Where's Bertie? After two nights in the car park at Águilas, he's now in a car park in San Juan de los Terreros (exact location: 37.36125, -1.66457).
Weather: Sat: some sun, some showers, cool; Sun: quite a bit of sun, feeling warmer even if only 14 degrees.
Last year we visited San Juan de los Terreros to gatecrash the honeymoon of Simon & Debbie. They're down here for another couple of months this year (and are already booked for next year too), which is also why we're in this neck of the woods. Having spotted that Águilas was only 12.5km away from San Juan, using the coast path, and as Mick was due for a 21km run/walk on off-road terrain (with there being no harm in him doing a bit more, as long as he took it easy), the obvious route for him was to do the coast path in one direction, have a coffee with Simon, then repeat the path in the other direction.
It was a bit slow and sandy in places, he reported.
Meanwhile, I waited for the shower, that caught Mick almost as soon as he stepped out the door, to pass, then did something far less interesting: two hours of repetitions of the seafront promenade. Had my phone not been in a plastic bag, I would have looked at a map, negotiated my way through the town (which Mick tells me was only about 100m) and continued along the promenade on the next bit of coast. Two heavy showers caught me, and it was cool enough (just 8 degrees) to need to don a rain jacket for both (and to take it off in between, because when the sun was out it felt pleasantly warm).
Even though getting out of my wet clothes was my first priority when I got back to Bertie, it took me a good while, wrapped in a blanket, to warm back up. Perhaps I should have put the heating on, as the sun wasn't out enough to give us the solar gain I needed (15 degrees when I got in; it gradually inched higher until it reached an acceptable warmth a couple of hours later).
Mick didn't get back until nearly 2pm (unsurprisingly, he'd chatted with Simon, Debbie and their visiting friends, for longer than intended), and after food, showers and more food, the day was fairly marching on.
Between Águilas and San Juan is a petrol station with a motorhome Aire and, more of interest to us, a service point. That was our intermediate destination and we thought at that time of afternoon it would be quiet. Compared to what it's like mid-morning, it probably was, but there were still six vans there emptying and filling. They must do a roaring trade (€3 to borrow the key that opens each of the services; it's a sad fact that they've had to put separate padlocks on the sewage drain and on the toilet cassette rinse tap), as the coast between these two towns is home to hundreds of motorhomes.
We'd heard many a rumour this winter about how busy it is with motorhomes on the coast of Spain (I'm sure we've been hearing the same since our first trip down here in 2016), but until now we've not seen any overcrowding nor struggled to find somewhere to park. We haven't struggled here either, but only because there are so many available places; there really are huge numbers of vans around, on every bit of available ground along the coast and, to a lesser extent, in the town.
With the toilet empty and a couple of drinking water bottles filled, onwards to San Juan, where we slotted Bertie into a car park right in the town (last year we were about a 2km walk away).
Later in the evening we walked all the way across the road (this car park really is convenient!) to meet up with Simon et al. Bit of an odd experience: they'd just taken a table and ordered drinks as we arrived. We sat at the table next to them. Someone eventually took our drinks order too. The drinks took an age to arrive and in the meantime, a waitress came and put a reserved sign on both of our tables, but at no point said we couldn't sit there (and why would they have taken our order if we couldn't sit there?!). Drinks were consumed. More drinks were ordered. Said drinks arrived with the request that we vacate the table. We were directed into the room next door, which gave all appearances of being a breakfast room for the hotel part of the business in summer, but is a sad dumping ground at this time of year. We managed to find a table with six chairs around it and merrily sat in a semi-lit ballroom-sized space, all by ourselves, until far too late into the night. Bizarrely, the service we received in there was better than in the bar. Definitely odd, but it didn't stop us from booking in for a paella for lunch today.
Ssssshhhhhh - don't disturb anyone! And make sure you get the right van!
Sunday
The birthday boy had a walk to do this morning, but opted for a lazy start to the day after our late night. I had a migraine, took drugs and was generally lazy, until, as Mick headed out, I went the first few hundred metres with him, before doubling back to the market.
The market was busy. It strikes me as odd that almost no shops are open in Spain on a Sunday (the occasional small supermarket in coastal resorts, and that's it), yet people are obviously willing to go out and buy. The duvet stall was notably doing well - I imagine there are lots of people arriving in town, not used to needing any substantial bedding at this time of year, who find they need to make an emergency purchase this year. I would have bought a couple of types of local nuts that we like, and I found the right stall, but at that point realised that I didn't have any money on me*, and by now Mick was somewhere up the other end of the prom.
He only got back shortly before we were due out for lunch. Being a special occasion I made an effort to look in a mirror and check my hair didn't need brushing before we went. Even put my best top on.
Good salad!
Good paella!
Good puds!
Didn't take a snap of the coffees. They weren't so universally popular.
The rest of the day was a write-off. I pulled the bed down and hopped onto it for a short siesta. Mick eventually joined me. We woke up some hours later - probably only because various windows were still open, the sun had gone, the wind was blowing, and it was getting cold inside.
It seems that market day must be the big draw for motorhome users of this car park, as when we woke up it was to find that most of our neighbours had gone.
