Extract from My Travel Journal 2014 (photos will be added).

Journal  Part 10  -  On the road to a remote valley in Spain.

I felt so happy as I drove up the hill out of Najac and headed across the plateau and down to Laguepie. I was a little nervous: my route was in my head but not on paper and the map I had was not really detailed enough but I quite liked having to puzzle my way forward and felt ready for anything perhaps except for another breakdown.

I think this was taken at Gimont.

My first destination was Gimont, a small town on my route which I had chosen because it had a municipal camping car site with electric hook ups and water. It was only about 150 kilometres from Najac by the route I had studied on Google maps – it reckoned 2 and a half hours drive. So setting off just after midday was fine, planning to stop for lunch after about an hour. The route initially followed the Aveyron once I got down to Laguepie and was a road I knew quite well. It got me thinking about my ex-wife and how she was doing after having her gall bladder removed on Monday.

We stopped for a quick lunch by the river still in the Aveyron gorge with Eddy having a little wander but never going too far from Winnie. Then we were soon at Negrepollis where the gorge entered the plain and it was here going through a small town that a lorry forced me right over to the side of the road and my top mirror was smashed off as it hit a low branch of a platain tree. It was my first example of how lorries don’t give a toss and just keep beetling towards you even if you a bit wide.

I knew we had to get round Montauban, quite a large town, by taking the free motorway towards Toulouse but to come off it quite quickly and take the route nationale main road through Grenade. I started to worry I had missed the turning and took one only to find myself in a morass of suburban villages and then a large forest where again, the road being narrow, I was nearly forced into the roadside ditch by an oncoming lorry. Maybe I had been going too fast to in my anxiety to find my route again.

Suddenly I saw the name Beaumont which rang a bell and I set off in that direction on a busy route departmental, a secondary road. Here the amount of traffic was spoiling the drive as it dipped up and down cutting across several river valleys. If I had continued on this road, I discovered later, I would have got to my destination. But I saw a signpost to Grenade and took it not realising till later that I was going back on myself. On this winding road I was actually forced into the rough by a speeding truck and nearly lost control of my vehicle. I decided then and there that in future I would use major roads for all my journeys and only use minor roads when it was necessary to get to my final destination.

The last part of the journey was on a major road and I quickly got to Gimont, traversed the town and saw the camping car aire on the right side of the road just over the river. Traffic was heavy so I went on to the next roundabout before turning back and entering the site only to find it full (it was marked in the site guide as having room for ten camping cars and there were nine already. I was forced to stop on a sloping bit of land but was so happy to be there, I didn’t care and immediately took Eddy for a walk by the lake next to the site with its geese and ducks and fishermen.

When I returned, the camping car by the entrance had gone and two kind people helped me reverse into the slot which was much more level. Attached Eddy took on the role of camp guardianwhile I chatted with the owner of the next camping car. Him and his wife were on their first overnight stay having just picked up the vehicle. Like me they intended to live in it for a few years and it turned ot he had owned the restaurant in Laguepie where I had eaten a couple of times over the years. Small world.

The beach at Biarritz, 100 metres from the campervan park.

I was up quite early – Eddy has been waking me up at 7:20 most mornings, then lays across me for a cuddle for 15 minutes or so, then we get up if we have to. The drive to Biarritz, my next destination, was quite a long one – 5 hours according to Google, but quite straightforward and all on major roads. We drove down to and through Tarbes, quite an attractive city and then headed for Pau, stopping for lunch on a wasteland just before that city. Pau took a while to get through and was very Spanish looking as in having street after street of 6 storey apartment blocks. I didn’t see anything particularly interesting there and was glad to get out of it. I had one slight square when some idiot unloading a small builder’s truck, hauled a long plank right out in front of me – I missed it by inches. Next stop was Bayonne which I knew was the first of a series of towns which were literally next to each other on my map. I hit Bayonne at the time of the evening rush hour and was forced to crawl along for quite a while. Then we were going past Biarritz which I remember Google had said to do, quitting the main road to go back towards the town to find the camping car aire which I did quite quickly. It held 20 camping cars and looked pretty full but I found a space which I managed to back into with the  help of a guy from Stoke, a retired lorry driver. I couldn’t quite reach the electric hook up or water from where I was so I immediately took Eddy off to find the  beach which was even nearer than the advertised 5 minutes.

It was quite late in the afternoon and the sun was low but it looked lovely, the sandy beach, the rocks on each side of the cove and the mountains in the distance to the left, my first clear view of the Pyrenees. We stayed down there for a while and I got into conversation with a lady who turned out to be the wife of the Stoke ex-lorry driver.

