Spain in two hour jumps…

March 15, 2016March 14, 2016 | Mairead

(Town of Navajas, from the campsite)

We are near the city of Valencia today, in a small town called Navajas. We are travelling through Spain in two-hour jumps and two night stays. So here’s the route…

(View from campsite near Viñuela, near Malaga)

After Gibraltar we spent one night at a campsite in the countryside north of Malaga. The nearest shopping center also had a Dunnes Stores!

(Sunset at the beach near Balerma)

Then we went to a campsite near the village of Balerma in Almeria. The campsite was across the road from a beach. Almeria is an unusual region, if you have tomatoes in your kitchen at the moment they were probably grown here (if you live in Ireland, I mean). There are huge areas of land covered in plastic green houses and if you google Almeria green houses you will see pictures of them taken from space. We stayed here two nights and then moved to the mountains.

(The blue dot in the middle of the mountain range is El Borro)

(El Borro)

El Borro is a very small town on the side of a mountain in the Sierra Espuña, near Lorca. There were dire warnings in the guide-book about the road to the campsite but our journey through Portugal trained us well and we enjoyed every twist and turn, every vertical drop. When we arrived and turned off the engine the silence was magnificent, really peaceful place.

(Sunrise over the village of Campell. We had the best pitch of the trip here)

(Sunrise over the mountains)

A day later we were on another mountainside, peace and beauty again, in the little village of Campell, in the Alicante region. More twists and turns, more vertical drops, stunning. We went to the local bar to use the wifi the first night because the one in the campsite was slow. We got hungry and even though dinner was over (dinner might be at lunch time?) the lady turned on the ovens.

(That’s the sea in the far, far distance)

When we couldn’t read the menu, she gave us her phone with an app that reads one language and translates it into another! So we pointed her phone at the Spanish menu and the words appeared in English on the phone! After we finished eating great tapas we used her wifi to download the app. All for €20!

(Lots of walking trails from the campsite)

Next morning as we drove away we saw her clearing tables outside the bar and waved like long-lost friends. It took her a moment to place the strange people waving manically from their camper van but when she did she gave us a huge smile and a big wave. The little things.

(It’s spring in Campell)

So your all up to date, we’ll be moving on again tomorrow, on route to Barcelona and then the French border, Mairead.

The Rock of Gibraltar

March 10, 2016March 9, 2016 | Mairead

(At the back… Ruby and The Rock)

We’ve moved. We’ve left our campsite near Lagos and we’ve left lovely Portugal. We’re in search of a little more warmth and off to somewhere sunny in Spain. But on the way we visited Gibraltar. Gibraltar is a very small peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea, at the south of Spain. It is also a British overseas territory. They have a Union Jack flag and they speak English. And Spanish. It is interesting to hear people weaving their speech between Spanish and English depending on who they are talking to. We were sitting outside having coffee and there was a local couple sitting at the next table. One moment the lady was speaking with a very pronounced English accent in English to a friend passing by and next thing she was speaking what sounded like fluent, flowing Spanish, in a Spanish accent to a different person.

(At the front… Ruby and the marina)

The currency is pound sterling although they also recognise the € (kinda). We arrived in the town of La Lina on the Spanish side of the Gibraltar/Spain border on Saturday evening and stayed in a motorhome car park at the marina for the night. Next day, Sunday, we set off to have a look at this little bit of Britain in the Mediterranean Sea. It was a beautiful sunny day on the Spanish side of the border as we entered passport control. A machine read our passports and then a human read our passports and then we were in Gibraltar. It was sunny there too! Almost immediately we passed their airport and then we got to cross the real, live, working runway! There were no planes at the time… so we stopped, briefly, to take a few pictures.

(On your marks, get set, go!)

(Quick stop for a photo in the middle… Of. A. Runway!)

All the street signs and shop signs and advertising billboards are in English. We were hoping to go to the top of the rock and see the apes, but the cable car was closed (and so was the Marks and Spencer shop – closed on Sundays). No problem we decided we could probably do with a bit of strenuous exercise and began the long, long, sunny day, steep, climb by foot… Problem. Until we saw a bus… It was at that point that we realised the recognising of the € might be a bit tricky.

