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Meeting the Wild West in Spain

The first place we came to after crossing the border back into Spain was Huelva. After our comment about the road conditions changing when crossing from Spain into Northern Portugal, we had a role reversal here, as the decent roads of the Algarve changed to the most uneven roads we’ve come across in Spain so far. We didn’t go into the town, but it wasn’t enticing being surrounded by smelting plants and oil refineries and endless 70’s looking apartment blocks.  This was also the first time we have come across litter and fly tipping in both Spain and Portugal.  Not to do the city a disservice, having read up about it since, it does have a long and varied history with its most famous former inhabitant being Christopher Colombus.

Having skirted around the city we found ourselves on a bouncy coastal road heading towards the Parque Nacional De Donana.  As the road seemed relatively straight and quiet, Colin suggested I had a go at driving Lo11y. The only time I’d ever been behind her wheel was in a campsite field at Rutland Water. I drove about 20km to the campsite in El Rocio – to be honest I’m not sure who was more terrified out of me and Colin.  It wasn’t comfortable for me as I had to move the seat forward so much to reach the clutch that my knees were rubbing against the steering wheel, and the air suspension seat was definitely a weird feeling. It was also a little hard concentrating with Colin constantly shouting instructions ‘move over’, ‘are you going to change gear?’ and ‘BRAKE!’

We both breathed a sigh of relief when I pulled up at the campsite. Our plan was to go into the National Park the following day, which is a huge wetland area for birds and animals. We contacted the local tourist office about joining a 4-wheel drive tour of the park the following morning but were told it was fully booked.  When we woke to a very cold misty morning, we realised we’d had a lucky escape as we’d have not been able to see anything. We decided to drive into the local town of El Rocio before heading off. We weren’t expecting to see much but were completely taken back by the place – it’s one of the strangest places we’ve visited in Europe. The streets are all sand, the locals were largely on horses and the buildings all had a colonial/Mexican feel to them, as well as horse hitching posts outside each building. There is a huge church in the middle of it all which seemed to be the main draw for the Spanish visitors. The town sits on a lagoon on the edge of the National Park. When we arrived, we could see very little of this, but as the mist slowly cleared it revealed a beautiful setting and birdlife including flamingos.  We were really taken with this wild west town – and to think we nearly drove off missing it.



We drove to the outskirts of town to one of the parks visitor centres and did a lovely walk that took us to several hides where we could watch the migratory birds and get a closer look at the flamingos.  It was lovely and peaceful with very few other visitors. There were tracks in the sandy paths in the reserve, and we’re pretty sure we identified an Iberian lynx paw print.



After leaving here, to get back to the coast we had to go right past Seville. If we’d had more time we may have stopped off, but we had visited there many years ago.  We carried on to Cadiz passing lots of big black bulls on the hillsides showing we were in sherry territory.  We didn’t know much about Cadiz – not even that it was an island and to be honest I was expecting it to be a very industrial port area. How wrong I was. We parked up in a car park, that allows motorhomes to park overnight, at the far end of the island next to the Castillo de Santa Catalina and right by the lovely old town.  It was a pleasant sunny evening just before sunset, so we headed into the old town which was buzzing with tourists and Spanish. The shopping streets were very busy with Christmas shopping and loud piped Christmas music just to annoy Colin.  We paid our regular visit to an Orange shop to find out why our SIM cards were not doing what we’d paid for, then had a mooch around the central areas and had a drink in a nice square.  We ended up on a street full of tapas restaurants and were lucky to get a table in a very popular one which was rammed within five minutes of opening its doors at 8:00pm. We enjoyed a few plates but didn’t enjoy the sherry we finished it off with – I guess you have to know what you’re asking for. 


It was raining when we got up the following morning, but thankfully it cleared pretty quickly, and we jumped on our Brompton’s for a cycle down the long promenade (all on a cycle path), then back down the other side of the island. We really liked Cadiz – it had a lovely feel to it and the old town was pleasant without being tacky touristy.  We cut back through the old town, stopping for lunch of two of the dishes this area is famous for – shrimp tortilla and fried small fish.


We needed to be in Gibraltar in two days’ time, so we broke the journey at Tarifa, the most southerly point in mainland Europe and just under nine miles from Africa. There are lots of campsites here to serve the cool surfer van people and the less cool non-surfy people like the Germans and us! We also discovered there are three bike shops on the edge of town all easily accessible.  We were shocked at how many motorhomes were in town and in the campsites.

We did get a pitch at a site quite a distance out of town, and it was the first time on this trip that we’ve been able to sit outside and have the safari window open, albeit just until the sun went down. We decided Tarifa would be a good place to come back to after Gibraltar to enjoy some sunshine and have a break from being on the go and most importantly, get the road bikes fixed.


