26th August - The Swiss Alps

Tuesday 26th August 2008

And then it was cold again! Yesterday we had our most ‘British’ experience of the trip so far, by waking up in what seemed like a large ice bucket - well, almost. We now find ourselves high up in the beautiful Swiss Alps in a quite stunning village called Grimentz, in a handy little free aire with electricity for just CHF 1.50. The journey from the South of France was a long and steep one, but one which was more than definitely worth the effort.

After leaving St. Tropez we spent a few pleasant days in Nice before we visited our 4th country in the shape of little Monaco. We only spent one evening here, mainly due to us having to park what felt like a few miles out of the centre, in fact we were more than likely parked in France due to Monaco’s ridiculous size. We did have a stunning view of Monaco from where we camped for the night though (pictured). We visited the famous Monte Carlo Casino (also pictured), where we pretended to be loaded for one evening even though we spent not a penny on the tables or machines - we fooled nobody. Perhaps it was because I was sporting “ripped jeans”, not the usual attire for someone driving a £100,000 Bentley and spending £1000 on one throw of the dice. It was fun trying though.

Monaco was our last destination in France as we crossed the border into Italy and headed for Turin where we spent 2 days. We arrived on Saturday evening and we were surprised by the lack of activity in the centre of the town and it’s main streets, hardly a soul was about apart from us and a few street traders who can’t have been doing too well that night. We explored Turin properly on Sunday which meant the town was even quieter, and although almost everything was shut we didn’t particularly mind as we were the only tourists about - which made a change from places like Paris, Madrid and Barcelona which we’ve previously visited. Although I was slightly annoyed as I couldn’t find anywhere open which sold an English newspaper and I was desperate to read about Southampton’s one-nil victory of hapless Derby County the previous day.

Turin is a pretty place, but not much to write home about. Perhaps I’m being harsh, and perhaps I am judging it along with the likes of the three cities listed above, but in all honesty there isn’t a great deal to see unless you can afford to spend 10 Euros going into each museum, which Turin is not short of. We did manage to find a handy free (again!) parking spot though, almost in the city centre. We were parked right next to Turin’s second largest train station, and about 5 minutes walk from the main square. There was a little train noise throughout the night but nothing too drastic. We were somewhat apprehensive about leaving Eric here though, it was the first major city since the Marseille fiasco, but we needn’t of worried as no funny business occurred.

Even though we’d only just arrived in Italy, Turin was to be our penultimate stop there as this was only really a passing visit - we’ll explore Italy in full depth later this year when we catch the ferry from Greece or Albania, where we will arrive in either Bari or Brindisi on the South coast. Our final destination in Italy for now though was spent in an Aire listed in our trusty Camper Stop 2007 Guide, in Breuil-Cervinia, way up in the Italian Alps, within touching distance of the 4482ft high ‘Matterhorn’. The road was long and winding (we should have played our Beatles album on the way up) and it took around 30 minutes to reach the aire, but when we did it did not disappoint. The view of the overlooking surrounding mountains was breath taking and the temperature had suddenly fallen from what we have been used to these past few months, and we attracted some odd looks when jumping out of the motor home in just shorts and sandals, as you can imagine. We stayed only one night and although the guide said we’d be charged 6 Euros, nobody ever came to collect anything so we had another free stop over. Before a quick coffee in a nearby café we made our way back down the mountain towards Switzerland - what would be our 6th country of the trip so far!

We took the SS26 through Aosta (where I managed to pick up a Sunday Mail, thankfully. A tiny write up on the game mind, surprise surprise.) and then took the SS27 on mountainous terrain towards the Tunnel du St Bernard which would take us through the other side of the Alps into Switzerland. Upon arriving at the pay-point we were greeted with a huge sign saying “Camping Cars 36.50 Euros”. 36.50? For a small tunnel? It was quite ridiculous, and although we’d driven a long way to get there we could not justify spending that much of our budget on one tunnel, so we had to turn back to where we were told by the polite English speaking man in the kiosk that there was a scenic route through the mountains which would add around 45 minutes onto our journey. This didn’t bother us though, the scenic route sounds much prettier than a tunnel, and what’s more it’s 36.50 Euros cheaper. The views over the valleys below were awesome, but the road surface left a lot to be desired. They clearly haven’t done any work to this road since it was built in 500 BC.