(Moorish Castle and flag)

The bus driver was very friendly and unfazed by our slowness – we didn’t know the fare and we held up the whole bus searching for change but we scraped together exactly the right amount – €4. The bus was going to Europa Point where there were beautiful view of Africa (no monkeys/apes though). We took loads of pictures and decided to go back down on the next bus. This time we’d be prepared so we went to the little shop to get change for a €20 note as we had nothing smaller and no coins left. Unfortunately, in spite of us being more than willing to buy some chocolate (more than willing) the shop did not have change of our €20. We were in a bit of a bind… I suppose a little more walking might have been possible… We went to wait at the bus stop. A very friendly lady with her husband and two children told us the drivers are used to giving change. No problem so.

(The lighthouse at Europa Point)

Problem. The driver (not the previous friendly one…) didn’t have change. A nice older man offered to give us the change but he thought we had pounds, sadly when he realised it was euro, he rescinded his offer. Do we have to get off? The driver said I’ll wait while you go to the shop. We tried that, they don’t have change. He said, go on so, sit down. We were very flushed taking our seats. The nice lady’s husband, joked, I bet you’re feeling embarrassed now! and all of us in the English-speaking section of the bus laughed. Gibraltar is a very friendly place. No problem so.

(That’s Africa over there!)

Problem. The bus driver didn’t laugh. He changed his mind, give me the note and I’ll go to the shop. Everyone stopped laughing… Denis went up with our €20. The driver hopped out of the bus, over a wall, around the playground and up the path to the shop. The whole bus waited. Someone joked, Tourists! I think he was joking. I was trying to communicate an I’m sorry to the non-English-speaking people but it mustn’t have translated well, because they were looking at us, but not in a loving way.

(We didn’t feed any Macaques… we did see one from the bus but we were a bit busy at the time…)

Next thing the driver is on his way back with change! It must have been some kind of miracle thing where they discovered change in the till… Whatever it was, the bus started and there was just a bit of mumbling… not sure what it was about, probably not about us… probably, I was feeling very flushed again.

For the rest of our day in Gibraltar we used the credit card, Mairead.

P.S. I’m way over my embarrassment budget so I’ll be giving up embarrassing things for a week or two.

The house special and a van full of whiskey…

March 3, 2016March 2, 2016 | Mairead

(Spotted this van near reception yesterday)

Whiskey Van

(The writing on the side…)

We are still in Luz near Lagos and it’s just starting to get warm enough to sit outside and write… wearing three layers, thick fleece, woolly socks, boots and sun hat! So this is what spring looks like… here. I’ve been getting weather reports from my Mam and twitter (two very good sources) and spring in Ireland seems a little different. We went to visit the southern edge of Europe on Saturday, the bit of Portugal that points south into the Atlantic Ocean. It was very windy and then rainy and then sunny, familiar. Familiar is nice.

(The tip of Portugal looks a bit like an open crab claw with Cabo de São Vicente (above) on one tip and Sagres on the other)

We met a lovely couple on the bus to Lagos last week who recommended a restaurant in the nearby village. You really don’t need recommendations as the food in Portugal has been really good, no matter where we go. This one wasn’t Portuguese but we thought we’d give it a try anyway.

(The landscape at Ponta de Sagres. Kinda like the Burren?)

There were lots of free tables when we got there but despite my very winning smile (normally..) the grumpy man behind the bar didn’t react to our arrival, so we picked a good spot, sat down and waited. We waited a long time during which the occupants of the only other table had taken out their iPod and started a 70’s sing-a-long. Maybe this was the wrong place?

(The lighthouse at the fort on Ponta de Sagres)

While we were considering our options the grumpy man arrived with menus saying, there’s a lovely Chicken Pie special. We spotted some interesting dishes on the menu and when he arrived back with drinks we asked about a few. Each special we asked about was off or finished or just for the summer season and then he mentioned the lovely Chicken Pie again… we looked at each other and there was a long pause…

(The beach at the peninsula behind the fort at Ponta de Sagres)

I gave in first, I’ll have the Chicken Pie, please. The grumpy man perked up slightly. Denis wasn’t ready to let go of an interesting steak and sausage thingy and tried again. To which grumpy man replied, ok but it’ll take a while, I have to defrost the sausage. Denis was torn but smart enough to say, no, sur’ I’ll have the special too, thanks. Grumpy man almost smiled. The Chicken Pie was very nice and by the end of the night we were humming along with Gloria Gaynor’s I will Survive.

We have a new rule: Portuguese Restaurants Only. Mairead.

