On Our Last Legs in Barcelona

The drive down across the French border to the metropolis of Barcelona took no more than four hours and once the breaks had decided to work, was relatively easy. However, as the city rose around us, melting into the sea ahead, the van began to stutter... the radio choked... the lights started to flash... and we thought – if we stop now, we are not going to start again. So we drove up to a nice car parking place outside Barcelona FC’s Nou Camp and sure enough, the battery was dead. Instead of rushing to call the rescue service, we queued up for a tour and spent a pleasant hour strolling through the mighty football club’s home ground; gazing at the large silver trophies lined up in glass cases, snapping away at the grass mown into stripes. At about 3.30 we returned to our tired old van and made the expensive call to the European AA. They said they would send someone within one hour and a half. One hour and a half passed us by so we rang back: they needed the dimensions of the van (no idea why they had not rang us to ASK for the dimensions of the van). So another hour passed by and eventually near to 7pm a big tow truck arrived with a friendly Spaniard. He spoke more English than the last guy.

After the van had been winched up onto the trailer and we were up in the driver’s cab, the ‘rescue service’ explained that he wasn’t sure the garage would be open but he imagined we would just about get there in time. Of course, this filled us with confidence. Fortunately this time it hadn’t closed its sliding doors and we could book the van in. Unfortunately they were just about to close so there was no chance of us getting the van back within the day and we had a little trouble communicating that we could not wait three days until Friday as he, nor any of the others in the garage spoke English. He led us back into the dark workshop where he had a computer set up with google translator (the wonders of the modern technology!) and we had a strange conversation that concluded in his promise that he would look on Thursday and an unusual translation that he would text us if he could do the work. Now the only issue was where we would live for the next couple of days.

Once more luck seemed to be on our side for once and the AA phoned back to tell us that a taxi had been booked to collect us from the garage at 9.15, take us into the city, and to a hotel. The mysterious taxi arrived to find us on the grassy verge between the two sides of the roads, surrounded with a collection of miss-matched bags filled with what we could squeeze in, bearing in mind that our whole lives were in the van and we didn’t really have much of a bag between us. We were whirled away through the complicated network of streets and dropped off outside a fairly smart ‘Travellodge’ style hotel, with no fee required by the driver. Our first question as we checked in was ‘where are we?!’. The time by now was nearer to 10pm and we hadn’t had any dinner and were feeling quite frazzled. But we did not know how long we would be inside the city, more importantly, how long we would be able to walk (just about) to go out for a drink or two.

Living like the Spanish, we hit the streets for tapas and wandered along Las Ramblas at midnight. Despite wandering in the wrong direction, and having an hour’s walk in heels back to the hotel, it was perfect. A great introduction to Spain.

The Golden 'M'

MacDonald’s, engrained in every culture, promoting obesity, cheap, unethical and nasty food and ruining historic city centres. There has not been a single European country that we have visited where Ronald has not left his greasy footprints. Disguised in a street full of high class fashion or standing out on the outskirts, MacDonald’s is a sure thing.

So why do I now think that there should be a 'Golden 'M' map or a Sat Nav option for the fast food outlet? Two main facilities: internet and toilets. Usually clean, well maintained toilets too. Driving along in our big red van there isn't another place that doesn't flash a wink or raise an eyebrow when we growl into the car park. Prejudice is non-existent. Everyone is equal; the fat American boy wanting chicken nuggets for breakfast (Avignon), the backpackers sprawled out across the brown leather sipping coffee (Toulon), or the lone man drinking beer with his breakfast McMuffin. Two more ragamuffins sneaking to the loo or buying the cheapest item on the ever growing menu and staying until the laptop runs out makes no difference.

And after all, they do do a nice cappuccino.

South France

France:
beaches, busy
towns, bustling,
traffic, beeping,
castles, sweating,
streets, stinking...

Places visited:
Monaco, Cannes, St Tropez,
Aix-en-Provence, Chateauneuf-du-Pape,
Avignon, Collioure, Port-Vendres,
Montpellier, Carcassonne

Impressions gleaned:
wealthy foreigners (and the less so) will all flock here
in their super-cars
and French, German, Italian, English
lie shoulder to shoulder
sweating for their colour in the hot Mediterranean sun.
Life is casual; nakedness
rules, weeing is encouraged
and drinking is normal.

