Chapter 4 - Days 4-5: San Sebastian to Granada (470 Miles)

Day 4:  San Sebastian to Madrid 

(250 miles)

We left San Sebastian, the following morning, a little worse for wear for our weather-related ordeal of the previous 24 hours. And I slept through half of Spain before recovering from our night of fear banishment via liquor, rafter hugs and raucous laughter.

Spanish liquor is a lot more potent than one might imagine!  And copious amounts of it can quickly befuddle the brain as well as the stomach.

Somewhere on the northern Spanish plain, our drivers stopped the Love Bus so that we could pose for a group photo beneath this enormous statue of a shepherd, holding his rescued sheep. 

[I have ONE tiny photo of that group shot, 

that will be posted here, when I find it]

photo by kind courtesy of ephotozine.com/forums/topic/day-16-september-2010--statues-and-monuments-84874

The image of Christ as the Good Shepherd had been a recurrent theme in Spanish culture till 6th Century, and since then it remains a theme for paintings, sculptures and cathedrals.

Owing to my somewhat fragile state at the time, I have no idea of its exact location except that it was in the middle of nowhere. 

After the soggy events of the previous day, we were delighted that, on this day, the rain in Spain had not fallen on the plain.  The weather here was not only drier but suddenly much warmer than we had previously experienced.

 
Our journey resumed, without incident, and we reached our campsite on the outskirts of Madrid in plenty of time to set up our tents and then enjoy a leisurely supper in a bona fide Spanish restaurant.  We all needed to feel human again, and were looking forward to a civilized dinner party that night.

That was when I learned that, whilst I had been dozing on the bus, some of our more alert travellers had decided that I would be the group's official interpreter in Spain. Although none of us actually spoke Spanish, I had visited Spain before and, some said, looked Spanish!  

Such is the peculiar logic of 20-somethings! 

Luckily a previous vacation experience in Majorca came to my rescue.  A solicitous restaurant owner there had suggested I try Paella. One taste and I was smitten!  So now I confidently ordered Seafood Paella for 13, washed down with liberal amounts of Sangria. Luckily none of us had seafood allergies.

Photo by kind courtesy of: http://cowtownchow.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/sangria380.jpg

But good food takes time to prepare.  So while waiting, our itinerant group relaxed over jugs of ice cold Sangria,  a potent and fruity wine punch.

Photo by kind courtesy of: whyevolutionistrue.wordpress.com

This Valencian rice dish tastes as good as it looks!

Cooked over an open flame, in an enormous flat pan, it is brought to the table in the same pan so that each person may help themselves. My choice of meal was a great hit, judging by the alacrity with which that pan became empty!

Body and soul restored, we all gradually made our way back to our tents to collect bathroom gear and prepare for a gloriously comfortable night in our sleeping bags.

photo courtesy of: jackassjoe.com

But upon visiting the campsite bathroom, we discovered that, south of Madrid, there were no European toilets in campsites!   

There was no 'throne' upon which to perch,  just a flush chain and a place for feet astride a hole in a shower-like base inside each private cubicle.   

 Oh my Great Aunt Fanny!  

Ever the practical one, I changed out of my blue jeans and into the tie-dyed skirt that I had happily remembered to pack. If doing my business meant I needed to squat, then I would do so like a lady!  Thank heavens the weather had improved so that I did not to miss the warmth of my Levi's!

Mundane ablutions accomplished, we headed to our tents, where I silently gave thanks for all the opportunities this trip was offering - regardless of how very bizarre they might be!

Day 5 Madrid to Toledo 
(40 miles)

Late to join the tour, I missed the 'mandatory' orientation that had preceded our departure.  My fellow passengers were all aware of our itinerary.  I, alone, experienced our journey as a complete surprise, which seemed only fitting, since my trip had definitely begun that way.

We had now travelled together, for 4 days and nights and were quite comfortable being around each other, sharing new foods, new ideas, new countries, new experiences and even some new friendships. But while I loved the camaraderie, my hermit soul craved some alone time.

The following morning, we languished in the exquisite luxury of hot showers - our first  since Bordeaux.  After hot coffee, a leisurely breakfast and packing up our camping gear, our drivers announced that they had a real treat in store for all of us.  We were going to visit the ancient city of Toledo, a city known for its extensive and monumental heritage.