Making peace with embarrassment

February 25, 2016February 24, 2016 | Mairead

(Palm tree trunk)

We’re still in Luz so I’m getting comfortable here, starting to feel right at home… which means some of my old habits are popping up. (By the way, I’m working away happily on my book so that’s probably why I keep thinking of habits and beliefs.)

(Lagos, old town)

So… one of my habits is, I see something I want to do but just before I do it, I think, “nooo, I would look stupid, much too embarrassing to do that!” Then afterwards when I don’t do it I feel a bit miserable for not doing it. A bit of a misery cycle. This habit is masking a couple of beliefs. The one that stops me doing the thing I want to do: What other people think of me is important and it needs to be positive. And the one that makes me feel miserable when I don’t do it: Trying new things is really good for my health. A bit of a self-judgemental cycle.

(Like blue sky)

At the same time I have returned to meditation, fifteen minutes every morning. And there’s something useful in the meditation practice that can help me untangle the misery and self-judgemental cycles. It’s about noticing whatever it is you’re feeling, just noticing, not thinking, just noticing… in your body. Not in your head, in your body. (Over emphasising might be a habit too?)

(Blue water, blue boat, blue jacket, blue hat)

So… I’m practicing meditation on my embarrassment. Each day (since Monday) I do one thing that I know would cause me to feel embarrassed and I notice what that’s like. In. My. Body. Monday morning I went to the outdoor gym! I had been looking at the equipment since last Wednesday when we arrived, thinking that looks like fun! Then the misery/self-judgemental cycle began, so I didn’t dare.

(Boat for sale…)

But on Monday morning I got into my baggy pants and approached the gym area. Slowly. Giving me time to notice the embarrassment and I noticed it… but it was a bit different. Too late to turn back I arrived at the area and there’s another camper doing gym things (and doing them really well) smiling and saying hello. Having a lot of embarrassing thoughts now but remembering just in time to NOTICE IN MY BODY I squeak out, Hi, which one of these is good for a beginner?

(Cobblestones)

She is really friendly, Dutch or German I think and delighted to point me towards a swing-swong kind of thing and I start swinging and it is fun. So much so that I try a stand-up-rowing machine thing next but that’s a bit harder. Just as I start to feel stupid and think this is too hard I remember to NOTICE IN MY BODY and I slow down and it’s ok. Feeling embarrassed is actually ok… the thing that’s upsetting is the thinking about being embarrassed, the thinking about the people watching, the thinking about the people who are good at this fun thing.

(Rocks and sea at Luz… doesn’t it look like Greystones? Or does everything remind us of Ireland?)

Sooo, I’m stand-up-rowing with a smile on my face and a hello for all the people walking by and my new Dutch or German friend says, the hardest thing is to stop yourself competing with other people, just do your best. Well, wasn’t that lovely? I feel quite emotional all of a sudden. I’m rowing away and I’m thinking this embarrassment thing isn’t so bad. Then a group of six toned Swedish women jog past and I wave and nearly fall off my stand-up-rowing machine.

There should be a health warning on these machines, Mairead.

Chicken Farming on the coast of Portugal

February 22, 2016 | Mairead

(Walking along the promenade, Lagos)

We have arrived in the south part of Portugal – the Algarve. We are about 2 km from a town called Luz and 6km from the city of Lagos (pronounced Laa Gosh.) The sun is back and today we cycled to the nearest beach in Luz. I feel very virtuous even though I had to walk the bit over the little hill… I had forgotten how great it felt to cycle. Yesterday we took the bus to Lagos and got lots of pictures. We found a very old walled town by the sea and a modern marina full of big boats.

(Lagos, old town)

We walked up and down the small streets, until we found a little cafe and settled down to writing postcards. Well, I was writing postcards, Denis was reading a book about Victoria and Albert (of Victoria and Albert museum, Queen Victoria, Albert Hall, fame…) He was really enjoying the book and every now and again he’d start chuckling…

(Lost of colour in Lagos)

To be honest it was a bit distracting, so I stopped writing to get curious about something that’s been on my mind – Failure. Or… how to consider the concept of failure in a different way. The phrase Fail… to Move On was in my head when I woke up yesterday morning. I think the easiest way to explain what I’m trying to say is with a little story….

(Love old doors, Lagos)

Once upon a time there was a young man, called, João (pronounced Jue/wan, Portuguese for John.) João had dreamed of being a chicken farmer since he was a boy. His dream had finally come true and he had enough money to purchase a small holding with chickens. He was working full-time as a builder but at the weekends he sold his chicken’s eggs at the market. He had plans to increase his holding and rent his neighbour’s field next door. Then the fox came with his extended family of foxes and most of the chickens were killed. The ones who survived were so traumatised that they stopped laying, got sick and died.

