Tuesday 23 February - San Juan de los Terreros

Where's Bertie? He's on a patch of wasteland (rather a nice patch, as wasteland goes) adjacent to Playa de Entrevista, on the edge of San Juan de los Terreros (exact location: 37.35062, -1.68181)
Weather: wall-to-wall sunshine. Cold start in La Peza, but warm afternoon on the coast.

Having surveyed the elevation profiles of the two hills I had the option to run up this morning, I chose the one behind Bertie (150m ascent versus 200m; I am inherently lazy!). Waking to a temperature of 8 degrees inside Bertie was an indication that it had been a chilly night, and as I stepped outside I reconsidered my options. My intended hill was in the shade, whereas the other option was in the sunshine. Figuring the climb would soon warm me up, I stuck with the plan ... for a whole 100m, until I noticed that a snarling dog behind a fence wasn't being kept in by a closed gate.

My general experience in Spain is that dogs out on the streets without a lead (whether with a person or not) will completely ignore you. Dogs behind fences will bark and/or snarl agressively - but that's fine because they're locked in. I felt reasonably confident that this dog would run to the end of the driveway then stop, having reached the end of its territory, but the chance that it wouldn't was just enough to cause me to think that the sunny route was the right one to take after all.

I have no idea what I missed on the originally intended route, but the one I ended up taking was lovely.

Views. I don't think the snow-capped mountains really show on the second photo, but they were perfectly visible to the naked eye.

Back at Bertie, Mick was up and largely packed away, so once I'd breakfasted and after a visit to the service point (and another chat with Cathy and her husband - a couple of British full-timers), off we went for another lengthy drive (200km today).

We started by heading 2km in the wrong direction. Bertie was in desperate need of diesel and that is where lay the nearest petrol station. He could have made it to Guadix but: 1) Mick was eager to get to the coast, so I'd written off our visit there; and 2) having not spent any money in the town that had given us a night in such a good Aire, using a local independent fuel station was the right thing to do. It was a bonus, when we got there, to find that their fuel was 8-10c cheaper than the norm. (As is common, the fuel station also doubles as a restaurant, so as the attendand filled up Bertie I sat and observed a man sitting having a coffee and a cigarette on Bertie's other side; smoking, on a petrol station forecourt, is not something that seems to raise an eyebrow here.)

The impressive road engineering I mentioned yesterday, in between La Peza and Autovia 92.

A few hours later, with a stop for lunch en-route, we arrived in San Juan de los Terreros, a place chosen because we had a honeymoon to gatecrash. A friend of Mick's got married just before Christmas and has been honeymooning in San Juan for the last two months. Being now in the final week of that trip, we had an imperative to make haste to the coast to catch the happy couple before they headed home to France. The meet-up also allowed us to offload the 1200 Yorkshire teabags we had for them as a wedding gift (the fact that they live in France being the reason why this was an appropriate and appreciated gift; it would perhaps have been a strange thing to choose for someone who lives in, say, Harrogate).

View along the beach next to which Bertie is parked (although he's right at the back of the wasteland, so doesn't have a view)

The wasteland upon which we have parked (along with a whole collection of other vans, who seem, currently, to be well tolerated hereabouts) is only a hundred metres from the bar where we'd arranged to meet. The problem was that, by the time we'd met up, had drinks and surveyed the menu and chosen, it was firmly in that window between lunchtime and tea time (that being, in Spain, between 4pm and 8pm). "The kitchen is closed" was the response to our request to order (pity they didn't mention that when we'd asked for the menu!).

Having walked the couple of kilometres into town (via a drink and quick snackette at Simon and Debbie's villa), we were just going to give up on food when one of the bars suggested somewhere that would be serving tapas. Their directions were followed, and we were just going to give up on finding the place when we came upon it. A small bar on the ground floor of a block of flats, it had a distinctly local feel to it.

