Swedish roads are smoother, straighter, wider and above all cheaper than Norwegian roads so we elected to travel as far north as we needed to go along the eastern Swedish coast. We set off immediately we disembarked which was early morning.DSC_6761-1(Photo courtesy of Mrs. S. Ansell)

We have travelled this route before and knew all about the “Beware of Moose!” signs along all the roads but have never previously seen a moose we were the more determined to keep an eye out for them.


Much of the road network is fenced off to stop moose straying in to the path of vehicles and this sign warns that the fence ends at this point.   Still no sightings.


Many other things caught our eye.  Lupins abound on the verges


and a Swedish house overlooking one of the 97,000 Swedish lakes


even a pair of cranes in the grass by the road.  But no Mooses!


Bizarrely, even a squadron of fighter planes stuck on poles by the road.


Courtesy of the Swedish Air Force



A pair of  J35F – not the model of Saab you expect to find on the roadside even in Sweden.

Further along the road Sheila yelled out “Moose” and pulled over (safely of course) on to the verge.  We ran back to where she had seen an adult male moose in the forest but by the time we got there it was cleverly merging in to the undergrowth.


The brown smudge in the middle is a near as I could get to photographing the moose.

By one camp site, just metres from our motorhome we did spot definite moose signs.


Not fresh as they didn’t squash between thumb and finger but definitely a good sign.  Knowing that moose are mostly nocturnal we decided to wait fro dark.  MMMmmmm….  Several months perhaps at this latitude but we dressed up securely to foil the million or so mosquitos that night at 23:30 and went marching off in to the forest armed with trusty camera and 600mm lens.  June is the time of year when last years calves leave their mums and wander off in search of a life of their own.  I spotted two such calves moving as quietly as mice through the woods but they disappeared before they could be photographed or seen by Sheila. 


Eventually Sheila spotted another walking directly towards us in amongst the foliage and in the dim light.  We assumed it would bolt immediately but it kept coming towards us enabling me to get a clear shot despite the poor conditions. I lot closer still and then seemed to notice us and walked away quite calmly.

WE were hugging the coast except where we skirted around Stockholm as we wanted to avoid another city centre. 


We found a most welcoming town with free facilities for filling and emptying and free camping on the disused dockside beside this disused steam driven crane. 


There were a number of beautifully preserved industrial features such as the steamship “Ophelia”, the smelting works (origin of the world famous “Swedish steel” and some winter transportation.


There was enough room left for some old fashioned water power and some even more old fashioned manpower.


They even had a little house on the millpond to check on the water level.

As we travelled further north it did get a little colder but the views got richer to compensate for that.  Reindeer wandered across the road with scant regard to vehicles or pedestrians. 



We reached the Arctic Circle where a souvenir shop and associated car parks, monuments, billboards had just grown.  We watched other tourists climb up on the stone cairn and just had to have a go.


A poignant reminder that travel here is a little more difficult in the winter than at midsummer.


And up on the hills a further reminder of the conditions faced in the darker months.  It was just 3 degrees Celsius that afternoon.


Above the Arctic Circle and heading west towards Narvik in Norway we came upon a tourist centre with much needed laundry facilities and  this gorge bringing the snowmelt down from the mountains to the lake.



Over the mountain pass surrounded by snowcapped mountains is Norway.  Another blogging soon I promise.  We vowed as we crossed the border that we would come back and spend more time in Sweden soon as we both thoroughly enjoyed our time here.




Not of course the scurrying hurrying burrowing into your motorhome type rats.  More the tourist attraction type rats in the town of Hamelin.  The river Veser, deep and wide, Washes it’s walls on the southern side.    The city has taken a myth, extracted from a legend based loosely on a piece of stained glass (now lost after over 500 years) and built a tourist industry upon it.


Hamelin is an attractive city with many interesting historical buildings but the rats give it the edge as far as tourist numbers are concerned.  We spent a few days here on a motorhome site just 500m from the city along the Veser.


We even partook of the hospitality available here and enjoyed the odd beer or two as well as the famous coffee and cakes in the city cafes. 



The piper and the rat hold sway here and their combined presence dominates the centre of Hamelin.


WE were able to watch the re-enactment of the events from our café seats as the piper led his convoy of rats and children through the town although we were unable to spot any signs of them in the river on our way home.


You can just see Sheila behind the piper’s pipe.


The scheme obviously works as the city certainly was busy, prosperous and very well cared for.