When you cross the border into Switzerland, everything changes immediately. Not like when you cross from France to Italy or Spain to Portugal where you can hardly notice a difference. Switzerland stands out from any other country we’ve been to so far. The roads are perfectly maintained, everything sparkles as if it’s just been freshly scrubbed the same morning and the people are always smiling and greet you with a smile and a “Bonjour”. It really is a very agreeable little place.

We wanted to head to another aire listed in the Camperstop book in the town which we currently reside, ‘Grimentz’, for the sole reason that the photograph in the guide is stunning. On the left is a motor home dwarfed by huge snow covered mountains, and on the right a place to get water and electric. It said it was free too so that was a bonus. We drove along the SR21 through Martigny, where we had to draw out some Swiss Francs and headed along the straight and flat D9 in the bottom of a valley running alongside the river Rhone (which we’d last seen in Avignon). The flat Roman like road made a fantastic change from all these hills we’d been twisting and turning up.

We found the turning to go up in the ‘Val d Anniveers’ where the village is located two thirds of the way up. Upon arriving in Grimentz we were greeted by a few other motor homes parked in the road side aire, and although there was no snow like the photo, the location was still perfect.
The village of Grimentz itself is beautiful beyond words, and I have absolutely fallen in love with the place. It’s so quiet and peaceful, so pretty and just so perfect. Stunning dark brown wooden chalet style houses are randomly scattered across the hillside, and the village centre is like something from a fairytale. Each building has shutters on the windows, a small balcony and hundreds of flower baskets hanging off them, which look like they each have a personal professional gardener as they are all so perfectly kept. It adds so much colour to the place. My mother would absolutely love this place too, and when I win the lottery I’ll buy her one of these chalets to retire to.

For me, it feels like the real travelling has started. We’ve had our holiday, we’ve sat on the beach long enough, and now we are into proper Europe, real Europe and certainly beautiful Europe. In my opinion this little village certainly beats any of the major cities we’ve been to for beauty and interest. I could wander these petit streets for hours and never be bored, whereas after a few hours wandering a capital city it starts to take its toll, and the interest wears off after seeing most of the attractions. This village is the closest I’ve experienced since I lived and worked in Brockenhurst in the New Forest, which I absolutely adored for it’s charm and tranquillity, but this place is like no other - hopefully the photos attached do it justice. I don’t quite know where we’re going next (that’s quite a nice feeling to have) but if all of Switzerland is like this then we’re going to have a great time here.

A free rock concert in Monaco

The Aire in Grimentz

The Aire in Breuil-Cervinia

20th August - South of France

Wednesday 20th August 2008

We’re still going, still plodding along! (Despite the lack of recent blog updates).

The trip seems to have taken a much more relaxed pace, which suits us both. We’re taking it much slower now than when we first started, spending more time at each stop and generally taking it easy - this is perhaps because of our sheer excitement and enthusiasm to “get to the next place” when we first started. At the beginning we were moving on literally every day, we’d very rarely stay somewhere for more than 24 hours, but that’s all changed now. For example we spent 4 days in a small town called Torrenueva in South East Spain (highly recommended for Motorhomer’s due to ample ‘on beach’ free parking and superb clear water), a whole week in Mojacar, 3 days in Benidorm, 3 in Barcelona, and 2 days in Banyoles & Narbonne respectively, so the pace really has slowed. It’s given us more time to relax and explore the places we’re visiting.

