Blog number ninety-nine

Fleeing the scorching heatwaves in central Spain, we headed to the coast and the Costa Brava, with the sound of ‘E Viva Espagne’ playing in our heads.

As we pulled into the campsite at Fosca near to Palamos (after a longer drive than usual) it looked very nice indeed. We of course wanted to wait out the worst of the oppressive heat, so booked in for a week in the hopes that things would have settled down by then, so we could head back over the border into the South of France.

It wasn’t the cheapest of campsites, but certainly better value than the French ones we had been unable to find a space in on our way south. With shaded pitches, a pool, bar/restaurant and a small shop it had all the things we would need to enjoy a pleasant stay; and even a sea view from our pitch. The beach was therefore only a five minute walk away, so once we set up camp we headed out to see what it was like. 

Turns out it was really lovely, with a few beach bars and restaurants along the front, although not too many and no loud music or neon lights. The coast itself was rocky with a castle overlooking the two or three main beaches as the coastal path swung around to the North towards the pyrenean mountains, visible in the distance. As it was a Saturday there were a few little stalls selling jewellery and paintings. The beach was not massively overcrowded but there were the usual families on the beach building sand castles and people out on kayaks, paddle boards and with snorkels enjoying the cool that the sea could offer, as the sun began to set.

Palamos itself isn’t much to write home about, being a resonable sized resort with a main promenade, lined with fairly low rise hotels along it’s beach, a harbour at one end and a number of restaurants, cafes and bars both along the front and in the old town streets. The effort of walking there in the temperatures we were experiencing, meant that we ventured there just the once to take a look around before grabbing ourselves an ice cream and heading back up the rather steep hill past the hosptial and back to our campsite. There was certainly plenty there for those wanting a bit more life and it would have been a short taxi ride away if you felt so inclined.

Joe did venture in as far as the Lidl a couple of times for provisions, which was a somewhat sweaty affair so it was kept to a minimum, using the campsite pizza takeaway one evening when it got so hot we couldn’t face cooking in the enclosed heat of the van.

With a coastal path running along accessible from the beach front, there was no shortage of walkers stopping for a much needed drink or an ice-cream. We even ventured out ourselves one day for a walk to one of the bays with little fishing cottages, which appeared to be holiday rentals. There are also many miles of cycle tracks running around the area which are popular. We noticed one couple had come prepard bringing hammocks with them to sling among the trees of the coastal path for the hottest part of the day.

Exercise was also rather difficult, as the temperatures only dropped in the very early hours of the morning and even then not below around twenty-two or twenty-three degrees. So a jog at half past eight one morning was the most Tracy could manage, made more difficult by the fact she got geographically embarassed making the thirty minute stint an hour long.

We instead enjoyed the sea for a cool down, taking a look at some of the sea life within, including a particularly lovely coloured jelly fish. Given Tracy’s allergies and her tendancy to swell up as soon as anything bites or stings her, we gave it a wide berth, however, discovered afterwards that it was in fact mostly harmless to humans.

It was such a lovely place that we extended our booking, especially given that the ACSI offers started part way through our stay making it cheaper still. We boxed as clever as possible staying until the forecast changed to rain once the heatwave was clearly going to peter out. So, after utilising the pool and beach we had ourselves a little holiday (why not, we haven’t had one of those in years, ha ha). Of course our washing was piling up so we took the opportunity to make use of the final sunny days to get our bedding and smalls washed and hung out to dry before packing the majority of our stuff away the night before the rain was forecast. 

The forecast certainly wasn’t lying and as predicted, on our final morning when packing away our last few bits and pieces, the appearance of the campsite was very much changed, with people wandering to the sanitary block and back under umbrellas and rivulets of water were running across the pitches; making us a little less sad that we were leaving.

After a very rainy shopping trip for provisions for the week ahead. Certain things you can’t buy in certain countries, such as cheddar cheese in France (how dare ‘les Anglais’ make better cheese than us). So with our fridge and cupboards full, we headed for the border into France for a place we have never visited before in the pyrenees region of southern France. Not far over the border, a town called Ceret is said to be rather pretty and has a very decent art museum. We were headed for a small campsite there which got mixed reviews and a short walk into the town allowing us to take a look around.

As we got closer to the border the traffic became solid, reminding us of our stints up and down the M6 motorway in the UK, when you’re nose to tail crawling along before it finally just starts flowing again with no real reason evident as to why it happens (personally we blame the signs flashing up that there is a traffic jam for causing the traffic jam in the first place; but that’s just us).

In this case, it appeared to be evident the reason for the tailbacks was that the whole of France had chosen this day to return home from their holidays in Spain, as every vehicle we saw had a French number plate. 

With duty free shopping available at the border town, in huge ugly shopping centres with restaurants and shops offering perfumes, jewellery and leather goods, everyone seemed to decide en masse that this would be a great time to stop, have some food and do some shopping. The French do seem to be very much creatures of habit, we’ve found, and it was reaching that time of day when everything stops for lunch. The tail backs caused at roundabouts by those trying to find somewhere in the already groaning car parks was mind boggling and we began to wonder whether perhaps we should have chosen a different day to travel.

We had hoped to stop for fuel here given that it is cheaper than France, but decided life was too short to have to try to negotiate the traffic then try to rejoin the queues again afterwards so we pushed on. 

As we crossed the border our fuel guage bonged to tell us we were getting low on fuel. Ah well!

We put the coordinates into the sat nav for the nearest petrol station, that wasn’t back over the border and headed out to put some diesel in before finding the campsite not far away. 

Well at least the rain has all but stopped.

Photo of the week:

SMUG!

Sangria at the beach bar late one evening