 Right ON! 

The city of Toledo

Toledo was deemed a 'safe' place for unescorted women to roam, so we were each free to explore it in our own way.  Our Love Bus parked in the centre of the city near the Cathedral of St Mary.
 
As long as we remembered to return to our bus by the prescribed hour, we were each free to explore the steep labyrinth of cobbled streets that were meant to be rambled and enjoyed.

photo by kind courtesy of www.turingmachine.org

Those cobbles felt SO familiar to me that I wondered if I had, perhaps, walked upon them in some previous life?

Needing space after too much togetherness, I chose to "do my own thing". The other camera buffs, including Anton, fiddled with F-stops and clicked their cameras at every turn. But I wanted to soak up the atmosphere of this venerable place unimpeded. 

It was a truly glorious morning to be alone, strolling around the steep streets of this medieval city.  All my senses were on high alert here, but in a good way.  The air seemed to echo with ancient voices, speaking in tongues that were tantalizingly almost intelligible to me.

Or was I, perhaps, merely reliving the memory of last night's Sangria?  

photo by kind courtesy of: http://cache.virtualtourist.com/15/4128312-The_cobblestone_streets_of_Toledo_Toledo.jpg

Toledo simply oozes history. Originally conquered by Romans, Jews, Visigoths and Muslims, Toledo was reclaimed by Christians as the home of Spanish royalty

For 500 years, it remained the vibrant, cosmopolitan capital of the most powerful country in the whole of Europe. And Toledo's medieval architecture continues to exude a distinctive royal air.

Sturdy edifices, built by 15th Century engineers, still flank Toledo's steeply, cobbled streets, some climbing 45 degree inclines. 

What awesome skills 

those engineers possessed!

Toledo's social history matched its impressive architectural elegance.   Successive invading cultures left their unique stamp upon the city, enhancing opportunities for growth and interaction, rather than obliterating the proud magnificence that already existed there.

Moors lived amicably with their Christian and Jewish neighbours, and everyone worked together to improve Toledo's commerce. Together, they created economic stability in which education, art, ethics and architecture flourished. 

this Steve Ricks YouTube gives an overview of Toledo

Everyone got along for 500 years, till Toledo grew to its limits.  Then the Royal court moved to Madrid, leaving Toledo a forgotten city, aging gracefully until 19th Century "Grand Tour" travellers re-discovered and advertised its ageless beauty. Today, Toledo as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is both protected and promoted by tourism.

Can you dig it!?

I spent an intense hour or three traversing the worn cobbles of this hilly city totally revelling in Toledo's rich historical and architectural tapestry. My eyes then began to ache from trying to absorb every detail of the many treasures upon which I gazed. 

Desperately needing to rest both mind and feet for a while, I followed the always enticing aroma of good coffee, to an establishment that served a miniscule yet powerful demi-tasse of thick Turkish coffee.    

Turkish coffee photo by kind courtesy of: http://www.vivevitam.com

This interior of this awesomely ancient 'coffee shop' was as hushed as any library. 

Because of the steepness of the outer street, it had been constructed partly below the level of the street, with lofty ceilings and tall windows that let in natural light. 

But the room itself remained shaded and cool because direct sunshine was obscured by the three-storey stone building that lay across the narrow, cobbled street.

Several men occupied small round tables, some wearing Western dress, others in Muslim robes.  I imagined that  the dark, cool, understated atmosphere would facilitate the mutual exchange of all kinds of information.

But for myself, there were no women here. Indeed it seemed to be a place for men only. 

Watching these men negotiating deals, or conversing with friends, I felt myself invisibly slipping back in time.

This room had existed as a gathering place for Toledo's merchants and citizens long before "Philip the Prudent", son of the Holy Roman Emperor, King Charles of Spain, had married the Catholic Mary 1 of England, first daughter of Henry VIII. 

I later discovered that Philip had been responsible for expanding Spanish Territories to Asia where he gave his name and religion to the "Philippine Islands"  

mandala by kind courtesy of: http://www.goddessofthegypsymoon.com/the-goddess-adorned.html

Since none of the men in that cafe had even noticed me, I revelled in a few moments of silence and the relative peace it afforded in an otherwise odd and `freakishly' hectic week. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM

Refreshed in body and soul, I was soon
 ready to return to the Love Bus
and my travelling companions!