Just along the Weser where we parked there is evidence of an industrial past.  Enormous disused silos hinted at being a recent transport hub as well. 



There was also an impressive iron railway bridge.  Curiously though, it went nowhere. it just stopped at the River Weser’s edge.  An impressive sight but you can’t even walk over it now.


Continuing across Germany we called in at Brunswick on the day they were having a medieval fair.


I am rather glad we stopped by as they had the only hand wound roundabout with a wild boar to sit on I have ever seen.


For some here I suspect it was just a good excuse to get dressed up and show off your crossbowmanship, longbowmanship or horsemanship.    The symbol of the city of Brunswick is a lion but the city square was closed off for the festivities but I managed to snap up a dinosaur DSC_6442-1

and take a peek through an archway at the lion.


We were heading for Berlin and had a few ideas about where we could stay for free.  Driving an eight metre van through a city is centre is no fun but we found a dead end road by the River Spree and along the Landwerhrkanal.  It gave us a fine view along the river towards the Oberbaum Bridge.


Not a bad view for a free site within a capital city of Europe.   In the evening we had a visit from a neighbour begging a favour.  They had been “camped” there for ten days and the battery of their very old camper had gone flat.  “Could we give them a Jump Start?”  Not an easy matter manoeuvring our van in to a suitable position and connecting the leads but we got there just as another problem was remembered.  They had run out of petrol.  Topped it up from a can and with a lot of groinching, whirring and crossing of fingers it did start. 

We were able to cycle quite easily to the city centre and had a day sightseeing. 


Bits of the Berlin Wall were still in situ and had been turned in to a monument.


It all seemed so ordinary just cycling or strolling along what had been for so many years a symbol of fear and oppression.


The last time I had been to Berlin there had been a whole lot more of the wall still standing and even more crushed to rubble.  I remember picking up a genuine grafitied fragment but I don’t know if it still exists. 


It is bisuness as usual now for Berlin with all the pomp and ceremony of government and selling Mickey Mouse Chinamade Gegaws to the tourists.

Something I have never seen before, however:


an E.T. photo opportunity.

I could not pass by without seeing the two famous “Gates”.  The Brandenberger Tor


and the equally famous but not quite as architecturally impressive: Checkpoint Charlie” manned by two bored out of work actors in appropriately ill fitting uniforms.


A far more impressive sight is the “Holocaust Memorial” or “Memorial To The Murdered Jews Of Europe”


Simple in it’s concept,  2711 concrete blocks on a sloping site just a few metres south of the Brandenberg Gate.


Built around 2004, it is a place for quiet contemplation (and photobombing sparrows) in the heart of the city.


We left Berlin heading north towards our Sweden Ferry in Sassnitz but the less frequented route.  In fact the patchwork roads got narrower and narrower


until we were on a bridleway! (Looking for that Gingerbread Cottage again.)


We came to the ancient walled town of Templin whose gatehouse was now no longer wide enough for the road so had been bypassed but was still functioning as a footpath.


Templin is alongside a canal that consists of several long thin lakes joined together and was a wonderful place for a walk.  We came across what seems to be a reinstated Jewish cemetery, a single stone inscribed with many names and widely separated dates.  Rather overgrown now but a touching monument nevertheless.


Sassnitz is on the north German island of Rugen, a holiday destination for millions of Germans.  We stayed for a week on a campsite (A rare luxury!) on the beach near the tiny village of Altenkirchen.  The defining feature of this part of the world is a peculiar deckchair / sunshade / invalid carriage that you meet by the hundreds on the beach, in gardens and in restaurants.  


Altenkirchen was named for this church.  A pretty and well maintained building that housed some very unusual sculptures in it’s garden. 


Each piece was made of several twisted metal rods that individually meant nothing.  It was only when viewed at exactly the correct angle was the image revealed.


We had experienced several distinct springtimes this year as we journeyed south.  One particular indicator was of course the plants in flower at the time. 


Poppies amongst the rapeseed.   It was an ideal place for cycling and we took advantage of the network of cycle tracks.


Our campsite was next to what I took to be a nature reserve.  On closer inspection I found the remains of an extensive network of aerials.  This abandoned piece of cold war listening station had been taken over by a variety of mammals and birds.





Quite a treat for a cold war survivor.

This was the week of Sheila’s birthday and we had booked a lunchtime  table at the only restaurant in Altenkirchen.