Sunset at Biarritz

When I got back to the site as I was wandering around I got into conversation with another English couple. They had been living in their camping car for a couple of years but had hated Morocco where they said they were never left in peace by the locals wherever they stopped. I was not surprised, you have to have a good technique, friendly but firm to deal with this sort of opportunism and for this, speaking French is more than helpful.

Suddenly a man appeared with two big brutes of dogs, making Eddy look quite small. He was quite aggressive in attitude and was living in the oldest looking camper on the site with his ponytail, the worst side of French political hippies. Still Eddy put up a good show when attacked by one of the dogs which was off a lead and the man grabbed his dogs and left unamused.

I was in no rush the next day as Google said my drive to Vilario en Navarre, my final destination was just under 3 hours away. If only I knew. So me and Eddy had a good walk on the beach while I topped up the electric and then I added some water into my tank. At eleven some uniformed men came round to collect 10 euros for having stayed overnight and reminded me that 2 nights was the max – if I’d have left a bit earlier… Then all was ready, battened down and off we went. The road behind the remaining French towns was full of roundabouts but very pleasant with occasional views of beaches and the delightful basque-style houses with their brightly painted wooden beams.

I never saw the frontier, just suddenly realised that everything was written in Spanish (and Basque) and it was very different, busy, chaotic and scruffy and increasingly industrial. The roads however were all good and motorway-like, the main problem being roads entering from both sides. Why do the Spanish like 6 storey apartment blocks, particularly along both sides of main roads where they create canyon-like effects?

Resting by the roadside.

Now I knew that Google had had some problems finding my destination and that it was a bit complex near the end. I had copied out the directions for the last part of the journey, from leaving the motorway, and I hoped that would do. In San Sebastian I took the motorway, direction Pamplona, and also immediately we were climbing up into the mountains, at times only managing 30 mph. There was not much traffic so I was able to enjoy the views that became more and more stunning.

We stopped for lunch at a belvedere with views right down into a valley below and the mountains beyond and I tried not to worry about finding our tiny destination. Setting off again I was looking for the exit given by Google without success and eventually turned off because we were nearing Pamplona. I stopped at a service station and bought a map my first experience of dealing with the Spanish language for quite a time – I understood nothing. Comparing the map and my notes it seemed I had to take direction Estilla off the motorway and then take a left to the little village, not that the village was marked on the map, too small.

So, I found the road to Estilla which proved to be very narrow and after a few miles started to climb steeply and like a snake.

After a bit of this, we took a short break and Eddy enjoyed mountain forest for the first time in Spain. Then we climbed and climbed to a pass that was marked at 1600 metres and then we had the same in reverse but not quite so long as it ended on a forested plateau. There were no appropriate roads leading off to Vilario so I kept going and entering a small village I called out to a man on foot who proved to be the village baker. Generously, he took me into his bakery, got on his computer and printed out the route. Nothing like I had got and happily only about 20 kilometres to go. Down to the main road at Estilla, turn right, keep going until the small village of Acedo and turn right at the entrance to the village.

My friends' happy valley.

Easy as anything and I found myself going up the very narrow forested road, nearly missed the right turn to Vilario and recognised from Sam’s photos the high cliffs surrounding the valley. Pol had told me to cross the bridge and park there which I did. There were quite a few people about and some dogs. There was one lady with a baby who spoke English and offered to take me up to Pol and Fina’s house. I got out with Eddy who was immediately attacked by a large dog, a cross between a boxer and a Doberman to look at him. It took a while to end the fight which I thought was a draw although the next day I heard that the other dog had three bite wounds and Eddy had none. The other owner was fine about it blaming her dog for its aggression.

Having been shown their house, there was no-one there but I found a note from Pol saying he was working on a balcony 4 minutes to the north-west near the charcoal burner’s. After having found the village mainly by using my head, here was another test which, having initially gone north-east, I solved. It was suggested I could park up behind the church on a flat concreted area which was in fact the Basque squash (its got a name) court in season.

Parked behind the church on the Basque squash court.

We managed to get Winnie up there and I was presented with an incredible panoramic view of the whole valley and the cliffs of the surrounding mountains. Stunningly beautiful. I’d arrived and I didn’t want to leave, at least not in a hurry.

I HAVE MANY MORE OF MY TRAVEL JOURNALS I INTEND TO POST HERE ON MY BLOG. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOY THEM.