I smiled to myself and quietly noted that my latest hangover had completely vanished!  That was welcome news, since we had a long journey to Granada ahead of us. 

Never before had I imbibed as much
alcohol, as often as I had on this trip!

Photo by kind courtesy of: http://www.sacred-destinations.com/spain/images/toledo/cathedral/westfront-c-paradox-350.jpg

Retracing my steps, I returned to our meeting point, the Spanish Gothic Cathedral of St Mary in the city centre. Sadly, I was able to see only the outside of this magnificent structure.  

But I made a promise to visit Toledo again - this time in the company of someone I knew and loved. Whoever - or wherever - he was, he'd definitely need share, or at least tolerate,  my keen appreciation of art in its traditional form of architecture.  

Toledo to Granada (180 miles)
Before long, the others drifted into view and we boarded our Love Bus for an afternoon drive across the Sierra Morena Mountains to the southern province of Andalusia and the city of Granada.  

About an hour into our trip, in the middle of the central Spanish plain, we stopped for a picnic lunch beside an olive grove.  
by kind courtesy of http://www.workaway.info4882812784c3-en.html

We had been travelling through Castile la Mancha, known internationally via the Spanish novel Don Quixote, by Cervantes.  

But I, personally, remember the warm wind that blew incessantly across the plateau, peppering our picnic with pulverized local minerals, whether or not we wanted them! 

Our journey took us through the majestic Sierra Nevada mountain range towards Andalusia and our destination of Granada.  We arrived towards evening and set up camp in a site just to the south of town. 

The next morning, we were scheduled to visit 
the exquisite Palaces of the Alhambra.

Coming Soon! 

Section 3 - Chapter 5

From Granada to Estepona

from the Alhambra to an Andalusian beach camp in : 

 My Road to Morocco - Day 6

Chapter 3 - Day 3: Bordeaux to San Sebastian (150 miles)

Day 3 Bordeaux to San Sebastian

By the time we awoke the next morning, our drivers had already shopped for our day's food supplies.  

Though well past 8am, the cold, damp weather showed no signs of abating, causing some of us to remain horizontal in our warm sleeping bags. The inviting aroma of coffee and a campsite egg and bacon breakfast lured us to our feet and set us up for the day.

Overnight a fine mist had blanketed everything in sight, including us.  More rain was expected in the area. So right after breakfast, we packed our things and ourselves into the Love Bus, and were on the road by 10am.

Aquitaine photo by kind courtesy of www.bookdrum.com

From Bordeaux, we again travelled south, this time through the picturesque Aquitaine region, across the Pyrenees and into northern Spain.  

The mountainous area that separates France from Spain was the site of much unrest at that time as The Basque people were fighting for their right to their own homeland.

Rather than risk becoming unwittingly embroiled in a political skirmish, our drivers skirted the western edge of the Pyrenees, staying close to the coastline.  

Trial by Water

We had hoped that the coast road would be safer than the higher mountain passes.  But, the further we drove, the more heavily the rain seemed to fall. Dangerously swollen streams and a couple of collapsed bridges that necessitated sudden detours, also impeded our progress. And conditions seemed to become increasingly more treacherous with each passing hour.

The drivers did their best to maintain morale, even bending Tour Company rules by allowing us to eat lunch in the bus.  They were afraid to let us out of the Love Bus for fear we would lose our footing on the slick ground and slide down the mountainside, never to be seen again...

Eventually, the sprawling seaside city of San Sebastian, on the Bay of Biscay, lay before us, much of its physical beauty obscured by a thick cloud cover that shrouded it that evening.

By the time we reached our campsite, several hours of cramped quarters and slow driving, had dampened everyone's enthusiasm.  Yet despite being emotionally wrung out, we were all very grateful to have finally arrived somewhere!

We were about to learn that our 'trial by falling water' had actually been a blessing in disguise. 

Trial by Earth

The heavy rains had swollen underground streams, which had destabilized and dislodged a sizable chunk of the mountain, that very afternoon. The ensuing landslide had deposited tons of mountain debris upon the very same site in which we were booked.
 