They also reported their kitchen to be closed, but showed us the tapas options that were available in two chiller cabinets on the bar. They looked good! They were good!

Not the best shot, but I often take these snaps just to remind me what we did on any one day

Whilst the afternoons are warm, and objectively the evening wasn't cold, after a few hours of sitting still outdoors (albeit in a semi-enclosed gazebo), I was uncomfortably cool by the time we left the bar at approaching 9pm (sunset is 7pm).

Fortunately the route back to Bertie wasn't difficult, even in the dark. As long as we kept close to the sea, we would eventually spot some motorhomes and know where we were.

As for San Juan, it seems like a nice place. I'm not sure how much of it we will see, as tomorrow will feature more eating and catching up, rather than sight-seeing.

Monday 21 February - La Peza

Where's Bertie? He's at a free Aire overlooking the village of La Peza, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, to the east of Granada (exact location: 37.27530, -3.28179)
Weather: A few high clouds when we left Seville, but clear skies further east. High of 18 degrees.

I lay in bed this morning and contemplated the question of 'to shower or not to shower'. Even though the available facilities were less than inviting, it seemed somehow wrong to give up the opportunity for a mains-water shower. After a back-and-forth intercranial battle, I threw a towel and soap into a bag and off I went in the pre-sunrise darkness.

I was so quick that I was back at Bertie almost before I'd left. The water temperature wasn't the issue today, but rather that to access the shower I'd had to walk through a waiting room full of transporter drivers. With no locking door between the shower and that reception area, and no door (or even curtain) on the shower cubicle itself, not to mention the clear glass window on the wall opposite (albeit someone would have to be rather tall to see through it), I didn't find it conducive to lingering.

After breakfast, and once Mick had levered his aching quads from the bed, there seemed little point in hanging around, particularly given the length of drive we had ahead of us (300km). Duties were reassigned from the norm (I emptied the toilet whilst Mick paid our bill), a quick stop at Aldi was had (me: shopping; Mick: using the recycling bins in the adjacent road to get rid of the three bags of recyclables we had amassed in Bertie's boot), then eastwards we headed.

The route was straightforward: stay on the A92, although not to Guadix, which had been my original thought as to a destination for today. You may recall that we nearly visited Guadix on our journey south last month, but turned around just a few kilometres short, based on the weather. However, the motorhome parking in Guadix didn't look promising for a quiet night, and in the interests of Mick recovering quickly from his marathon (he's got another training plan to start in 2 weeks' time), a quiet location was appealing. I came up with two options, one of which was on the way to the other.

Stopping at the first (roadside parking next to a large dam), we thought we were going to stay until I decided that La Peza sounded like it might be the more interesting option. A good call! The Aire here is new and nice, sitting looking over the village of La Peza.

The Aire, complete with brand new street furniture and picnic benches.

View from in front of Bertie

I immediately fancied walking up to the top of the nobble opposite, so pencilled that in for tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I left Mick with his head in his book and took myself off for a walk around.

It's an interesting place (in a completely non-touristy sort of way) in that there are bits of the town that have clearly received investment (and the road here is an impressive bit of engineering, cutting straight through the undulations of the landscape), but there's an above average number of abandoned houses. Or maybe the number of abandoned houses isn't that high, but it's just they're more eye-catching here for the number that have fallen completely to ruin.

On the left - one of many examples of buildings beyond salvage

I liked the optimistic 'se vende' sign on the front of this one

I was on my way back to Bertie, when this sculpture caught my eye...

...if you're viewing on a big screen (or otherwise zoom in) you may be able to see the three old chaps sitting on benches on the other side of the road, left of shot. The sun was obviously troubling them and two of them were holding up what looked like the lids off pizza boxes to shield their eyes.

I'd like to blame my preoccupation with the sculpture for the fact that I then took a wrong turn. I thought I was returning to Bertie, but instead found myself at the castle ruins on top of the nobble that I'd pencilled in for tomorrow. That gave me half an hour of entertainment, as I made my way around the site testing out my Spanish by trying to understand all of the information signs.

