There’s been a certain symmetry in my travels in Europe, the last month a reflection of the first, though while the first is all about hellos and how are yas the last is mostly farewells and see ya laters. Sometimes the thought of impending farewells overshadows those last few days, as much as you try and you do enjoy them there is always that departure on your mind. You console yourself by looking forward to those things you have missed but know you are going to miss those things you have had.
It started in Spain and that is where it pretty much finishes, barring one last royal day in England. This time round, Spain was wetter but better in all the things that count. Mum’s cooking was around the same (it can’t be better) and in the week I think we managed lasagne, roast dinner, bakewell tart, various things with clotted cream, cheesy marmites and, on my part tartiflette and BBQ, representative of where I have been and where I am heading! The Spanish visit was also improved by having a hire car for myself and, despite the weather, being out of season.
This meant things were less frenetic, towns were quiet and some of the beaches were nice. One such beach being at Torre de la Horadada which was getting closer to Australian standard.
The first couple of days were spent dodging thundery showers, alternating siestas and shopping trips with little jaunts out into the country or coast.
This included a drive down to Mar Menor, which is a vast body of salty water separated from the sea by ‘the strip’, a Gold Coast like series of high rises and golf courses. We never made it onto the strip, but stopped at the southern end and Cabo de Palos before racing back around Mar Menor as a dark storm approached.
The rain in Spain was again on the cards the following day, though not when we left home or for most of the time driving. It was only when we had fortuitously navigated the signless inland town of Novelda and reached our destination on the top of a small hill that the heavens opened. Pitter patter on the car roof as we sat patiently in the car park waiting for a clearing, it could’ve been England, though there was a car of jolly Germans also waiting next to us. At times it stopped briefly only for a deluge a minute later, but finally there was respite enough to wander around the rather fancy façade of the monastery of Santa Maria Magdalena and the less fancy but historically top trumping older Moorish castle of Mola.
It really was a dash and snap occasion, quickly lapping the exterior and taking a few quick photos before further heavy storms rolled in. On another day it would be good to amble and just hang out round here, admiring the buildings and the views that surround, perhaps eating some lunch and reading a book. And even taking time to compose a photo rather than a quick point and shoot in between thunder claps.
Mercifully the weather picked up in the latter half of the week, enough for a dip in the sea and a nice day out in the mountains and back along the coast. This was our big day out, driving on the very empty toll roads around Alicante to the peaks rising inland from Benidorm. The first port of call was Algar Falls, which must have benefitted from the rain, though there is a strong likelihood the falls are activated by a pump, given the landscaping and development to make what was probably once a natural highlight into a tourist honeypot. Don’t get me wrong, the water was beautiful and the setting pleasant enough… it’s just the endless rip off car parks and cafes and admission fee and man made rocks and platforms. In Wales we have seen this is free and untainted. In Australia, you drive along a dirt track, park in a national park, walk through Eucalpyts and Banksia and see water plummeting off a massive sandstone cliff, just as it was 50,000 years ago. In Spain you get a dodgy portaloo, topless Germans on rocks, and the most expensive ice and lemon possible (anyone would think lemons are scarce around here!)
Beyond Algar Falls, the number of naked Germans disappears and you are left to very steep and winding mountain roads and villages mostly untainted by modern trappings. The road reaches its high point at Coll de Rates, around 800metres above the sea which is visible in several directions. Hidden also are the large tourist resorts, with just groves of olives and almonds surrounding market towns in the valleys.
Getting lost is easy to do around here, and we took a lengthy unintended detour back down in the valley taking us very close to Denia. Looping round though it was back onto the N332, the main (free) artery linking the many resorts on the Costa Blanca. One of these places is Altea which, though I’m sure has enough hotels and beach umbrellas to satisfy the Spanish government, retains a rather charming old town high up on a hill. It was a bit a walk up to here, but the coffee overlooking the bay and out to the rocky lump of the Penon d’Ifach was worth it, and it was a pleasure to amble around the whitewashed alleys and lanes, with not too much tacky touristiana on show.
And that pretty much caps it. Sights were set on Australia and the journey home, and it was fitting to light the BBQ on my last night there and of course, finish with one last helping of clotted cream with apple pie. My time in Spain this year has much been like Spain itself, good and bad. Thankfully, like the tumbling, whitewashed houses of Altea and the Salmon on the BBQ, the last week was good and I felt ready to return to Oz.
There was one last hurrah though before returning to good coffee and bad television. It seems to be becoming a bit of a tradition now to sign off in style, with a quintessential piece of England… last time white cliffs and this time the royal trappings of Windsor along with the salad bar at Harvester. Thanks to Caroline who picked me up at Luton and dropped me off at Heathrow and kept me entertained in between.
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And so that really is it. It’s been a long time, a rollercoaster journey but some magnificent moments and magnificent people. Thank yous and kisses and hugs and maybe a fart and burp or two, a poke in the poker face, a bounce on the trampoline, a chomp of cheese, and an afternoon nap to you all. I could complain about some of the weather you gave me but I am sat here in Canberra in several layers thanks to a cold horrendous weekend of weather I was not envisaging in my mind on that plane journey home, so really British weather isn’t that bad! Since being back we’ve had dust storms, sunshine, thunder storms, hail, winds and rain. It’s always tough coming back, tough starting work and tough being on the right time zone, physically and mentally in a no man’s land. Things are getting there though, and softened every day by a little pleasure that you remember… the coffee of course, but the mangoes coming into season, the smell of the bush, the roast chicken from Coles, the acceleration of the Magna, the free spirit and attitude of the youngsters with their hair and funny sayings and intonations. They kind of make you smile. Despite the weather this weekend, Spring has definitely been here and will come back, bursting into summer. It’s evident all around, with blossoming trees and colour bursting to life.