A good meal and plenty of beer of course.  Even a little bubbly to finish off with.

At the end of the week we were off to the ferry port via a 1930’s Nazi inspired holiday camp that was to have held 20,000 holidaymakers.  The concept was abandoned in 1939 but many of the buildings are still there and some are being “Gentrified” and apparently appear on “Airbnb” . 


Then an overnight ferry to Trellborg.  


Our first view of Sweden through the opening train deck of the ferry at dawn.

Spring is here

Spring is here but we are heading north.  I am sitting here in the freezing cold among snow capped mountains remembering what spring was like long ago. Sorry about the delayed blog but we have just been enjoying ourselves too much.

Luckily we have our photos to remind us.  Sheila’s favourites: poppies.



First stop in France is the bridge designed by Eifel of tower fame.  He clearly had one idea and was going to use it standing up or laying down.

eiffel bridge-2-1

Pretty town snapped from the road.


We generally frequent the least travelled roads wherever possible and we often have them to ourselves.DSC_5856-1

Occasionally, however, other travellers have the same idea.


We get to park up in some delightful spots like this sometimes.  That is our bonnet on the extreme right.


I couldn’t resist this one.  It reminded me of the entrance to Tolkien’s Moria with the two trees guarding the door.  “Melon” was the password if you’ve forgotten.


Now I did promise Sheila “Not so many birds” but as we crossed a lake just south of Paris, we saw some Wonderful wildlife.  There were dozens of huge carp up to about 30lb (15kilo)  swimming below the bridge and loads of birds.


Hope that’s not too many.

But what about the feral parakeets in Paris I hear you ask.  OK.


Phew got away with that one I think.

I have never come to terms with the difference between UK wildlife and that of equivalent latitude mainland Europe.  Luxembourg is no warmer or colder than us but they boast some unusual wild animals.  They even set up schools to teach turtles the green cross code by the look of things.


Even the nuthatches have superior looking accommodation and even a postcode.


Somehow, though I don’t think that the humans get big enough for these bikes.


Now this isn’t a bird although it flies and it is nearly big enough.


many of the free places we stop for the night have a rule that says in effect “No Camping Behaviour” which roughly translates to no tables and chairs outside.  One such site exactly on the Luxembourg Germany border displayed the notice.  I cooked the roast chicken and sundries for tea and took the lot; cutlery, glasses, wine, food, plates and even lace edged serviettes down to the waterside to enjoy at this picnic table.


Worried about spiders in the home?  Then get yourselves one of these.  I watched this littlun gather half a dozen before ferrying them back to his chicks.


There is a tiny tributary to the Moselle whose valley is crossed by the most extraordinary footbridge near the village of Morsdorf.  A wire suspension bridge crosses the 360 metres at up to 100 metres above the ground; not for the fainthearted.  We arrived just as the heavens opened and the “Donner and Blitzen” started.  We tried a few photographs, sheltering the camera from the downpour and set out across the bridge with accompanying thunder and lightning.  Soaked but exhilarated, we reached the other side where we read in clear English that we should not cross the wire bridge if there is a chance of lightning!



I sit in the passenger seat more often than not with my camera at hand in case of something interesting just popping up.  If I am quick enough I might just be able to see the leftovers from the Cold War peering up over the tops of the trees.


The Rhine presents a formidable barrier to traffic but even where there is no main road bridge  plenty of small ferries operate on minor roads and in villages straddling the river.  I seem to remember some while ago the going rate for crossing was about 2.50 Euro but this vessel charged us 10.50 Euro after the conductor gave us a just a cursory glance to estimate our length.


Very much larger vessels ply these waters and our ferryboat had to negotiate the crossing with this moving majestically by.


When I was about 12 years old,  I visited Germany with my family and one of the most enduring memories was of a statue on a remote hill in  a forest.   I could even remember that the statue was called“Herman’s denkmal” in German, pretty near the extent of my uptake of the language.  I had to go searching for the bronze warrior with his sword in the air.  When we found him of course he wasn’t as big as a child’s memory would have him and he was surrounded by ticket offices, guides, tourist information centres, amusements, food outlets and all the rest of the touristy paraphernalia.


Spain–South to North.