View from the castle. Bertie is in shot on the left; snow capped hills peeking into shot on the right.

Whilst I had an intersting afternoon, I concede that this wasn't the best possible location for Mick's current purposes. His legs aren't appreciating downhill today, so he's had to make do with my descriptions of the place.

Sunday 20 February - Seville

Where's Bertie? Slightly to his surprise, he's still at the Aire in Seville.
Weather: Less cloud than forecast and warmer too.

Six years ago today we visited the archaeological museum in Seville, on our way stumbling across the Seville Marathon in progress. The seed of taking part was planted in Mick's head, and with his age marching rapidly towards 70 he decided that if he was going to break his marathon PB (set in 2010), then he needed to get on with it, and why not in Seville?

Of course, there was the small hiccough of Covid, such that when Mick bought his entry last October we didn't know for certain that we would be able to get here, but travel restrictions seemed to have calmed down enough for us to have a reasonable level of optimism. Then along came Omicron and the ban on tourism to France combined with all ferries to Spain being booked up to the gunwhales. Mick continued diligently to train, but as the French border closure dragged on, our optimism waivered. We knew that we could leave home in the middle of February and still get here in time, but also knew that it would be less than ideal not to have any time to acclimatise to the temperature. Would we have jumped on a plane had push come to shove? Probably not.

Anyway, today was marathon day, we were in the right city, and all that lay between Mick and his medal was the small matter of 42.2km of running (or 43, if you don't take the racing line...).

Daylight was barely seeping into the day as we stepped out of Bertie this morning, but we could already hear the sound system in action at the start/finish line (I bet that delighted everyone at the Aire who thought they were going to get a Sunday lie-in). I suppose it wasn't very far away as the crow flies, but was 2.5km by road.

We joined the hordes heading to the start, where with 15 minutes until the gun I waved Mick off to find his starting pen. By good fortune, he had thought to activate the 'Live Tracking' function on his watch, which made the rest of my day much easier. Instead of standing on various streets wondering if I'd missed him, and having to stare intently at the passing runners the whole time, I could take a look at my phone and see exactly where he was. 

Live tracking - a most handy thing!

Thus, I spent my day variously cycling and walking around the city to stand on various street corners to cheer him on. Whilst there were crowds of people milling around that I had to weave my way through, most of the roads in the city had been closed to motorised traffic, making junctions quicker to cross (although I noted that many people still waited for the green man, even where the roads were closed), and giving the option of doing things like riding up the wrong side of dual carriageways.

Looking relaxed and happy at 12km in

The first time I saw Mick was at 12km, when (as you'd hope!) he was looking relaxed and happy. The second time was at 22km when he said he was struggling a bit with a tight muscle in his groin. When I saw him again only a few kilometres later I could see he was leaning to one side. This was not good! I'm not sure my words of encouragement were overly helpful ("Only 20km to go!", "Just 3 parkruns to go!" "You're looking much better than lots of people I've seen" (the latter was not a lie)).

Probably the best part of the course, as it takes a little looping detour around the fountain at the Plaza de España

Alas, for the second half of the course he had to stop at increasingly frequent intervals to stretch the cramping groin, which scuppered him from achieving the time for which he was aiming. On the plus side: 1) he finished! What a star!; 2) he felt a lot better at the end than he did last time he ran a marathon; 3) He *didn't* go out too fast; 4) His calf held out!! (this is worthy of more exclamation marks, but I shall be restrained); 5) He ate enough that he didn't lack energy at any point. In fact, he reports that cardiovascularly and muscularly (save for the groin) he felt fine.

It was getting a bit warm by the time he finished.

The finisher approaches, finishers' goody-bag in hand and medal around his neck.

His chip time was 5:00:48.