Barcelona was three days superbly spent. We managed to find a parking space (somehow) in the city centre, about 5 minutes drive from Las Ramblas (the main street) and within touching distance of the beautiful ‘Nou Camp’ football stadium. The parking was free and we weren’t asked to move on. This spot was especially handy for us as we were able to get tickets for the Barcelona v Wisla Krakow match which was a thoroughly enjoyable one. The game finished 4-0 to Barcelona and the atmosphere was superb throughout, the only worrying moment was after the game when a “safety” steward (and I use to term ’safety’ very loosely) tried to pick a fight with me for not leaving the ground quick enough! He was much bigger than I was, so I left it.

The city of Barcelona itself is vibrant and cosmopolitan with a good mix of historical sights thrown in. The famous “Sagrada Familia” was a disappointment though. It’s basically a huge cathedral, which would be stunning I’m sure, if it didn’t have 50% of the whole worlds supply of scaffolding attached to the side of it. They claim they can’t afford to finish it but they still had thousands of tourists (not us I might add) pouring inside each paying 5 Euros to “help us afford to finish this beautiful piece of architecture”… a lovely little scam they’ve got going on there!

After Barcelona we stayed in a large campsite called ‘Camping El Llac’ in the village of Banyoles, not far from the French border. The reason it’s called “El Llac” is due to its lakeside location, which on a hot sunny day is perfect to go boating on, we couldn’t resist and paid the man 10 Euros to row across a huge lake and get stuck several times in the bushes and reeds, much to the amusement of each passer by. ‘Twas good fun though. The Campsite had a large pool, small supermarket, restaurant, good shower and toilet facilities, plenty of places to refill Eric with drinking water and it had a hose, so no fiasco with 1.5l bottles again, thankfully. With electric hook up it set us back 22 Euros per night. Quite steep really but it’s the going rate of all campsites we’ve stayed at.

At around 11pm during our stay at this campsite it strangely started to rain - we hadn’t come across rain for over a month so this was quite a novelty, but after a few minutes we realised it wasn’t just a few drops but more a tropical storm! The rain was coming down like nothing I’ve ever seen in England before… the noise it was making hitting the roof of the Motor home was almost deafening! We wanted to enjoy it so went outside (fully clothed) for a walk, and within minutes the whole campsite was half flooded in around 3/4 inches of water; thunder and lightning exploding above us. We were enjoying it greatly… until we realised we’d left the bloody sun roof open. Splendid.

(Dancing in the rain, left).

We spent a few pleasant days in the French city of Avignon which still has almost a complete set of surrounding ancient walls before heading to Marseille (Frances second largest city). We found a spot to park on the “Quai du Port” which is one of the main streets in the beautiful “Vieux Port”, lined with bustling bars and restaurants. We were parked just around the corner though, out of site from the majority of tourists so we thought we wouldn’t have a problem being moved on. We arrived late at night so after a quick stroll we headed off to bed. In the morning we were surrounded by the same cars and hadn’t been asked to go, so we thought it would be fine to leave Eric there for the day whilst we did all the tourist stuff and explored Marseille, what with it’s beautifully decorated Notre Damn cathedral with quite stunning views over the whole city.
We spent a nice day in the sun and were even given a free ice lolly in a newsagents! The reason being of course is because it cost 80 cents but I tried to pay with a 20 Euro note, so she just let it pass… oops. We’d spent a long day exploring and soon after finishing our lollies it got late so we decided to head back to the motor home, with a pleasant opinion of Marseille and their newsagents left in the memory.

Upon getting closer to Eric we noticed something was not quite right. “What the hell is wrong with the window?” Mike asked. I looked up and saw half of it was on the floor with a hinge hanging in mid air. Our hearts sank, and as we got closer it was clear that we’d been broken into.

Eric was in a complete state. All the cupboards were open and almost everything was on the floor. We were completely gutted. It felt like someone had stabbed us in the back. We quickly looked around to see what had been taken, the first obvious one was the flat screen TV. They completely ripped it from it’s bracket which in itself is bolted down. Apart from that and 47 Euros, it was all the thieves managed to steal. We considered ourselves quite lucky as we could have come off a lot worse if 1) the thieves had thought to look in other places and 2) we didn’t have a safe.