And all I intend to do, all I can do, is make the most of it.
It started in Spain and that is where it pretty much finishes, barring one last royal day in England. This time round, Spain was wetter but better in all the things that count. Mum’s cooking was around the same (it can’t be better) and in the week I think we managed lasagne, roast dinner, bakewell tart, various things with clotted cream, cheesy marmites and, on my part tartiflette and BBQ, representative of where I have been and where I am heading! The Spanish visit was also improved by having a hire car for myself and, despite the weather, being out of season.
This meant things were less frenetic, towns were quiet and some of the beaches were nice. One such beach being at Torre de la Horadada which was getting closer to Australian standard.The first couple of days were spent dodging thundery showers, alternating siestas and shopping trips with little jaunts out into the country or coast.
This included a drive down to Mar Menor, which is a vast body of salty water separated from the sea by ‘the strip’, a Gold Coast like series of high rises and golf courses. We never made it onto the strip, but stopped at the southern end and Cabo de Palos before racing back around Mar Menor as a dark storm approached.The rain in Spain was again on the cards the following day, though not when we left home or for most of the time driving. It was only when we had fortuitously navigated the signless inland town of Novelda and reached our destination on the top of a small hill that the heavens opened. Pitter patter on the car roof as we sat patiently in the car park waiting for a clearing, it could’ve been England, though there was a car of jolly Germans also waiting next to us. At times it stopped briefly only for a deluge a minute later, but finally there was respite enough to wander around the rather fancy façade of the monastery of Santa Maria Magdalena and the less fancy but historically top trumping older Moorish castle of Mola.
It really was a dash and snap occasion, quickly lapping the exterior and taking a few quick photos before further heavy storms rolled in. On another day it would be good to amble and just hang out round here, admiring the buildings and the views that surround, perhaps eating some lunch and reading a book. And even taking time to compose a photo rather than a quick point and shoot in between thunder claps.
Mercifully the weather picked up in the latter half of the week, enough for a dip in the sea and a nice day out in the mountains and back along the coast. This was our big day out, driving on the very empty toll roads around Alicante to the peaks rising inland from Benidorm. The first port of call was Algar Falls, which must have benefitted from the rain, though there is a strong likelihood the falls are activated by a pump, given the landscaping and development to make what was probably once a natural highlight into a tourist honeypot. Don’t get me wrong, the water was beautiful and the setting pleasant enough… it’s just the endless rip off car parks and cafes and admission fee and man made rocks and platforms. In Wales we have seen this is free and untainted. In Australia, you drive along a dirt track, park in a national park, walk through Eucalpyts and Banksia and see water plummeting off a massive sandstone cliff, just as it was 50,000 years ago. In Spain you get a dodgy portaloo, topless Germans on rocks, and the most expensive ice and lemon possible (anyone would think lemons are scarce around here!)Beyond Algar Falls, the number of naked Germans disappears and you are left to very steep and winding mountain roads and villages mostly untainted by modern trappings. The road reaches its high point at Coll de Rates, around 800metres above the sea which is visible in several directions. Hidden also are the large tourist resorts, with just groves of olives and almonds surrounding market towns in the valleys.
Getting lost is easy to do around here, and we took a lengthy unintended detour back down in the valley taking us very close to Denia. Looping round though it was back onto the N332, the main (free) artery linking the many resorts on the Costa Blanca. One of these places is Altea which, though I’m sure has enough hotels and beach umbrellas to satisfy the Spanish government, retains a rather charming old town high up on a hill. It was a bit a walk up to here, but the coffee overlooking the bay and out to the rocky lump of the Penon d’Ifach was worth it, and it was a pleasure to amble around the whitewashed alleys and lanes, with not too much tacky touristiana on show.
And that pretty much caps it. Sights were set on Australia and the journey home, and it was fitting to light the BBQ on my last night there and of course, finish with one last helping of clotted cream with apple pie. My time in Spain this year has much been like Spain itself, good and bad. Thankfully, like the tumbling, whitewashed houses of Altea and the Salmon on the BBQ, the last week was good and I felt ready to return to Oz.
There was one last hurrah though before returning to good coffee and bad television. It seems to be becoming a bit of a tradition now to sign off in style, with a quintessential piece of England… last time white cliffs and this time the royal trappings of Windsor along with the salad bar at Harvester. Thanks to Caroline who picked me up at Luton and dropped me off at Heathrow and kept me entertained in between.
------------------------------
And so that really is it. It’s been a long time, a rollercoaster journey but some magnificent moments and magnificent people. Thank yous and kisses and hugs and maybe a fart and burp or two, a poke in the poker face, a bounce on the trampoline, a chomp of cheese, and an afternoon nap to you all. I could complain about some of the weather you gave me but I am sat here in Canberra in several layers thanks to a cold horrendous weekend of weather I was not envisaging in my mind on that plane journey home, so really British weather isn’t that bad! Since being back we’ve had dust storms, sunshine, thunder storms, hail, winds and rain. It’s always tough coming back, tough starting work and tough being on the right time zone, physically and mentally in a no man’s land. Things are getting there though, and softened every day by a little pleasure that you remember… the coffee of course, but the mangoes coming into season, the smell of the bush, the roast chicken from Coles, the acceleration of the Magna, the free spirit and attitude of the youngsters with their hair and funny sayings and intonations. They kind of make you smile. Despite the weather this weekend, Spring has definitely been here and will come back, bursting into summer. It’s evident all around, with blossoming trees and colour bursting to life.
And all I intend to do, all I can do, is make the most of it.
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