When, within five minutes of him finishing, I said that he just needs to sort out the groin, do some strength work in that area to prevent a repeat and come back and give it another go next year, he didn't either dismiss the idea or say that he would think about it later. I have every confidence that if he can get through both training and the marathon without injury, he can still beat his 12-year old PB.

I lent him the bike to get back to Bertie.

The rest of the day has mainly involved eating and drinking (for both of us; I severely undercatered for my own food and drink today), and whilst we had planned to leave Seville this afternoon, purely for the ease of driving out of the city in the quiet of a Sunday, when it came to it neither of us could be moved to move. We will, however, be off in the morning. We've a rendezvous 500km away in a few days' time.

Saturday 19 February - Seville

Where's Bertie: He's moved to be nearer to the entrance of the Aire, but otherwise is in the same place.
Weather: Some cloud, but mainly sunny. Twelve degrees first thing, but building into the low twenties by mid-afternoon.

When we arrived here on Thursday, all was quiet at the port. Yesterday there was activity. For most of the day it sounded like the big 'grabber' crane we could see was loading broken crockery into a large metal vessel (actually, it sounded like broken crokery was being rotated very slowly in a massive metal tombola, such was the regularity of the tinkling crashes). Later in the day they must have run out of broken crockery as it sounded more like rubble. The rubble pile must have been big as they went on shifting it the whole way through the night and into today.

I only know that because I woke up a few times and heard it, although it neither woke me nor kept me awake. Mick was chatting to our next door neighbour later in the morning, who, it turned out, had also been in the same car park as us during the brass band/nightclub session in Cadiz on Wednesday night; he commented that the noise here was nothing compared to that.

They were still working on shifting the rubble when we headed out for our morning exercise. I had a long run on the agenda, whereas Mick had his final little leg-stretch of his pre-marathon taper period. He thus joined me for the first 1.5km of my outing, at which point I shooed him back to Bertie and continued on to join the riverside path.

Goodness, it was busy with runners! It felt like I'd accidentally got caught up in a race, but hadn't got the memo about the distance.

Busy riverside!

Busy on the river too with all sorts of (mainly human-powered) craft

Apparently I also hadn't got the memo about the route, as once I reached the north side of the city, I suddenly found myself on my own again.

I also found a truly impressive sculpture (probably sculpture of the trip, never mind of the day). Hopefully the trees and lamp posts give a sense of scale.

I was feeling fatigued well before I got back to Bertie (after 24km), but then I suppose I have done quite a lot this last week (particularly with the 20km bike ride added to my scheduled activities). Given Mick's impending marathon, and my fatigue, I think it's excusable that we did so little for the rest of the day.

We moved Bertie to be nearer to the entrance (and further from the port activities), I went and sampled the showers that we belatedly discovered they have here (short shower as it was powerful but on the cool side of tepid; noon probably isn't the best time to get hot water), and we took a little wander to the nearest shop for some bread.

I'll finish with a few snaps of the motorhome parking here, but first I'll mention the approach. We've parked in some decidedly unattractive places, but the approach to this parking area looks so waste-landy and full of rubbish, that it was off-putting to the point that we questioned whether we wanted to stay here. Then we reached this secure compound which is manned and gated 24 hours per day.

It's some sort of vehicle handling place:

Some of the vehicles are new, some not new, and plenty of fleet vans too

On Thursday and Friday there were transporters coming and going

They've allocated a section of their massive yard to motorhomes. On a quick tot-up there must be 100 here tonight, making a secure yard feel even more secure. 

The other advantage of having moved is that it's given us a river view. Admittedly it's a world away from the best watery views we've ever had.

It's just a pity that the place isn't a little closer to the city - and that you have to walk a kilometre of skanky approach road to get to a proper road. 

Friday 18 February - Seville

Where's Bertie? He's still in the same place in Seville.
Weather: A few clouds around for a short while this afternoon, but otherwise sunny. 22 degrees.