We cross so many borders that we see contrasts all along the way, some are cultural, some are climate and some are just mysteries like why does a kilo of ice cost 80cents in Spain and just across the border in France in the same shop the same pack of ice costs 2.20 Euro?? No one knows.  The climatic contrasts are, however, easy to explain.  Southern Spain is mostly desert.  Rivers are used as car parks because they haven’t flowed for years.  Anything green therefore is obviously artificially irrigated.  Some wild plants flourish in these conditions but not many.


The remains of an old irrigation aqueduct that now has no water to channel.


The desert stretches for miles.  From a viewpoint you can see its vastness.  The rows of green things in the distance are olive trees watered with miles and miles of plastic pipe.


One way to make use of all this sunshine without water is to convert some of it to electricity.  This solar farm stretched as far as the ye could see in all directions.


Someone is able to survive in this environment however.


The water for irrigation is brought from further north where this year the rivers are in full spate because of unusually heavy rainfall.  These concrete channels run straight and true from northern river to southern reservoir and are somehow full of carp.  I chucked a bit of my sandwich in and this is what happened.


Many people live here of course but everywhere has the air of former glory.




Nothing looks truly cared for on the outside, of course we have no way of knowing what is on the inside.




WE avoid motorways and toll roads where possible and often travel for hours along straight well maintained underused minor roads.  In southern Spain there are few places where you can pull off the road for a cuppa.  There is a reason for this I surmise.  Everywhere a car or truck can pull over someone has dumped their rubbish.  Not just a sweet wrapper or two nor even a bean can or three but huge truckfulls of domestic waste.  It seems that if you renovate your house, you remove the bathroom furniture complete with tiles, toilet  and towel rail and dump it in the countryside.



And don’t worry about that bit of rubbish you have in the back of the car, just chuck it out of the passenger window.  On a regular cycle ride to the beach, I counted  in the gutter, one glass beer bottle and one can every METRE along the way each side of the road.

Sorry. Rant over.

We were travelling north through Spain a little early in the season so weren’t surprised when we pulled in to a campsite to find no one there.  The reception was closed and the whole site had a deserted air about it.  We filled up with water, dumped our wastes, cooked our tea and waited for someone to come along.  They never did and we left in the morning thankful for our free stopover.

There were a few little songbirds around however.  This coal tit


and a yellowhammer


and this Griffon Vulture.


We were anxious to get along however and soon got our first glimpse of the Ebro River which as stated above was in flood.


Getting up early in the morning isn’t a speciality of ours but sometimes it just has to be done.  That evening found us camping on a bit of rough ground on the banks of the Ebro river in where I watched a fisherman pull out a catfish longer than he was.  He couldn’t lift it off the ground for a photo and I decided I must have a fish.  I sneaked down to the waters edge with my smallest rod and a bit of cheese for bait. I also took my camera to snap up the competition; a purple heron. 


Needless to say he caught more than I did.  I put away my rod and decided to have another go early in the morning but as the alarm clock was going off I could hear the most wonderful morning chorus headed by an unfamiliar birdsong so I put aside my rod and picked up my camera.  The bird turned out to be a nightingale; a most elusive singer but I managed to get a bit of a sideways shot.


Having spent some time approaching this fellow, I decided to take camera not rod down the riverbank.  I had been so lucky, The other early riser was the fishing warden who was down there booking all the fishermen for fishing without a permit or using the wrong fishing methods.  I had had a very close shave.  Thanks Mr Nightingale.

I gave up my fishing plans and stuck to my camera for a while. for this squacco heron


and this stork.


We were continuing our northward journey to meet Sheila’s sister Wendy on the Costa Brava to celebrate Wendy’s birthday.


We were just a short trainride from Barcelona and took the opportunity to soak up some Andalusian culture.



But after a too short week it was goodbye to Wendy at Gerona airport


and an exceedingly short hop to France for some expensive ice and our next step on our way to the Arctic Circle.

Breaking the Sound Barrier in the Motorhome

There are precious few Lidl car parks with parking restrictions, even fewer since Sheila drove in to the Lidl car park in Aguilas.  The manager pointed out that the barrier was “Quite Sound until we drove in.”  Unfortunately it came down as we were passing underneath and caught our awning.  “There was a mighty Crump!” said one innocent bystander, “and then the barrier was bent and never worked again.” We completed our shopping and left – through the car park entrance – now uncontrolled. Thankfully all the damaged to our motorhome was polished off with a damp cloth the next time we stopped.