The window (made of plastic) is snapped in half, but thankfully has not been completely broken and we managed to reattach it to the framework and is now pretty sturdy again. We’ll have to get it properly fixed eventually though. It was a complete shock and a pain to lose a very expensive TV, but we’ve treated it as a wake up call. We were stupid to leave valuables lying around, but thankfully they didn’t find them all, so from now on EVERYTHING is going in the safe at all times when we leave Eric.

The police weren’t interested frankly. We told them what happened, in pidgin English, they took a few details and then quite bluntly told us to leave the station - charming. They didn’t even look for themselves and we don’t expect anything to happen. We’ll call the insurance company in a few days when we get our heads out of our books we’re currently reading!

All in all it was a horrible experience but we’ll learn from it and it’ll make us stronger. The trip is going great in general though, and we’ve just spent a nice few days in St. Tropez, another playground for the rich and famous.

Maybe one day we’ll be able to travel in our of the super yachts we saw rather than a motor home… or maybe I should stop dreaming!

(Not a bad parking spot in Mojacar, Spain)

28th July - Southern Spain

Monday 28th July 2008

For the past few weeks we have been living off pretty much the same routine, which consists of nothing more than waking up, going to the beach, sun bathing and going to sleep. We don’t normally get to the beach until around midday, the most likely reason being is because that’s not until when we’re awake enough to realise what’s happening outside of the motor home, then we do realise that it’s another beautiful day so had better make the most of it. It’s a system which is working well for us, but unfortunately not many interesting stories or anecdotes arise from such an existence!

We slowly made our way from Praia da Luz along the Algarve Coast, making leisurely stopovers at Albufeira, Tavira and Monte Gordo before crossing the border into Spain.

We were somewhat, not ‘disappointed’, but ‘surprised’ by the Algarve in general. We had this image of an idyllic, luxurious haven but we were much more impressed with Portugal’s West coast than it’s South. The Algarve’s beaches seemed small, (in comparison to the beaches of Nazare and Milades visited previously) over crowded and in some cases actually a little dirty. We visited ‘Praia do Castelo’ to the West of Albufeira and stayed for a few days as again we found a perfect parking spot a few minutes walk from the beach where we stayed for free without any hassle at all. The beach itself was as you’d expect beautiful on the eye with golden sand and apparent clear blue water, but as we got up close to the sea we discovered that it wasn’t that clear at all. We were obviously being very picky though… I mean, in comparison to the English Channel the water in Portugal was practically taken straight from a bottle of Evian, but by this point we had very high expectations after the superb waters we swam in on the West Coast.

We experienced more unpleasant water in Monte Gordo where the water was overwhelmed by green slime which had washed up on the beach and remains of which we still found on our swimming trunks a few hours afterwards. This wasn’t much of a problem though in all reality - the weather was always fantastic and we haven’t been moved on once for parking somewhere we shouldn’t - in fact at Monte Gordo we were parked up alongside 7 other Motor Homes, it was almost like being in a French Aire. I think the ease of parking will actually be the stand out memory of Portugal for us, at not one point have we felt threatened or unsafe and it’s all been free, what more can we ask?

We headed into Spain via the toll free A49 motorway, which made a lovely change after spending the past month surviving only on A Roads - we made some real progress in a relatively short space of time… we’d almost forgotten how that felt! (We were also pleased by the 12 cents drop per litre in the price of petrol just by moving out of Portugal and into Spain might I add).

Another couple of free nights were had in Punta Umbria near the town of Huelva and yet more sunbathing took place, before taking a long drive from there through Seville and down the A376/5/4/7 to the wealthy town of Marbella on the Costa Del Sol. Marbella was just as beautiful as I had remembered it from a holiday I took here two years ago, only if anything it seemed more rich and prosperous than before. A Café I had visited on the promenade called ‘the Bombaros’ was now a sleek and stylish Restaurant, no longer serving a three course meal for 11 Euros. An English paper now cost 4 Euros rather than 2, and a bottle of Peach Schnapps had also doubled in price - a shame for a traveller like me but a sign of the times I guess.