For the second time in as many weeks, my day started with a bike ride - 10km each way around the edge of Seville to collect Mick's race number and goody-bag.

The navigation looked involved, so I donned Mick's bone-conducting headphones and set Google Maps to direct me. Whilst I couldn't see the map (because I don't have a handlebar mount, so the phone was in my pocket), it gave me clear enough directions such that I only stopped to check the map a few times (mainly where Google didn't seem to know that the cycle path took a short detour down a road, to cross the carriageway and come back again).

I expected my destination, an exhibition centre, to be something like the NEC, but it wasn't. In fact, what I found appeared to be a deserted building with no apparent way in. I was just scratching my head and consulting the map some more when I spotted some flags and an inflatable 'start/finish' arch just up the road, and sure enough, that's where I needed to be.

When I arrived there was only one bike at this stand, and it didn't instill confidence!

Once in the hall there was no indication as to where I needed to go, so I worked on the basis that they wanted everyone to have to pass all of the exhibitor stands, and headed via the most direct route I could find to the back of the hall. Ten minutes later I was back outside with everything I needed and, via a quick nip into Aldi for a couple of soft pretzels (somehow I'd gone out without anything to eat and it had been a long time since breakfast), back to Bertie I tootled.

What an excellent place Seville is for cycling! All but two short sections (200m each?) of the 10km route was on dedicated two-way cycle paths, with either traffic lights at junctions, or with the cycle path having priority. The two short non-cycle path bits were on shared foot/cycle ways, so I didn't need to venture onto a road at all.

In fact, I've noticed a lot of cycling infrastructure on this trip that I've not noticed during previous visits to Spain - perhaps because we didn't have a bike with us so it just passed me by. I very much approve.

Mick's leg-stretch didn't come until this afternoon when we ventured out to recce the start/finish area for the marathon. Having located it, we then formed a circuit, returning via the place where we parked Colin back in 2016. Our thought was that, even though it's no longer a motorhome parking area, if it's still possible to park a Bertie-sized vehicle there, then we would move tomorrow afternoon, so as to be better positioned for Sunday. It turns out that it's no longer a motorhome parking area because the whole car park is now an excavated building site, into which piles are just being driven.

On our previous visit to Seville we were parked on the right bank in this photo from where we watched many a rowing crew as they went up and down. The only people we saw today were this group of SUPers.

Just one final comment about today: we have had a change of neighbours since we arrived. Unfortunately, the way that the new neighbours have parked leaves us looking like we've ignorantly plonked Bertie right in the middle of a span of spaces, with the gaps on both sides of us (which were perfectly big yesterday) now too small for anyone to access comfortably. I do hate it when the subsequent parking decisions of other people make it look like we don't know how to park politely!

Thursday 17 February - Cadiz and Seville

Where's Bertie? He's at an Aire in the port area (container ships) on the S side of Seville. It costs €12 per night to stay here. Electricity and a service point are available at extra costs. Exact location: 37.36036, -5.99481
Weather: wall-to-wall sunshine. Particularly warm in Seville (22 degrees)

Just after eight o'clock last night, the noise from the port died to nothing. About ten minutes or so later, I thought I could hear a trombonist outside. Over the next half an hour the sound of brass instruments got louder and louder, joined by some very loud drums too. It was not, however, a harmonious sound.

At just gone 9pm we went out to investigate. It turned out that there were at least four brass bands, and one drum band, at intervals along the road in front of the car park. They were all playing at the same time, but not the same music.

I took a little (40 second) video, from in front of Bertie's bumper. Turn the volume up to max and you'll have an idea of what it was we could hear.

Click here for video

They played without a single pause (in that if one lot stopped, some of the others would still be going) until just after 10pm when all went quiet. "Well that wasn't too bad" we thought.

Two minutes later they'd all started up again, but it was the beginning of a very slow end. By eleven they had dwindled down to just one brass group, plus the drums (which had now moved down the road to be nearer to us), and after another few false-ends, just after eleven they finally all stopped.