(Some boats at the marina in Lagos, for Dave)

João had no eggs to sell at the weekend markets and no chickens to take care of, he was heartbroken. His neighbour felt very sorry for him and invited him over for coffee one morning. They got chatting and the neighbour told João about his cousin, Sara (pronounced Serra) in the next town who had a chicken farm. Since her husband died she found it very hard to do all the work on her own. Maybe João would consider helping her? João said no he had enough of the chicken game, he was going to give up on his dream and settle down to normal life. The neighbour understood and said no harm done just though I’d ask. She’s very good-looking.

Saw this pretty thing as I was about to sit on it!)

João thought he’s misheard his neighbour so he said, Sorry? The neighbour explained that Sara, the chicken farmer, had been widowed young and was in fact, the same age as João. Also, she was a very good-looking woman. Oh. Right. João finished up his coffee, said thank you to the neighbour and set off for home. He sat in his kitchen late that night looking out at his empty chicken run. When he woke in the morning he had decided that there would be no harm in having a chat with the chicken farmer. If nothing else he’d have a look at her chickens, he missed looking at chickens.

(Choppy seas but warm air in Luz)

Fail… To Move On. What if failure stops us settling for less? Opening the way to move on to the real thing…. Mairead.

Lost and Found in Portugal

February 18, 2016February 17, 2016 | Mairead

(This is a close up…. I was at least 100 meters away)

We’ve been moving around a lot lately, it seems, in search of warm dry weather. We moved from Castro Verde to Porto Covo – think Ballycotton in April, it was a bit grey with showers of rain and sleet and gale force winds. Then we moved just down the road to Vila Nova de Milfontes, where the weather was better (it was better everywhere, we just happened to be there.) That’s where I got lost trying to find the post office and the cobblers.

(Stormy Porto Covo)

I’ve brought a lot of clothes on this trip… but all I needed was a fleece (warm) and boots (warm and rain proof.) The boots had begun to object from over use – the sole had separated from the upper and was starting to trip me up. I asked the lady at reception and she was delighted to show me where to go. On the map. Turns out I’m not good with maps…

(The blue and white is very Porto Covo)

But I love maps. I love to know exactly where I am… and how to get to somewhere else. It comes from my childhood. Our Dad taught my brother and me how to read a map and how to give directions to the numerous tourists visiting out town. He ran the local petrol station and we earned money working there during our teenage years We had strict instructions when giving Americas directions not to send them on the wrong road to Kilkenny. Send them on the main road, they like big roads and they won’t get lost. I remember often explaining to people who really wanted to go on the small road that they wouldn’t like it!

(Not the cobblers. The river Mira flowing into the Atlantic Sea. Hello M(o)ira!)

Anyway, I went in (completely) the wrong direction and found myself with a beautiful view. I found the cobblers the next day and with the help of one of his friends I got the message across that my sole needed gluing and he got the message across that it would be ready in the afternoon.

(Shout out to my brother who is doing a triathlon called (I think) The Power of a Torn Knee. My sister-in-law sent me this photo of him, doing some training. Go Lar!)

Sometimes it’s good to get lost, Mairead.

Where the firemen go for coffee….

February 12, 2016February 11, 2016 | Mairead

(Unusual house in Castro Verde. It was the talk of the town in the 1900’s because of the creative use of the latest building material – cement)

It’s been raining here for a couple of days. I can see the birds digging for worms in the damp grass. They seem very excited – a feast. After being stuck inside all day yesterday I was excited myself to get out of Ruby this afternoon. I put on my coat and went on a photo walk. We’re in a town called Castro Verde, about an hour from Beja. Because of this town I have learned two more Portuguese words: Castro means castle and Verde means green. I can tell you it came in very handy when I was asking for green tea (tea is Chá, like they say in Cork!)

(I love the streetscapes in Portuguese towns but I can’t seem to reproduce what I see in a photo)

There’s lots of art in the environment pieces around the town and as I was taking photos of one I saw the fire station… One day when we were out walking in Beja we passed a cafe and I was just about to step inside when I noticed the name Cafe de Bombeiro. We thought Bombeiro meant Fire Station and sure enough the cafe was part of the fire station. So we didn’t go in… says I, must be for the firemen. But then today I spotted another Cafe de Bombeiro – in a fire station too. Why are there cafes at the Fire Stations and do I have to be a Fireman to go in?