We had spent a fortnight on a campsite with our awning up and cycles used every day, barbecues, sunbeds and swimming pools. We were just a short cycle ride from the town of Porto de Mazarron where we even had our favourite bar.  Above the town is a statue of Jesus with a tremendous view.  This panorama was stitched together from five individual shots and you can see Sheila on the far right.

peurto de Mazarron Panorama1-2-1 Here is a closer look at some of the more important details.


All along the coast here is evidence of occupation going back to the Phoenicians.  One of the most important activity was obviously fishing but also the extraction of salt for the preservation of the fish.  These are the remains of salt extraction works just along the coast from Porto de Mazarron.


But the most impressive works are those of the wind and rain on these soft rocks.



We are always looking at seaside properties and fantasising about living by the sea in warmer climes.  This remote, seaside yellow house here fulfils all our fantasies but it appears not to have been used for some years. There are loads of derelict houses around, some ancient and some abandoned even as they were being built with weed infested wheelbarrows and cement mixers still in the garden.


We travelled further south along the coast to the town of Villaricos where we parked on the beach.  Not a soft sandy beach nor yet a dry rocky beach for this was a motorhome beach and that means comfort.  There were about fifteen vans parked along the strand facing East out to sea to welcome the sunrise.



We are not alone here, but few campers are about early enough for the best sunrise pictures.  Unfortunately though, a Frenchman was up early enough to drive off and leave a gap (just to the right of the sun) and spoil the symmetry of my photograph.)

Besides the sunrise there are other pressing reasons to rise early.  We are between the sea and the river Almanzora and the area is a haven for waterbirds.  Now I don’t want to flood the blog with bird photos but there are a few essentials like the very rare White Headed Duck. 


A remarkably ugly sort of duck with an unaccountably blue beak.  Only the male is so endowed, as with most ducks the female is a little drab.

Other early risers from further along the beach may have missed some of the wildlife but are otherwise compensated I think.  This Swiss lady had travelled with her donkeys through France to Spain.  I asked her if she had read the book “Travels With A Donkey In The Cevennes” and she told me that she had travelled the exact same route that Robert Louis Stevenson had with his stubborn Modestine.  The Swiss lady had arrived on our beach in the early evening, found a suitable spot out of sight to feed her donkeys and camp the night and left at sunrise the next day.  She seemed a little annoyed when I chatted to her because she had been moved on a couple of times by the local police because she had no permission to stay, yet we beachbound motorhomers were left alone by the police.


We did not turn up on this wonderful beach entirely by accident but took the advice of friends who had suggested we meet there.  Terry and Jan have been enjoying the roaming life for a lot longer than we have and have sussed out many of the favourable spots to spend a few nights.  Terry is a keen photographer and has led me astray by introducing me to the Sigma 150-600 lens.  He let me borrow his last year whilst we photographed the vultures seen here earlier.  I was so impressed I badgered Sheila for permission to buy one.  Well after I had my heart attacks (good strategy Boy!) she relented and I now have one for myself.  Here is Terry getting the most from the sunrise.


We left the security and familiarity of the Villaricos to see some of the sights recommended by Terry and Jan further south in the Cabo De Gata national park.  When we arrived in San Miguel de Cabo de Gata it was so windy we could not walk upwind! We drove a few km along the coast to La Fabriquilla where we found a tiny bit of shelter behind a concrete electricity distribution bunker. We still had a bumpy night but next morning we were almost exactly in the spot where we had parked the night before.


Following our trusty digital map, we drove on in the dying wind on a road that became narrower, steeper and definitely bumpier until we came to the lighthouse: Faro de Cabo de Gata.


Coaches sometimes make it this far with coachloads of tourists disembarking on the roadside to take this photo.  It seems to be an unmanned facility and you can go no further than the front gate or the rocks above to ply your camera.  We persevered a little further along the rocky coast still following our digital map that showed a clear road all the way along to San Jose; our next stop.  We definitely did NOT “know the way to San Jose”

We ventured steeper, bumpier, narrower and rockier along the road to overlook a prominent rock called uncharacteristically in Spain “El Dedo” (Disappointingly translates as “The Finger”)


Not much further along, contrary to our map, the road was chained off and simply turned in to a footpath.  Luckily there was a turning point and we were able to retrace our route. The square white dot two thirds along the road below is our motorhome.