A few minutes later one of the nightclubs started playing music. That music, with a thudding base, occasionally augmented by the sound of screeching revellers, went on until 6am.

I have to conclude that we were unlucky. No previous commenters on Park4Night have mentioned brass bands, nor nightclub noise midweek. Google tells me that none of the clubs (there are three along that street) is open on a Wednesday. There was obviously something special going on last night.

Despite all of that, and thanks largely to the help of audiobooks with the volume turned up loud, we didn't have too bad a night of sleep. Each time something woke one of us up, we'd put our respective audiobook back on (we're both listening to stories we know well, so they're good to fall asleep to). The noise of the port didn't start up again until gone half eight this morning.

I was, admittedly, a little later getting up than normal, so the sun was properly up by the time I went out for my run.

I should, perhaps, at this point stop assuming that everyone knows where Cadiz is and what it looks like, and put a little map to show that it's a little city almost surrounded by water:

The orange line is my route

To run around the exterior of the historical city, most of which is along a seafront promenade, is almost exactly 5km. So, I ran two circuits, plus a little out-and-back by the port. A good time was had, eyeing up the historic buildings and structures as I went.

Cathedral to the right, sea to the left. Prom and cycle path by way of self-powered road infrastructure.

Looking out to La Caleta

With not much time available to us, once I was back, second-breakfasted and washed, we headed back out. Our first port of call, per Humphrey's suggestion, was to pop by the Mercado Central. What a wide range of fish you can buy there! Unfortunately, we were too early even to salivate over the wares of the eateries inside, as they were only just starting to set out their tables, but we did stop by one just outside for cafés y tostadas.

A while later we were about three quarters of the way across the causeway to the fort at La Caleta when Mick pointed out that we were out of time. We were now over 2km away from Bertie and we needed to leave town in about half an hour.

On our way across the causeway

Winding our way back through the city streets (we saw a good array of them today)...

City street. Almost everyone was wearing a mask.

...back to the car park we went, where the attendant only charged us €3.10 for our stay. As much as I'd be happy to return to Cadiz, I'm not sure I'd be champing at the bit to go back to that car park, even if our assessment was that the saving of over €25, compared to the other motorhome parking option was worth the disturbed night. In fact, the whole brass band thing was so bizarre that it made our stay in Cadiz all the more memorable.

To Margaret B: we happened to find ourselves passing, but too early, and without the time, to eat.

The drive to Seville was an hour and a half or so, at the end of which we dived into an Aldi for enough provisions to see us through to Monday, as we may not move again until Sunday afternoon.

The motorhome parking area here is surprisingly busy. Last time we were in Seville (the same weekend, in 2016) we were one of only a handful of motorhomes parked in what was then the motorhome parking area (which was conveniently nearer to the city).

It was only once we parked up that I asked Mick where it is he has to go tomorrow to pick up his race number. We'd both assumed that it would be somewhere central, near to where the race starts and ends, but we were both wrong to assume. It's actually 10km away, with no convenient way to get there. Had we checked that in advance, we probably would have timed ourselves to arrive here tomorrow morning, driving first to the exhibition centre for that purpose. We have a few options as to what we do about picking up his number, the two most sensible of which would be to drive, or for me to cycle to pick it up on Mick's behalf. I will report back tomorrow...

Wednesday 16 February - Cadiz

Where's Bertie? He's in a car park next to the busy port (container ships) in Cadiz. The special rate for motorhomes is €3.10 per parking space per 24 hours (we expect to pay €6.20 as although Bertie is short, these bays are even shorter). There's a toilet here, open when the parking attendant is present. Exact location: 36.53849, -6.28984.
Weather: Gloriously sunny.

A cool start today. We put the heating on for a short while first thing.

Because of the cool start, we were later than usual in heading out to trot off in different directions. As Mick turned one way, I turned towards one of my 'chose a path almost at random' routes. My selection didn't work out well (again!) today, featuring increasing amounts of deep, soft sand.