Marbella isn't just a promenade and a mile of Golden Beach though, it also has a stunning old town with narrow side streets and cute cafes and traditional tapas bars. The atmosphere it creates in the evening when the restaurants are full and the buskers are playing is delightful, and this part hadn't changed at all from my last visit. I fell in love with Marbella when I was here last, and I now remembered why - I could live here if I won the lottery...I wouldn't move away from England for many places, but this is certainly one I'd be happy to drop everything and move away for - it's a beautiful town.

We spent Saturday night in nearby Puerto Banus - a playground for the rich and famous, quite literally. Whilst wandering the streets we often passed Lamborghini’s, Ferrari’s and Aston Martins, meeanwhile the port is lined with million pound super yachts. They really are out of this world… all of them were bigger than not only my house, but any house I’d ever seen in my life. They were all lit up as the evening strollers walked by, and you could see all the way inside to where the rich people were sitting, drinking champagne and counting their money (an endless task it would seem). It was a warm evening and although we were clearly two poor travellers in a rich mans back garden it was still an enjoyable night where we somehow managed to only spend 10 Euros each in a bar called ‘Flicks’ (mostly filled with Brits). Every other bar we enquired in were charging at least 10 Euros just for entry, so we felt we’d done pretty well.

Next stop Granada, which is a few kilometres inland. We can’t be having that - straight back to the beach afterwards methinks.

13th July - Portugal's West Coast

Sunday 13th July

Sitting here now we find ourselves in the beautiful Praia de Luz in the Algarve region of Portugal. It’s the 20th of July and I have no idea where the last week has gone. The last I knew we were in Madrid and now we find ourselves in the beautiful Algarve! We spent a few leisurely days and nights moving west across mid-Spain after leaving Madrid and crossed over the Portuguese border on the 13th.

The last week has been a complete blur, we have been basically just moving on each day from beach to beach on Portugal’s stunning West Coast and our time here has been fantastically cheap so far. Motorhomer’s won’t find any official stopover’s or Aires as you do so frequently in France, but we have had absolutely no problem parking for free at every beach we have visited, including Nazare, Santa Cruz, Portinho da Arrabida, Melides and Sagres. Each location has had a large, free and mostly empty car park directly on their respective beaches. How else could you wake up each morning with a view of different beach, and spend each evening watching the sun set over a different sea?

Lisbon was well worth a day trip, and even there we were able to park Eric for one day and night for just 1.20 Euros in the nearby town of Queluz, the next town on from Amadora which was actually a nightmare for parking. It was a manned car park next to the station, which 24 hour security - if we were in England we’d have needed to take out a small bank loan to stay there for more than a day. Lisbon itself isn‘t large, for a capital city. It has a metro but to be honest it doesn’t need one, and we were never likely to use it at 8 Euros for 10 stops, especially seeming as our train from Queluz only cost 1.30 Euros.

The city centre is full of drunks and beggars which spoilt our experience a little. The beggars were very persistent and very irritating after the first two or three - I know that sounds harsh, but they never leave you alone. They come up to people sitting in Café’s and Bars and families enjoying a meal, they follow you down a street - it was a bit sad really.

It wasn’t all bad though. The views overlooking the city and the ocean from the ‘Castle of Jorge’ (I think I‘m right with that name…you can tell I've researched this well can't you?!) are stunning, and although you have to pay 5 Euros to get into the castle you can just walk 2 minutes down the road next to the Church to experience the same panoramic sights for free - and there’s a bar, so it’s win win.