4626 28Panorama1-2-1

By the time we came back to Playa Las Mirinas de Cabo de Gata the wind had died down sufficiently for us to open the doors of the van.  I took the opportunity to visit a bird hide just off the road.  There was a wide verge for parking so I guided Sheila off the road and in to what was for a Peugeot Boxer; Quicksand!  We sank up to our front axles in the soft sand.  I spent half an hour getting Sheila to go forward an inch backward half an inch until I could get our blocks and gripmats beneath the front wheels. Eventually we got to safer ground and I could go birdwatching.


There were avocet and a few flamingos far off on the salt flats but some Slender Billed Gulls were feeding close by the edge of the salt lake and making such a fuss I had the opportunity to get a little closer.


Going back to the van I kept my eyes on the ground to avoid windblown sand and came across this beetle nibbling quite unconcernedly. (I think its a beetle!) Someone must have been “inordinately fond of beetles” for this strange 5cm long creature to exist at all.


The wind, sea dry conditions and rocky landscape meant that wildlife was pretty scarce but I did get a glimpse of a Woodchat-Shrike zooming by.


and a Black Wheatear dropping in.


There is, in the town of Rodalquilar, an absolute goldmine. A real one. It was worked for over a hundred years and was for some time the biggest one in western Europe.  In the nineties the plant closed down for good and much of the machinery was removed and sold for scrap but the bare bones of the plant still remain.


Ore was brought to the top of these extraction tanks, crushed and treated to extract up to 260kg of gold a year at the height of production.  Visitors can walk precariously among the abandoned towers and tanks to the very top and then along the dirt track that lorries used to haul the ore to the workings.  Beyond that miles of small tracks lead in to the desert landscape to what look like smaller mines dotted all around.



Most recently the area has been used as a set for several futuristic science fiction films and signs still exist of the goldmine’s alternative function.  Some attempt had, in the more recent past, been made to turn the village in to a tourist attraction, with new roads, car parks,  street lighting, tourist information office and signposts. 


Much of the machinery has gone for scrap but bits and pieces have been preserved as a tourist attraction.


Somehow, though, the attempt at bringing vast hordes to the area failed and now the revamping has a rundown, seedy, abandoned look and whilst we were there we only saw a couple of other visitors.


The whole area has an interesting geology and along the coast there are lead, sulphur, tin and silver mines.  This part of a lead mine just along the coast from Villaricos.  Lead ore was smelted in the furnaces below and the fumes rose along a long sloping flue (visible to the left of the vertical chimney) to the stack right at the top.  workers had to crawl along the flue periodically to scrape off the lead which had precipitated out of the smoke.  Not a healthy lifestyle!


Just one more bird, I promise no more this blog but it is a good one.  This is the reason I bought the expensive lens.  The Sardinian Warbler.  I had seen this bird feeding in some bushes so I took my chair and tripod to a clearing nearby and sat down to wait for him to return  After about 30 minutes I noticed a great fuss going on behind me and turned round to see him hopping about in a most agitated fashion just a metre away.  I looked down just by my right elbow and saw a nest with 6 chicks in it.  I hastily withdrew a metre or two and let him in to feed the chicks.  He rewarded me then by posing with his next beakfull just a minute later.


Back on the road–Mostly birds

After a reluctant break in our wanderings, we are back on the road in our trusty motorhome.  Narrowly escaping the snows that blanketed England and nipping over the Cevennes and the Pyrenees in sub zero conditions with nothing but a little flurry of ice crystals here and there on the road, real snow being civil enough to stay on the mountain tops.


We coasted to a stop near Alicante in Spain.  We had arranged to meet Nigel and Lindsay on a luxurious site, far better than we usually end up on with swimming pools, bars, restaurants, fitness suites, supermarket and even a dance floor where (Unbeknown to me!) Sheila had arranged for us to go Line Dancing!

I survived that but only just and was willing to endure all sorts of indignities as the campsite was just a short cycle ride to the “El Hondo” wetland and bird reserve.  I, therefore, make no apologies for the next dozen or so wildlife pictures.  Whilst in England recovering and feeling sorry for myself, I bought a new lens to cheer myself up, an enormously long lens, an enormously expensive lens but one for which I had yearned for many years.


Some Glossy Ibis just flown in for the odd frog or two.  Here were many fine subjects for me to start practicing and learning how to get the most from my investment.


A Purple Swamp Hen. (Must have been watching the Line Dancing)


Three of the very rare (In Europe) Marbled Teal)  These were pretending to be the three flying ducks wall plaques from the 60s.


