So, farewell was bid to London and off Andrew and I set to catch our ferry from Dover to Dunkirk. Well, we almost made it, but alas, apparently arriving 10 minutes prior to departure is not sufficient time to pass through border control and catch your ferry. So, as we pulled in to the ferry terminal, we were forced to turn around and exit again, as our ferry chugged off into the blue yonder. So, one false start down, we managed to be well in time for the next available ferry (4 hours later) and off we set for the shores of France. One country down, 20 to go.
Exhausted and ready for some down time after our mad last week in London, we joined up with my folks in the Pyrenees for a week of skiing, crepes, vin chaud and some well deserved R&R. The Pyrenees deserve a definite mention – they are lower in altitude and several degrees warmer than their big brother, the Alps. Gentle, friendly and decidedly pretty, this mountain range is a favourite amongst Spaniards and the local French.
Trying to repack our snow-covered 4×4 (christened Dagga Bull after the lone, tough male buffaloes that roam the African bush and enjoy the odd wallow in mud pools) was an experience, for us and the passers-by, and sure to contrast with what will follow.
My parents patiently put up with our gear strewn all over the chalet as we resorted and reorganised our packing system. Frequent trips to ‘Wi-Fi’ stations were also a regular part of our daily routine as we desperately tried to get last minute ebay purchases sent to the rest of our crew pior to their departure. (A massive thanks to Kevin and Eva in this regard!).
One week later, rejuvenated, we squashed my folks’ bags into the back seat, squashed them in too for good measure and off we set for Spain! A gorgeous drive through the Cols of the Pyrenees, the trees all sugar-coated in a dusting of snow was followed by a meander through rural Spain towards Cadaques. Betty, our GPS and vocal 5th member of our car chose a decidedly scenic route, which we all throroughly enjoyed, despite some incredibly small and windy roads. Tapas and a stay-over at ‘Hotel Masrai’ welcomed us to Spain – quiet and chilly at this time of year.
Day 2 in Spain included a tour of Salvador Dali’s eccentric museum and holiday retreat, Figueres and Cadaques respectively. We then spent some time returning to my father’s youth when he had worked as a sailing instructor in Roses. He was amazed by the development that had occurred since he had last worked there 35 years ago. He reminisced about his motorbike that he had brought over with him from France, and alas, had failed to impress a prominent property developer’s daughter.
Our next stop-over was the beautiful city of Barcelona with it’s wide streets, grand buildings and exotic palm trees lining the squares. We had problems finding parking for our extra high vehicle, but thankfully were able to solve our dilemma by staying at a slightly outer-lying hotel and parking our car in a guarded restaurant parking bay just opposite.
Unfortunately, my Mom’s back played up due to a combination of long hours in the car combined with coughing with a cold. She was very disappointed but in her typical way, she smiled and told us to enjoy ourselves while she recovered. So, the three of us spent a great day exploring Barcelona’s marina, Barceloneta, the beach, the local markets and later the Ramblas and Gaudi’s unfinished church. That evening, Mom had recovered enough to join us for a delicious paella meal just across the road from our hotel.
Sadly, the following day we said goodbye to my folks who were catching a train back to Paris, and thereafter, flying home to SA. Andrew and I camped that evening along the Costa Brava – the horrifically overdeveloped coastal resorts populated by Europeans escaping the cold winters, or realizing their dreams of a place in the sun. Truly awful in every respect and, in our opinion, to be avoided!
The Alhambra Palace in Granada was certainly a highlight and we marveled at the exotic Arabian architecture reminding us of ancient times gone by. We were dressed warmly but still became chilled to the bone as we waited to get in (the queues at this time of year were non-existent at the crack of dawn however we had arrived early after being warned by our hotel receptionist that we should rather be safe than sorry).
Our next stop-over was Cordoba, famous for it’s Mezquita – initially a mosque and now a church. The red and white double arches inside were very impressive as was the sheer size of the interior. This town, like so many others in Spain had streets lined with orange trees, the green leaves and bright orange fruit creating a gorgeous effect. In Cordoba, we also inadvertently stumbled upon a medieval festival , complete with tame eagles, huge open coal fires roasting plump pigs and stalls selling jewelry and sweet cakes.
Tarifa was our last top-over prior to meeting up with the rest of our African Vuvuzela crew. At last, Africa was within reach, beckoning enticingly! Au Revoir Europe.