So far we have used Portugal as a resting zone. This last week has been our most relaxed by far after spending a lot of time on the road in the previous two weeks down from the Northern tip of France all the way down to Madrid, we feel we’ve earned a bit of a rest even though we probably haven‘t. The good news is we haven’t even begun our attack on the Algarve beaches yet, we’re only at the beginning, and of course after that we have the Spanish Costa’s and the south of France to err… ‘brave’.

Sun, sea, sand, cerveza…Ooh it’s going to be a tough next few weeks, I can sense it.

Parked in a campsite in Spain, just to prove to my Mum that we have actuallydone some washing!

Monsanto, Portugal, up a large hill.

Parked in Bathalla, Portugal - large gothic Cathedral in the distance.

Our view of the sunset over the Atlantic, from the Motor Home.

9th July - Madrid

Wednesday 9th July

After leaving Pamplona we headed South West towards the city of Burgos, 100 kilometres north of Madrid. We spent a day in a campsite in Monasterio de Rodilla, east of Burgos, after finding out the hard way that the campsite we were heading to in the centre of Burgos (20km away from the other campsite) no longer existed. ‘Picon Del Conde’ in Monasterio de Rodilla was very pleasant though (staff speaking little, but enough English) for 14 Euros a night with electric hook up.

The next day we drove the 100km down the A1 to Madrid, where we parked again next to a train station, this time; El Escorial was our base, an historic, pretty old town around 15km from the centre of the Spanish Capital. It’s Monastery (Pictured left) is worth a visit too, and according to our guide book it’s not only one of the “Best Sights in Europe” and describes it as an “Immense Renaissance complex of Palatial and monastic buildings and mausoleum of the Spanish Monarchs".

Parking was free at the station, which we obviously love, and we weren’t the only ones parked there over night (no other motor homes though, unfortunately). We caught the 9.15am train into ‘Madrid Atocha’ station which took just over an hour. Spanish trains are nowhere near as comfortable as the ones we encountered in France, and at every station stop you are greeted by a series of overly loud sirens - presumably to wake up the locals who had too much Sangria the night before. The fare was much cheaper than in France though…swings and roundabouts.
Madrid was fantastic, I much preferred it over Paris. It seemed like my kind of city. There’s an interesting mix of old style with contemporary architecture, more honest retail (in comparison to the many jewellery and shoe stores in Paris which you could only visit after a large lottery win) and there were some really fascinating buildings on offer. For example, the Palace of Communications is more than stunning, and was one of the first sights we were greeted with after disembarking at ‘Sol’ Metro Station.

We paid a visit to the Restaurant Sobrino de Botin in Calle Cuchilleros, just off the famous Plaza Mayor square. It dates back to 1725 and was one of the locations where Ernest Hemmingway wrote some of his short stories - one of which Mike was reading at the time. The waiters kindly let us in for a look and to take some photos - which was good because we weren’t on the kind of budget to spend 9 Euros on a glass of wine.

The whole day spent in Madrid was an enjoyable one. Looking back, I must have been extremely fond of the city because I haven’t let the fact that it took us 4 and a half hours to get back to El Escorial mar my view of the place (wrong train after wrong train after another wrong bloody train).

To make a difficult last few hours worse, when we got back to the motor home our grey water was leaking. Although I suppose that was more a problem for those who had to experience the stench of it after we had departed. Sorry!

The Palace of Communications.

Real Madrid's 'Santiago Bernabeu' Stadium, worth a visit even if you're not into football.

Saturday 5th July - Pamplona, San Fermin Festival

Saturday 5th July

Biarritz would prove to be our last destination in France (for the time being) as we crossed the border into Spain on Saturday morning along the N10 towards Irun and San Sebastian. We had no trouble making the crossing and it was surprising to see that even when we were as much as 100 metres into the land of Paella, that there were absolutely no cars with French marked number plates. Everything immediately looked very Spanish; the chubby builders, dodgy hairstyles, and of course the ‘100 metre sprint style’ language. It was a shame to be leaving France in a way - it had treated us well. It is clearly very set out for Motorhomer’s, what with their Aires and so forth, and the people just seemed very open to us at all times.