A very shy Water Rail.


A far away Snipe.


A flock of Black Winged Stilts.  Well two pretending to be four.


Another rarity, the Red Knobbed Coot.   You have to carefully examine every one of the surrounding four thousand ordinary coots in order to spot one of these.


A Reed Warbler, formerly known (before new lens) as a “Little Brown Jobbie!”


Greater Flamingos taking fright from the next bird.  Anyone for croquet?


Booted Eagle soaring above the wetlands. looking for the next  two animals perhaps.


Smooth Snake basking in the sun.


Water Vole emerging from its burrow.  I saw him enter the burrow and sat in the warm sun for an hour waiting for him to re emerge.  Hard life – aint it?


Here he goes off downstream for a bit of “Simply messing about in boats”


A pair of Red Crested Pochard.   Its easy to see who spends all his time in front of the bathroom mirror.


A Little Ringed Plover too shy to come any closer.


Even the Humble Cock Sparrow succumbs to my new lens. A sparrow in Spain but not a Spanish Sparrow.


Little Egret examining passers by with little concern.

Well thats plenty of wildlife for now, suffice it to say I am enormously pleased with my new toy.

We have had plenty of time to sit and unwind here in Spain and I have carried out a task that has been overdue for some time.  Ever since we started off in November 2016 my phone has been logging our journey.  Every 120 seconds, it notes the time, latitude and longitude.  This give me two things.  One I can then link that data with the files from my camera giving me a precise location for each shot, and two I can then mark our progress on a map. 


I was hoping to make a short video of the route as it unwound but because of a few spurious data points that creep in to the necessarily long winded files I will have to settle for a screenshot.  You can see there is an prodigious amount of faffing about in sunny southern countries and lots of squiggling around in England.   Several north south tracks including one across the sea from Plymouth to Santander. We toured as far west as Sagres in Portugal, as far east as Passau in Bavaria and as far north as Worcester where I spent a few memorable nights in hospital.

We will continue this blog and of course our journey all the while taking into account we are getting no younger.  Consequently we have picked out a new vehicle for when motorhoming gets just too much for us.


The world’s first “stretched mobility scooter”

On The Road (To Recovery)

After the family members returned to their homes, Sheila and I carried on our trip hugging the French coast heading south towards Spain. By the town of Peyreac-De-Mer  we passed salt lakes and plenty of flamingos.




Then beside an unusual row of restaurants that sold only shellfish.


Their middens were all the same and just on the waterside.



As was this beast of a motorhome spotted in a car park near Perpignan.


We crossed the border to Spain on a very windy and steep road that hugged the coast at the extreme western part of the Pyrenees that took us to the beautiful town of Portbou. 


There were plenty of fish in the sea and I caught a few but nothing we wanted to eat so they went back.  Most interesting thing in the port was the yellow yacht in the background.  We struck up a conversation with a couple of Brits mending their boat who told me the story of the Marguerita.


According to the Brits and the town’s Tourist Information Office, this once beautiful yacht had formerly been the pride and joy of John Wayne who owned it in the 1940’s and named it after his lover.  If you search there are photos on the web of him on the vessel. 


Now, unfortunately the hulk lies rusting and rotting away on the harbourside with little chance of anyone forking out the half a million euros needed to buy her and probably just as much to get her seaworthy again.  The Marguerita was modernised in the nineties and brought over the Atlantic to sail around the Mediterranean where she sprang a leak and was beached just along the coast a little. The French coastguard hauled her out at the nearest port which was Portbou.


The Marguerita, a long way from Sausalito California and no hope of ever going home.  Anyone want to write a song about this? It has all the elements needed for a hit.


Still heading south along the Spanish coast, we parked along the seafront in the beautifully named town “Roses” and walked out along the breakwater where I had a fruitless spot of fishing.  (Well I only had a slice of brown bread for bait – that’s my excuse anyway.)


Then stopped in L’Escala to listen to the bronze band on the prom.  Away then from the coast we drove on to the city of Gerona (Girona) for the manhole covers.


Oh and they also have a cathedral with nearly a hundred steps to go down and back up just to take this photo.



This is the river Onyar which was full of big carp that were just crying out for me to go fishing but I would have been a bit conspicuous in the city centre.