French.

There are times when, after spending the day bronzing on a beach, occasionally dipping in the clear blue sea, not really showering and forgetting to shave, when one starts to become French. I think that I have reached that stage. It is only my English roots that leave me longing for fresh water and soap, like the land of hope and glory, an oasis in the haze in front of us.

ITALY.

Italian drivers are worse than Croatian. In no other country would it be acceptable to drive down the middle of a single lane road, no matter how wide. So negotiating the drivers, the toll roads, the tourists and the long distances all together Italy has been a little hectic.

With just over a week to cover Italy (didn't fancy the mass exodus of Italian tourists on the 1st August) I think we've done our best. Verona, Garda, Bologna, Florence, Rome and Pisa: major sights, done.

So here's a summary of what stuck out for me over our time in the country:

Michaelangelo's Piazza: starkers Mike staring over the pinky-orange hue of Florence, the churches of the city peaking out like juggling balls as puffy clouds drift through the dark evergreen Tuscan hills.


Neptune in Bologna: another phallus carved in stone encircled by his female counterparts aptly squirting water from their breasts (apparently a representation of the four great rivers but I think these people just liked making naked statues).

The Trevi Fountain, Rome: like the better half of a conjoined twin spilling out of the grand grey stone house behind into an even more elaborate scene of Roman gods, sea creatures and cascading green water.

Arco di Constantino:  One of several Roman memorial arches built around the Roman city centre to celebrate one of their vast number of victories in an age of grandeur. Next to THE Colusseum, this was perhaps overshadowed for many but for me, from the shelter of a tiny umbrella, it held some of the sensationalism of the Roman Age. Each square meter was intricately carved with images of extravagance - feasting, battles and courtly rituals.

Basilica de San Pedro: on the second attempt, after wrapping my bare limbs in a floor length dress and woolly cardigan (not so nice in 32 degree heat), we managed to get inside the great church at the heart of the Vatican. For the Pope's own personal temple it was decidedly modest, there was restraint exercised in gold relics and fanciful offerings - at least where we could see. Huge ceilings curling up to meet the streams of light pouring through slits in the gilt cupola. Cool marble in rich reds and regal purple echoed the footsteps and murmurs of a million tourists passing through the great vestibule.

The Leaning Tower of Pisa: fun. It was also much more wonky than we expected! Everyone was posing in comical 'holding-up-the-tower' positions, making me feel slightly stupid when we did too. All the same Pisa was a lovely city and it was nice have only one small sight to see for once!

So a quick summary of a big destination, but it has definitely been an unforgettable experience.

Tuesday 19th July, into Italy.

We drove straight to Venice, not the city itself, but all the same the outskirts were enough to master. So we stopped at the first campsite, and couldn't start. A wire had come loose in the ignition, but we couldn't confirm this until one hour later after being towed to a packed-in garage and charged 30€.

Next day: Venice. Surprisingly it did not smell as we had been warned but it was heaving with tourists weaving their way across the piazzas like ants crawling to their nest. We alighted from the vaporetto right in Piazza San Marco, at the tourist's hub. Queues for all of the monuments stretched away around corners and past mask stalls standing on the square. We did still manage to enjoy the intricately crafted facades of the Basilica, the red and white walls of the Palazzo Ducale and the elaborate gilt clock face of the Torre dell’Orologio before sneaking through the weathered arches into the maze of small streets and canals.

I think Ed took a photo on every bridge except the Rialto, which was another people train track swaying in procession over the Grand Canal, as we made our way into quieter streets and lesser known churches with walls plastered with the lesser known of Tintoretto's celebrated canvases.

After being ripped off with service charge and obligatory tip (plus giving the ice-cream man an extra euro with wrong change) we found the artist's resting place far out on the edge of the city. By this time we had exhausted our legs and feet so headed back to the van on the campsite with no loo-roll.

Venice in a day = done.