We had known even before out trip that the San Fermin festival began on the 6th of July in Pamplona and we were heading in that general direction ever since leaving Paris. I was looking forward to experiencing the festival atmosphere (which lasts for 10 days where apparently everyone just has a huge holiday and does nothing else but get drunk and dance in the streets - which sounded appealing to me), however I was not looking forward to the cruelty and the actual tradition of San Fermin.

I watched some Bull fighting on TV about 2 years ago and was sickened by what I saw, and I knew that this festival was all based on the running and then fighting of the bulls. I had to bite my tongue and get on with it. “It’s tradition!’ I kept being told…

Anyway, we arrived in Pamplona early morning and found another perfect spot right in the town centre, where we started a bit of a trend and around 7 other Motor homes ended up. We have had very little trouble finding places to park so far, even if they aren’t official Motor home stop over points. We took a walk into the old town (Casco Antiguo) and even though the festival didn’t start until the next day the atmosphere was already building. There were thousands of people walking around all wearing exactly the same thing (white trousers, white shirts and a red neckerchief), people were drinking large bottles of San Miguel in the streets and people were in high spirits. Dotted all over town are photos of the festivals of years gone by, photos of bulls chasing crazy blokes down a small alley way and some people being thrown up in the air - I had no sympathy for them what so ever.

Although I was walking around saddened by the thought of the cruelty, I was getting sucked in by the enthusiasm of the Pamplona people and I was starting to look forward to the next few days of dancing and drinking. After a few drinks, my anxiety had all but disappeared and we danced to a drumming band for hours in the rainy streets, with thunder and lighting going off above our heads, silenced by the music and shouting. It was a sight to behold, it really was, and at one stage I was thinking “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been happier than I was at this very moment”. It was a perfect night, strangers were dancing with each other, the locals embraced us as foreigners and often wished us a “Feliz San Fermin!” and even the homeless were jolly. Roll on Sunday - where it all properly kicked off!

Sunday 6th July

We had been told by a few locals to arrive in the centre of Pamplona no later than 10 o clock, if we wanted to be in the Plaza Consistorial at midday where the festival was officially opened. We arrived at 9.30am and it was already very busy and the people were already tipsy. One thing I had noticed that this was not just a festival for the very young and lively, people of all ages were enjoying the festivities which was nice to see. We took a walk around the Plaza Del Castillo and then the route of the running itself and I found myself being more and more drawn into the spirit of San Fermin. There was always this feeling of doubt in the back of my mind though.
We headed back to the Plaza Consistorial at 10.15 and by this time it was heaving. We had to squeeze through everyone to get roughly to the centre in front of the Town Hall which was beautifully decorated with Spanish Flags and other patterned banners. By 11am you could hardly move. There was shouting, bouncing, pushing - it was manic - and this was certainly not for the faint hearted. I’d noticed that by this time only young people had remained, I guessed it was going to get worse.

It did. By 11.30am it was complete chaos. I’m not sure how many, but there were certainly hundreds upon thousands of festival goers squeezed into one small square, and this left to mass pushing which resembled a riot. It was impossible to fall over however, because as soon as you’d start to lose your balance you would just be resting on someone else and them the same and so on and so on. You couldn’t even lift your arms up, it was that tight. By 12 o clock, the festival was started by the mayor of Pamplona and everyone lifted up their red scarves like you see in the pictures and there was lots of shouting and singing. It was also very political as the whole of the Basque region is fighting for independence, so at times it turned a little nasty, but it didn’t mare the general feeling of delight among the Spanish, Americans, British and huge amounts of Australians who attended.

We met two Spanish guys who had studied in Southampton a few years ago and so we got talking to them for a few hours, it was very civilised indeed. The rest of the day was a blur of more dancing, more drinking and more talking nonsense to locals and vice versa. We didn’t go back to the motor home for sleep until 5.30am. Ouch.