We camped by the lovely lake Banyoles, just outside of the city.  There was a good track around the lake shore that we walked once and cycled twice.  The lake had been the venue for the Olympic Games rowing events and has marked lanes for races.  It is a natural lake formed by a subsidence into an underground abyss during the Pliocene era but bits still fall in, the latest fall was in the 70’s. 

One mystifying and totally inexplicable road sign spotted on the adjacent road had me guessing as to its meaning. 


No Wellington Bombers? 

Do Not Land In The Water?

Danger Low Flying Junkers Ju88?

Ghost Planes Emerging ?

Your suggestions on a self addressed envelope please.


On then to Saint Joan De Les Abadesses which just like every other part of Catalonia was caught up in the drive to become independent.  The Catalan flag was displayed on every available space. 


Pont Vell has its origins in the 12th century but has been through a run of bad luck.  It was destroyed by an earthquake, rebuilt then blown up at the end of the Spanish Civil War.  It was rebuilt in 1976 but purely as a decoration as only pedestrian traffic crosses it now because of the bridge on the bypass.

Someone built this wall from just about any material they could scrape together just to confound future archaeologists.


By this time, autumn had set in and displayed her subtle colours across the landscapes. 


Reflected in the ever present Catalan flag.


Even up in the Pyrenees near the French border in the village of Pallerols.  This is it.  The entire village.  It isn’t difficult to know everyone of your neighbours in the mountains.


Just beyond Pallerols we pulled in to a layby to do a little birdwatching.


Or more precisely to give the Griffon Vultures a chance to do a little people watching.


The vultures circled around us for 20 minutes or so then decided another spot over the other side of the valley was slightly more interesting then just winged it.  I wished I had the odd chicken carcass on me or a dead donkey to scatter over the cliff side just to have kept them there.


The impossible to pronounce “La Guinguetta d’Aneu” just south of the French Border northern Catalonia.


This cow paused to ring it’s bell prior to emerging from the wrong carriageway……no concept whatever of the highway code.


Well, this is what separates the French from the Spanish up there in the Pyrenees. Even in the height of summer you could go skiing if you really felt the urge. 


If you are small enough, you can create your own micro-climate even at these altitudes.


A beautiful hidden valley that had no access to those motorhome type travellers – 4WD only I am afraid.


A glance at the satnav shows you the way up over the mountains is not going to be quite straightforward. 


The road ahead confirms this. 


So does the river.


Back almost on the flat on the French side of the Pyrenees we camped for a couple of nights overlooking the town of Montrejeau.  We walked down through the town  to the lake and River Garonne.  By far the most amazing thing about this place was the abundance of lizards.  They were everywhere.  I counted at least one per metre along a sunny stone wall as they dashed in to their hiding place as I passed.



There were other creatures there but not in the abundance of lizards.


The journey beyond this became a little familiar to us as we were on our way to stay with our friends Nigel and Lindsey.  We passed the familiar landmark of Montpezat’s windmill and much of that part of the world has been covered elsewhere in this blog. 


After our stay with friends we stopped in the pretty little town of Bellac for a peer in to the waters of the river Vincou from the 13th century bridge.


And this believe it or not is the last picture I took before my heart attack the next day. 

I had a heart attack in Baziages but passed it of as arthritic pain in my right shoulder and arm.  Another one got me that night in Gien on the banks of the river Loire but that was similarly passed off.  It wasn’t till the next heart attack the following morning that we decided enough was enough and we went to the nearby hospital Clinical Jeanne D’arc.  whilst the heart attack was proceeding and staggered in to the emergency entrance.  Unfortunately the doctor who examined did not recognise what was happening right in front of him and sent me on my way with a prescription for pain killers.  (They still haven’t forgiven us for what we did to Joan of Arc.)

Strengthened with the false belief that this was not my heart, Sheila set her mind to driving me to the only place where we could stop, unwind and investigate the problem and that was my brother’s place in Evesham – England.   Sheila drove without a pause for over 500 miles.  Through the centre of Paris at rush hour, north to Calais for a ferry, up the M2, around the M25, up to Oxford and across country to Evesham.  She drove that van like she stole it with me in bed groaning in pain for much of the time.  Sheila’s determination to get me to a safe place saved my life for which I will be eternally grateful.

The problem was recognised immediately I set foot in the local hospital and from that moment on I was in the hands of a confident and competent system.  I received a couple of stents and am now well on the way to a full recovery with the help of Sheila, Dave and Jackie. 

We will be back on the road one day soon. – PROMISE!