Not a good running surface

So, I turned back and ran my speed intervals up and down a section of promenade alongside the harbour. I passed Mick on my way who nearly said something to me, until he realised that I was focussed and going fast. It's a pity, as he was going to tell me what a treat I had to come, and if he had, I would have continued rather than running back and forth along the same 700m. It turns out that had I carried on for just 100m more, I would have seen that there's a promenade that runs alongside the huge (wide and long) golden sandy beach of Barbate:

I didn't miss out completely, as we walked out that way later in the morning, although not before we'd used the showers at the marina. That nearly didn't come to pass, as the entrance code had changed, so the one printed on our receipt (which worked yesterday) now buzzed as invalid. Fortunately there were two Spanish women also trying to gain entry, who indicated that we should go with them as they walked purposefully along the dock towards the office, although we didn't get that far as on the way they nabbed a member of staff who came and swiped us in.

Suitably clean, off to the beachfront we went, before venturing further inland, to see if there was anything interesting in the town. Maybe there is, but we failed to find it; the roads along which we passed mainly had a seedy/down-at-heel feel to them. We thus returned to the prom, and back-tracked a little to give some custom to one of the few open bars. We'd already had two breakfasts apiece, but at noon it was too early for lunch in Spain, so a third breakfast it was:

Mick looking rightfully smug that we were served exactly what he thought he'd asked for.

Back at Bertie there was no reason to hang around, so we didn't. Everything was stowed in double-quick time and towards Cadiz we headed.

Our first objective approaching the city was diesel, as Bertie had just reported to us that he was running uncomfortably low. We pulled into the first cheaper-than-normal station we found (139.9/litre), but then found that the payment machine required us to choose either to fill the tank, or a specific value (not volume). We can't fill Bertie's tank (yep, still not had that issue fixed), so some quick sums were done to chose a suitable value. The problem then was that there was no option between €60 and €100. The latter was too much, so we had to settle for the lower amount (we did consider, but discounted, going around again for another €20).

I'd just got the receipt when I noticed that the garage also sold LPG, so we put €25 in the gas tanks (at 82.9/litre). On reflection, there may well have been a 'fill' option on the LPG too, which would have been the better choice.

Onwards to the car park we came and after a ridiculously late lunch, we adjudged there to be enough time before tea to head across Cadiz to the cathedral/old cathedral/Roman remains. It's a small city, so it was only a 15 minute walk to get there.

We meandered our way through the maze of streets on our way back, eyeing up menus, even though we'd already had three breakfasts and a good lunch.

Statue of the day, and the only photo I'm sharing from Cadiz. I don't specialise in quality snaps at the best of times, but I outdid myself on poor shots today.

We don't need to leave here until early afternoon tomorrow, so we'll see more of the place before we go.

As I type this at 1930, there's a lot of noise going on behind us, with a container ship being loaded. This car park has the advantage of being exceptionally cheap for one so close to a city (the one on the other side of the city is €28.80/24 hours, versus €6.20 here), but with lots of bad reviews based on noise. The majority of those complaints are about weekends, when the nightclub opposite blares out its music until 5am, so (being midweek) we thought it'd be okay tonight. However, there are also a few reviews about the disturbance from the port activities. As we're usually pretty good at tuning out traffic noise, I didn't think that would be a problem, however, if the revving of engines, rumbling of heavy vehicles and clanking/banging of the container-moving process goes on all night, we're not in for a restful time.

(Forgot to mention: I also gave Mick a haircut this afternoon. This is something that heretofore has required us to go somewhere to get mains electricity. We now have a small inverter, so rather than having people stare at us as I clipper his hair on a campsite or Aire, today he got a hairdo in a car park. Sometimes we do consider that our lives have taken a bizarre turn, but haircuts in car parks barely register on our 'this isn't normal behaviour' scale.)