Weather: Sat: some sun, some showers, cool; Sun: quite a bit of sun, feeling warmer even if only 14 degrees.
Last year we visited San Juan de los Terreros to gatecrash the honeymoon of Simon & Debbie. They're down here for another couple of months this year (and are already booked for next year too), which is also why we're in this neck of the woods. Having spotted that Águilas was only 12.5km away from San Juan, using the coast path, and as Mick was due for a 21km run/walk on off-road terrain (with there being no harm in him doing a bit more, as long as he took it easy), the obvious route for him was to do the coast path in one direction, have a coffee with Simon, then repeat the path in the other direction.
Meanwhile, I waited for the shower, that caught Mick almost as soon as he stepped out the door, to pass, then did something far less interesting: two hours of repetitions of the seafront promenade. Had my phone not been in a plastic bag, I would have looked at a map, negotiated my way through the town (which Mick tells me was only about 100m) and continued along the promenade on the next bit of coast. Two heavy showers caught me, and it was cool enough (just 8 degrees) to need to don a rain jacket for both (and to take it off in between, because when the sun was out it felt pleasantly warm).
Even though getting out of my wet clothes was my first priority when I got back to Bertie, it took me a good while, wrapped in a blanket, to warm back up. Perhaps I should have put the heating on, as the sun wasn't out enough to give us the solar gain I needed (15 degrees when I got in; it gradually inched higher until it reached an acceptable warmth a couple of hours later).
Mick didn't get back until nearly 2pm (unsurprisingly, he'd chatted with Simon, Debbie and their visiting friends, for longer than intended), and after food, showers and more food, the day was fairly marching on.
Between Águilas and San Juan is a petrol station with a motorhome Aire and, more of interest to us, a service point. That was our intermediate destination and we thought at that time of afternoon it would be quiet. Compared to what it's like mid-morning, it probably was, but there were still six vans there emptying and filling. They must do a roaring trade (€3 to borrow the key that opens each of the services; it's a sad fact that they've had to put separate padlocks on the sewage drain and on the toilet cassette rinse tap), as the coast between these two towns is home to hundreds of motorhomes.
We'd heard many a rumour this winter about how busy it is with motorhomes on the coast of Spain (I'm sure we've been hearing the same since our first trip down here in 2016), but until now we've not seen any overcrowding nor struggled to find somewhere to park. We haven't struggled here either, but only because there are so many available places; there really are huge numbers of vans around, on every bit of available ground along the coast and, to a lesser extent, in the town.
With the toilet empty and a couple of drinking water bottles filled, onwards to San Juan, where we slotted Bertie into a car park right in the town (last year we were about a 2km walk away).
Later in the evening we walked all the way across the road (this car park really is convenient!) to meet up with Simon et al. Bit of an odd experience: they'd just taken a table and ordered drinks as we arrived. We sat at the table next to them. Someone eventually took our drinks order too. The drinks took an age to arrive and in the meantime, a waitress came and put a reserved sign on both of our tables, but at no point said we couldn't sit there (and why would they have taken our order if we couldn't sit there?!). Drinks were consumed. More drinks were ordered. Said drinks arrived with the request that we vacate the table. We were directed into the room next door, which gave all appearances of being a breakfast room for the hotel part of the business in summer, but is a sad dumping ground at this time of year. We managed to find a table with six chairs around it and merrily sat in a semi-lit ballroom-sized space, all by ourselves, until far too late into the night. Bizarrely, the service we received in there was better than in the bar. Definitely odd, but it didn't stop us from booking in for a paella for lunch today.
Sunday
The birthday boy had a walk to do this morning, but opted for a lazy start to the day after our late night. I had a migraine, took drugs and was generally lazy, until, as Mick headed out, I went the first few hundred metres with him, before doubling back to the market.
The market was busy. It strikes me as odd that almost no shops are open in Spain on a Sunday (the occasional small supermarket in coastal resorts, and that's it), yet people are obviously willing to go out and buy. The duvet stall was notably doing well - I imagine there are lots of people arriving in town, not used to needing any substantial bedding at this time of year, who find they need to make an emergency purchase this year. I would have bought a couple of types of local nuts that we like, and I found the right stall, but at that point realised that I didn't have any money on me*, and by now Mick was somewhere up the other end of the prom.
He only got back shortly before we were due out for lunch. Being a special occasion I made an effort to look in a mirror and check my hair didn't need brushing before we went. Even put my best top on.
Didn't take a snap of the coffees. They weren't so universally popular.
The rest of the day was a write-off. I pulled the bed down and hopped onto it for a short siesta. Mick eventually joined me. We woke up some hours later - probably only because various windows were still open, the sun had gone, the wind was blowing, and it was getting cold inside.
It seems that market day must be the big draw for motorhome users of this car park, as when we woke up it was to find that most of our neighbours had gone.
(*Not strictly true. I've been pointlessly carrying some Sterling around with me for three weeks. Goodness knows how long that money has been in my pocket, as I almost never spend cash in the UK, and clearly haven't had occasion for anything other than my credit card in the last three weeks in Spain either.)
No comments:
Post a Comment