In German there's a saying: everything has an end, but the sausage has two. And the end of the Valencian sausage was bitten off on Saturday, at least until September. We are in exile for the summer months because our rental contract by the sea was from September to June, but we were good enough to be welcomed back in the late summer. So instead of dishing out a huge packet of money for July and August, we decided to go on the road.
Our first destination is the Sierra de Urbasa in the Basque-Navarra border area. In a landscape that comes across as a mash-up of Ireland and Germany, we spent the night experiencing a sensation we haven't had for over a year now - cold. The Irish foggy dew kicked in soon after dark in the German forests of Northern Spain.
Something interesting of note - people here don't scream as much as the Valencians; in fact I was quite surprised to hear the commentary of the football that was on low in the crowded campsite tavern.
Yesterday started with the usual blind panic: packing the car, taking the last bits to our storage container, tidying the apartment ready for the professional cleaners, handing over the keys to the agent, then finally taking off two hours after my preferred departure time.
The first angry leg of the journey took us to Teruel, just inside Aragon, full of excited children fighting with each other over the slightest thing. Recent changes to the direction of traffic forced me to drive up a winding narrow road in Teruel that ended in a gap no wider than 2 people and I had to reverse between houses and parked cars for a good 100 metres. With the kids providing a running commentary and a small crowd of helpful but concerned locals, I managed to keep a lid on the pressure.
The city was in full fiesta mode - there were bikers, truckers and old timers everywhere. The city centre is quite packed with narrow roads and I decided to abandon the car on an incline just outside and walk to a restaurant. The kids had no intention of walking far, so in the first main square we sat at a restaurant table and ordered their greasy offerings.
Something sat badly in my stomach and I decided to go and rescue the car. And a very good thing too, because about a minute afterwards, a parade of trucks led by the local police came steaming up the hill.
I fortuitously found a parking space no more than a couple of hundred metres further up. Then I scuttled back to the restaurant and ate my burger. I am not a fan of vertical food - I like it spread out on the plate so I can stick my knife and fork in it without having to pick anything up with my hands. But the bread it came in was tasty, not the usual cardboard crap.
The journey from then on was pretty uneventful - one stop at a motorway service station café for apple cake and a coffee to dispel my imminent drowsiness and off we set. The colours changed from yellow to green a little after Zaragoza. The rolling hills and grey stone escarpments took on a gentler subalpine nature. And suddenly Navarra was upon us. On the notices and road signs the Ks, Zs and Xs became more prevalent and virtually worthless in local Scrabble, and the asphalt changed from yellow concrete to sleek black with freshly painted white trim. The steering wheel and brakes had more work to do, and the car lights came on much earlier than down south.
The drive from the main road up to the campsite reminded me of the tree-lined approach to Saarburg from Luxembourg, although much narrower and darker. It had been raining and the ground was populated with puddles. The number of hairpins up to the campsite was remarkable, and we had it almost to ourselves.
Up among the heather, thistles and gorse at the top of the hill about 1000m above sea level, lies the serene camping ground where we stayed on our first night of our 65 days in exile, a rudimentary but ultimately spectacular beginning to our adventures.
The evening was spent at the tavern, eating txistorra sausages and watching the first part of Germany's laboured victory over Denmark in Euro 2024. We took the kids back to the tent, where they made a great number of excited noises before letting the fresh mountain air overcome them. Bonny Bee chiseled hard at work in the car to keep warm before joining us to witness the distant flashes of lightning reflecting off the tent's white shell.
The morning revealed a classic Highland gloom which evoked memories of past northern European autumns, but this was midsummer in Spain. Next time anyone makes a snarky comment about the weather, I will remind them that the temperature in this part of Spain barely rises above 23 in summer.
It was around a quarter to nine on a Sunday morning in a landscape more suited to the Brothers Grimm or Roddy Doyle than Cervantes or Lorca, but stomachs needed filling and I had the distinct feeling this area had adopted the German propensity to close the shops for long periods. After driving through a couple of towns, I stumbled upon a café full of lonely old men sitting in solitude on different grey plastic tables staring at something, mainly a newspaper, but sometimes their own drink. Another German habit.
I bought some breakfast cakes and a couple of molten hot coffees and slowly stumbled back to the car, stopping at every bench to let my fingers cool down. I'm surprised the plastic lining in the cups didn't melt, quite frankly.
When I arrived back at the campsite, I was greeted by a bout of pandemonium caused by not having enough to do. This would be the theme the whole day. By one o'clock, we were crawling up the canvas and bouncing off the mattresses. There are only so many times you can visit the horses and feed the donkey. The poor kids needed something to do because this was getting to be a running theme. The main issue is Bonny Bee still needs to do her translation work, otherwise we'll be sleeping on an Andalucian beach in August. So once she finishes her work we can go places and do things. I don't mind occupying them myself, but if there's a good chance their mother can join us, I prefer to wait.
At one thirty we had a bite to eat and afterwards we took a trip to the local panoramic viewing platform, passing cows, sheep, horses, and goats, all who had access to the road too, and were not afraid to amble into the middle for a hilarious lie-down. This particular activity was the least German part of the day. In the Teutonic Lands, that type of behaviour would have caused the road to be closed and brought out several emergency services. Here, it's a matter of just making sure you don't drive too fast and giving way to cars on the other side.
Livia felt like just chilling in the car, so Milda and Dainoris joined us for a walk to the viewing platform.
And what a view it was.
I don't think I can remember the last time I was flabbergasted by such a spectacular expanse of land. It could have been Germany, Ireland, Austria, Switzerland, the UK, Czechia, Slovakia or Poland, but nobody expects to be greeted by goats in front of a full green, clouded, windswept valley while wearing long trousers and coats in Spain, even here. It's just not the stereotype. And how silly these stereotypes are.
As we made our way through the heathland full of birds like the jay and the hawk, we were astounded by our children's knowledge - Milda pointed out a thistle to us, and Dainoris told us some facts about the insects. How do they know this stuff?!
Arriving at the car, an alarm was going off, and it wasn't clear where it was. But it happened to be our car. After the initial dumbfounded reaction had given way to a disturbing feeling of worry, I noticed that Livia had managed to prise open the car door and that had somehow set it off. She may be fairly aloof at times, but she is very resourceful.
Back at the campsite, we all had a rest and I decided to go to watch the football.
It's now Monday morning. We made the decision to get going early - it's not even 9 am and we're eating breakfast in the next town.
We left Saarburg for a reason last year: this reminded us why.
Today's destination: San Vicente de la Barquera.
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