(See the flowering tree?)

I thought about the firemen for a while but then the rain came back and I went back to Ruby. Via the supermarket. It’s always interesting to look at the unusual food on the shelves and in the fridges. I’ve been looking for something for a week now and each new supermarket I go into I search it out. I’m searching for Milton, the stuff you use to sterilise babies’ bottles. It’s a mild bleach and I was using it to keep the grey water tank (washing up water) smelling lovely. The bottle was nearly empty when we left and now it’s all gone, so I’ve been searching. Today, as usual, I started looking in the baby section but then I went to the cleaning section where I spotted the toilet bleach products and that’s when I wondered…

(This area is the bread basket of Portugal – this is one of the art in the environment pieces)

Why did I put bleach in my babies’ bottles? Of course everyone did it. It was recommended. I got free samples. Hmm… It’s funny what we don’t notice about the things we do every day, the things we use every day, the things we see every day. Standing in this Portuguese supermarket the effort to make sense of the words and the products and the aisles has shaken my beliefs. A cafe full of fireman might be just what I need.

Portugal is making me doubt my reality, Mairead.

Bye, Bye, Beja

February 8, 2016February 7, 2016 | Mairead

(We left Beja on Saturday morning)

We finally had to leave Beja. It had been eleven days and it was time… to leave the great toilets, the brilliant library, the very convenient supermarkets, the just-up-the-road McDonalds, the interesting churches and chapels, the restaurants, the cafes and the happy man in the museum.

(There are lots of chapels and churches to visit)

One day last week I went off exploring the town and found a little church with a museum and something else – a happy man. I had been to a few of these churches with museums while we’ve been in Beja. There are always very friendly attendants who go to pains to explain in English that if I have any questions, please ask. Generally, I don’t have questions because everything is so different. I am too busy getting my head around what I see to have any.

(This is the one with secrets…)

This attendant was different. He did tell me if I had any questions I should ask and then he said “but, before you start looking could I tell you some things about this church…” Of course! There followed a private tour with a man who loved his work. He told me the church was built in the 14th century. That it used to be a lot bigger. That the garish gold decorations were a later addition. He didn’t actually say garish but I know he meant it! Each of the churches I’d been in had this gold paint covering everything. Well everything except for the 1950’s style statues that you might see in any convent in Ireland.

(… and fake marble)

Hearing that the gold was not the original made my eyes light up because I had noticed when I walked into each of these churches a deep sense of calm, but then I would see the gold paint and wonder how it was possible that such a flashy place could be so calm. The attendant saw that he had caught my attention and pointed to the wall near the door, saying it was marble, or at least that’s what I thought he said. I had noticed the wall, it looked like a painted green marble… was it possible it was really marble? I went over to touch it and he exclaimed, “Noooo, that’s just like the gold. Here, this.” He was pointing at the holy water font, a beautiful simple basin with simple carved lines. It was real, no gold, no green and it was cold, very cold like real marble. Because it was real marble. They had to rip away the fake marble to expose it. Then he said, “We also exposed a secret passage. Would you like to see it?” Yes. Yes, I would!

(…and real marble, behind the fake marble)

He walked over to the altar, grasped two sides of the gold front, something clicked and then he lifted the front away. Inside there were bricks and what looked like a door gap that had been cemented closed. “Oh yes, I see” says I, but he says “Noooo, look over this way” and to the left of the cement door I can see a gap running behind the fake green marble. And I can see tiles, the pretty blue Portuguese tile that you see everywhere here. Again he say “Noooo, they are not tiles, they are frescos! From the 14th century!” O my Goodness, they looked like they were in perfect condition, they had been protected all this time by the horrible green fake marble.

(Anyone educated by nuns will recognise the statue. Under it is the panel that opens to reveal the secret…)

In case you didn’t know, I used to be a tour guide at the Rock of Cashel… There are old, but very badly deteriorated frescos in St. Cormac’s Chapel, a 14th century building on that site. Frescos (from Wikipedia: Fresco is a technique of mural painting executed upon freshly laid, or wet lime plaster) are a big deal! Here in the small church in Beja there are 700 year old frescos in near perfect condition. (I was too stunned to take a picture!)

Sometimes a rough exterior hides a beautiful soul, Mairead.