The following day we set off to Gibraltar, stopping off at one of the bike shops to see if they could repair our bikes when we came back with the spares.  Colin thought the guy was a little bit prickly, but I think it was just his English wasn’t strong and he couldn’t understand what Colin was saying like most people. Anyway, he agreed to look at the bikes on Monday.


It was a beautiful warm sunny day as we pulled up in a marina that has a motorhome parking area on the Spanish side of the Gibraltar border - it was actually a very nice parking spot. Having heard the Spanish customs at the border were very difficult for foreign vehicles we decided it was best to leave Lo11y here.  We jumped on the Brompton’s and cycled through the border and into the centre of Gibraltar.  Although there was quite a queue of cars waiting to cross, we were waved to the front and got through relatively quickly.  We had to cycle across the runway and were impressed with the cycle path on the edge of town, but then in true British style this stopped abruptly and meant we had to resort to cycling on the footpaths.  We’d visited Gibraltar over 20 years ago and didn’t have a particularly fond memories, but to be fair we warmed to it a bit more this time. It all felt a bit surreal – an old-fashioned Britishness and sense of community. The main shopping street was heaving, and there were military based bands parading past.


We were here to meet Colin’s old work colleague Tyrone who lives on a boat moored in a marina with his family when not working back in London. He kindly offered to bring out the bike parts Colin had ordered which we couldn’t get in Spain.  We spent a lovely afternoon with him and his wife Lianne, sipping prosecco in the warm sunshine on their boat which is in a beautiful marina, and learning a bit more about what it’s like to live in Gibraltar.   When we left them, we had an early dinner in another marina, then had the excitement (I can’t believe I’m saying this) of shopping in Morrisons. Colin volunteered to stay outside with the bikes, while I joined the scrum of shoppers and purchased a few of the essentials I’d not found so far in Spanish supermarkets – Yorkshire tea bags and Taylors coffee bags to name a couple (other brands are available….).


We decided to come back into Gibraltar again the following morning to have a cycle around a bit more, then met up for brunch with Alistair, who was married to my stepsister, and now lives in Gibraltar and works on a private yacht which is based there.


We then headed back to Tarifa and parked up in a campsite nearer to town. It was pleasant at this time of year as there were no people staying in the large number of teepee type tents there, and we got a nice spot with a view of the sea. 



We could walk out of the gate there straight onto the dunes and beach and enjoyed lovely sunsets. The following morning, we had to get our road bikes the three miles into town. We didn’t want to take them in Lolly as we suspect the Germans and Swiss fellow campervan visitors may have nabbed our spot, and Colin was confident it was slightly downhill all the way and that he could push me. My bike couldn’t be pedalled at all due to the chain hanging off.  It was a bit hair raising on the busy main road, but we did get there safely. The shop owner was late showing up, and then became a bit non-committal about how long the repairs would take, but Colin told him we looked forward to picking them up the following morning.

We walked into the old town along the beachfront, then around the harbour area. The Atlantic and Mediterranean oceans meet here.  The old town was nice with narrow streets and quirky little boutiques. 



After picking up some fresh food, we decided to walk back to our campsite along the beach – a nice idea in principle, but pretty hard going for three miles, with the added excitement of the tide coming in fast.  We had to wade through a channel of water up to our waists – added to our washing load we did that afternoon.  Colin managed his first session of yoga since we set off – he was joined by some dogs who showed him that his downward dog was a bit rusty.  We also got a message from the bike shop to let us know my bike was sorted, but he couldn’t fix Colin’s brake lever as Colin had unwittingly ordered the wrong model. He was obviously very peeved about this having checked with Whyte bikes to confirm this model would be OK, but the model number he had got was for brakes with a cable, and it was a hydraulic level he needed.


We took a taxi into town to collect the bikes the following morning.  All three bike shops said they couldn’t get hold of the hydraulic brake for up to 25 days. We cycled back to the campsite, then continued on another 10 miles to Baelo Claudia, an ancient Roman town that had been built on the shores of the Strait of Gibraltar 2000 years ago and prospered as a fishing village.  It is a fabulous archaeological site and we thoroughly enjoyed wandering around marvelling at how advanced the Romans were at constructing the town, instaling sewerage sytems, creating hot water baths and the amphitheatre. It is a stunning setting. We had a seafood lunch in the adjoining town of Bolonia. There was a group of old cyclists meeting up there which reminded us of our cycling groups back home.  On the way back to the campsite we took a diversion to Punta Paloma which gave some nice views back down the coast towards Tarifa.  Back at our campsite there were lots of kite surfers out on the sea. They make it look so cool and easy.  Colin said he would be keen to give it a go – just as well we were moving on the next day…..




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