribe deserve the ‘Cock of the Aires’ designation; it’s their complete assurance, confidence, taking for granted attitude towards the use of these places. This was underlined by Sharon and John’s stories, and the caricature conversation at the photocopier equivalent, ie the aire parking meter – where one such Frenchman declared, after pontificating about Brexit, Margaret Thatcher, the British Empire and Commonwealth, that for all that, Les Anglais se cachent – ie on the aires.
Another way of looking at it would be that indeed I – perhaps speak for my fellow countrymen/women also – am not confident in asserting ones presence from the aire rooftops – rather tentative and not wholehearted about BEING THERE – struggling to rely on the fact that I won’t be moved on in the middle of the night, despite the parking ticket stuck to my windscreen, and whether I should (even if I think I’m able to) squeeze my van into the personal space of the two vans already assertively installed on either side of a space. Yes – as I muse on it, I bet there are books written on motorhome aire behaviours and national characteristics.
Seems to me there are lots of French trundling about in Portugal, loads of Dutch in northern Spain, lots of Dutch/Germans all over, lots of Brits in the Picos – no doubt the Santander/Bilbao ferry factor.
The aire (or Area Autocaravanas) at San Sebastian was very international – in addition to the usual French, Dutch, Germans, there was a smattering of Brits, the odd Austrian, Italian, Danish, Swedish and even a motorhome from Hungary. At one point a Slovakian pick-up truck towing a caravan circled the place, heaven forfend, and there was one ‘pitch’ available, but wouldn’t fit both. Not wanting to make the campervan curtains twitch that obviously to see the decision-making, abit later, when I emerged from hiding…, a proper, kosher, motorhome was parked there, and, phew, the correct order had obviously been maintained, no doubt by the French/Germans. 😉
For the aire – thanks to the city – its location in the university area within 3/4 mile of the city beaches via well-planned cycle lanes, the peace and quiet at night, the beautiful buildings and layout of its compact centre, the fantastic cycle lanes, the beautiful bay, sand, sea and surrounding green hills, the tapas or pintxos culture, and the conversations/time spent with fellow travellers – yes it’s my, in the end 3 night stay, at SAN SEBASTIAN.
I decided to visit here based on numerous recommendations, and stay at the city aire, despite a weather forecast of solid rain for a day – sacre bleu – the first for me in about 6 weeks. The first night the charge was 3.30, but for the next two it went up to the Summer parking charge of 7.60 per night.
After about a 190-mile drive from the Picos, managed to get the 2nd to last of the 30 or so places, and on this first evening, it poured down from about 6pm, all through the night and the next morning until about 3pm, when as forecast, the sun managed to re-assert itself.
Unfortunately I observed my transformation into a southern europe wuss – no longer able to contemplate going outside in such rain and chill, and even when the sun came out, I had to force myself to put jeans on, and various layers, get the bike off the rack and make an effort for the city, given it’s motorhome provision, the choice I’d made to come here, and the fuel expenditure in doing so.
But fortune favours the brave ….. and obviously not being one of those “les anglais se cachent!” (the view of a French motorhomer – more of that in https://lifeinnewlanes.com/?p=796 ), as a result of this courageous sortie, I found a companion to meet up with in the evening to go and try the pintxos, rather than spending the time (me cachant ? 🙂 ) as usual in my apartment. This companion was a Dutchman who happened to take the same otherwise more or less empty funicular ride to the viewpoint at Mont Igeldo, who, after having the usual sort of conversation as to what are you doing here etc, suggested that we meet up and go to the old town area in the evening together as he’d also spent the previous one holed up in his airbnb due to the rain.
Marcel from Enschede is a consultant for integrated city mobility/transport projects, – see www.empowerproject.eu – and had been attending a workshop in S Sebastian. It was great to have company, and actually ‘go out’ (gasp) for the evening, and find out about his work as I am interested in cycling provision and how integrated transport-wise continental cities seem to be in comparison with ours. But beyond this conversation, in for a penny in for a pound, I decided to try some gastronomy, which I had managed to avoid more or less totally up to that point, despite already having concluded that this was something of a shame, and not helped by my solo travelling. So Octopus, Crab, Bacalao, (ie Cod), Sardine, with only the last not being ‘acceptable’ to my uneducated philistine taste buds 🙂
Because of Marcel’s invitation, I also saw more of the city centre, which I may well have amazingly avoided, and with this and the sun reappearing the next morning, decided to stay for a third night. Really enjoyed cycling all round the different areas – photos speak for themselves – and having longish conversations in French with my neighbours, Yves and Michel from Lyon, who have invited me to contact them for an evening out, if ever I’m passing through their city. So cheers Marcel.
Lots of young people, surfer dude vibe, all nationalities – and made me think about the Summer that one of my youngest son’s best friends would have spent working here last year.
A placeholder for valuing explicitly in nor particular order my :
Lagun table mount, attached to this teak table top – perhaps on balance abit too heavy for this purpose, but very nice pieces of wood, and fitted by my good self. Love the mount’s design – swivelability, removeability, dismountability (getting silly now with words but gives me a simple chuckle), which I did for fridge repair, and hence versatility:
Using this alternative table location means that I can have my ‘living room sofa’ using the rear driver’s side single bed position for this seat, enabling good gazing through the side sliding door opening, so don’t need to swivel the passenger seat round unless I have company, or want to watch something on my tablet, which I need to keep plugged into the 12-volt socket above. I can also use the seat underneath the normal place for the table as a storage area when in residence and don’t have four people staying or travelling.
Aeropress coffee maker
Butter (soap) dish which closes and has rubber feet , so stays put
Family photos done via the Mixtiles app – moveable and non-marking
Solar panel – been keeping the same battery topped up since the van was acquired back in 2014, running the minimum electricity demand – primarly LED lights, TV when necessary via 12 volt, and keeping the tech charged, also by 12 volt
Route finding & navigation – can be love/hate – but use the Mercedes SatNav, in conjunction with Google maps, as well as the good old trusty paper versions which I love; but google maps on the phone is invaluable when exploring – A-Zs are a poor alternative for this purpose
Site/Overnight Location Finding – use fantastic peer platform Park4Night app, together with CamperStop, and the ACSI Camping scheme
Trusty Steed – fantastic to use the bike to go further afield, and cover more exploring ground; decided to take my mountain bike, fitting it with a rack, and more hybrid tyres, given its gears, more upright position etc; right choice and have really enjoyed riding in the warm sun and beautiful settings
At last – more than 3 months of travel, and several times feeling like a recliner would be a good thing to have along – am now proud owner of a Lafuma recliner
Previous one lasted several years, and really taken for granted as somewhat of a gimmick; however it’s fair to say that when it would work no more, its indispensability became apparent, and a new updated version was acquired
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