Monday 7th July

Two hours kip and we were up to go into Casco Antiguo for the actual running of the bulls. Mike was well into it all, he was going to run it himself. I certainly was not, for two reasons 1) Because I treasured my life too much to put it at risk for one small event and 2) Because I was still very much against the idea anyway.

Mike was too late to run, by 7.45am the route was shut off completely by the authorities ready for the 8am running. The atmosphere was just amazing, even I was excited. I’m such a hypocrite, but I couldn’t help but feel drawn into it all. Mike went running off elsewhere to try and jump onto the course and I stayed behind, and climbed half way up a building on one of the side streets to try and catch a glimpse of the events - like hundreds of others did too. All I saw was heads going past for about 5 minutes, and suddenly it was all over. Everyone around me was asking “Is that it?”… what an anti climax! A few heads bobbing up and down, and few rounds of applause and that was indeed it! I saw more action watching the replays in the television of a local bar. Even though I saw very little of the action itself, my adrenaline was pumping faster than ever just because of the buzz of the people, and I hadn’t even ran the damn thing!
On the TV though I saw a few bulls falling over, and not being able to get back up along the cobbled streets. I saw some people teasing them and such like. At this point my heart really sunk. I felt sick watching those poor animals going through absolute hell and needless frustration. They have absolutely no idea what they are doing there or why they are here. One minute ago they were happy somewhere quiet and just living their normal bull-like life, and then the next they are thrust in front of thousands of people screaming and shouting and flashing red scarves in their faces. At that point it really hit me of how sad all this was, and it was time to leave Pamplona.

I left with very mixed feelings. On one hand I’d had the best few days of my life partying and taking in the sights, but on the other hand I’d seen in person the thing I stand so firmly against.
The overall feeling of Pamplona though was one of brilliance… I loved the city and the people and will probably return one day.

4th July - Biarritz

Friday 4th July 2008

We spent the whole of Wednesday at the Aire in Mimizan. We had to pay another 11 Euros for the privilege but we needed a day of rest after yesterdays debacle. We were parked up next to the biggest Motor Home you could wish to see from Scotland. It was ludicrous, bigger than my house back home. The owners seemed pretty settled, maybe this was their home now. 11 Euros a night with free electric, showers, toilets, and a beach side location isn’t an expensive way to live I imagine.

We left Mimizan on Thursday morning heading to Biarritz. The D652 was fairly straightforward, but it still took us around 3 hours to find the Aire listed in the guide book. It was located on the D911 heading out of Biarritz towards Bidart, and it said on the sign upon entrance that we’d be charged 10 Euros per 24hours, but there were no ticket machines and nobody ever came to charge us, so we got away with two free nights, and so did around 40 other Motor homes. This Aire was extremely busy with families, and there were no spaces left at all at one point - I suppose we are just coming into the high season hence the high volume of other campers.
The weather on the Friday in Biarritz was beautiful and we spent the whole day in the town centre or on one of the many beaches. The first beach we went to, just opposite the Aire, was called ‘Plage Milady’ - it was only a small beach but it had the most vicious waves you could imagine. There were around 5 life guards sat on the beach just observing the swimmers as it was quite dangerous really. You could only get about 15 foot out into the water before literally being swept back to shore by huge powerful gushes of water. No matter how hard you swam or how desperately you tried to stay on your feet, the sheer power of the waves knocked you down. It was cracking fun!

The town centre is very clean and Biarritz is clearly a wealthy place, with a lot of posh restaurants and jewellery shops. We went to have a drink in one of the bars (it was my round). Mike had a small (25cl) local lager and I had a bottle of Coke. 8 Euros it cost me. 8 bloody Euros. Mikes beer cost 4.20, and she didn’t even fill up the glass! I was shocked and to be honest, quite angry. I paid it and enjoyed the drinks in the sun…but we kept the glasses; we felt like we’d paid for them anyway.