Weather related detours had saved our lives that day. 

Sobering thought!!! 

Ours was the only campsite in the area that was available in April 1972, and there were no practical alternatives. 

Maybe our longing to be anywhere but inside our Love Bus had drowned out any whisper of common sense. Or maybe the euphoria of our escape from a 'trial by falling earth' had addled our collective brain.  Whatever the reason, we managed to convince ourselves that remaining on this site would be safe. 

After all, the mountain had already 'done it's thing'!  

Oh ignorance, thy name is bliss!

So, when the campsite owner offered us free use of whichever of his sixteen cabins remained unscathed, we unanimously accepted his offer. 

Our two drivers inspected the six remaining ramshackle buildings, and discovered that four of them had varying degrees of damaged walls, leaky roofs or severely broken windows.  Happily, two cabins were both dry and habitable, if not exactly cosy.

cabin photo by kind courtesy of rosecityastronomers.org

The floor of each A-framed single-roomed cabin measured about eight foot square.  A 3ft wide bed was tucked under each shallow eave of the roof. Those "beds" had no mattresses, only wooden slats, upon which to rest our weary bodies.  

 

With our drivers sleeping in the van, the rest of us would have to share the 4 available "beds". It was not likely to be comfortable. And sleeping 5 or 6 to a cabin was going to be a challenge. But, at that time, we were just grateful to be out of the rain and off the ground for the night. 

We took the news stoically.  We'd made our decision and had to resign ourselves to the situation and get on with enduring, if not exactly enjoying, the experience.  The way I saw it, these unexpected twists and turns, no matter how bizarre, were all part of the adventure. 

Wasn't it Lenny Bruce who said that 
humour = pain plus time?

My enlightened Mother had long ago taught me that what happens to us, along  life's highway, is less important than how we respond to it.  If we choose to act like victims, we become wrapped up in our own misery and a pain to ourselves and everyone else.

So here, in this impossible place, I was determined to look on the bright side of life. And in so doing, I was about to discover that opportunity often comes wrapped in a crisis.

Happy to finally stretch our legs away from the cramped quarters of our van, our weary group quickly regrouped in the relative warmth and safety of a spacious common area adjacent to our tiny encampment.  Miraculously, this building had survived the slide completely unscathed.

While enormous, this gathering area was also unheated, though it did have bare electric light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. So there was light!  The kitchen was closed for the season, but, happily, the bar had remained open. It wasn't long before someone purchased bottles of wine for the group and we all prepared a simple supper of canned tuna and lettuce sandwiches. 

 photo by kind courtesy of http://www.the60sofficialsite.com/jukebox

In the corner of the cavernous room, I spied a juke box . Someone gave me a handful of pesetas,  and soon music - courtesy of the Beatles, Little Richard and Elvis - filled the room.

 

I began dancing, like a crazy lady, not caring one jot that I was the only one dancing. My mission was to be warm before falling asleep that night.

O-bla-di! O-bla-da!

will forever remind me of that 

perilous campsite in the Pyrenees

When the drivers said goodnight and adjourned to sleep, stretched across the relatively comfortable plastic seats of the bus, I admit to feeling more than a little twinge of envy.  Soon, the rest of us, by now somewhat inebriated, also spilled out of the gathering area and lurched  towards our meagre lodgings.  

The four nurses and the two New Zealand brothers disappeared into one cabin; while Anton, the three remaining men and I shared the other room.  

So there I was, entombed for the night, 
in a cold, dark space, with 4 strangers
- and all of them were male !

 How delightfully quirky life can be

Anton had thoughtfully placed his own body between me and Len, the man occupying the outside strip of our narrow wooden bed. George and the other businessman, shared the bed across the even narrower aisle.

I was sleeping on the inside, closest to the wall, where ceiling rafters met bed. And though I was grateful for the proximity of Anton man-sized hot-water bottle, when I turned over, my hip became firmly wedged between two of the rafters holding up sloped roof!  And try as I may, it just would not budge!

I grumbled that we had signed up for this trip because we were fed up with being confined in cold, dark, damp places in London. Yet here we were in Spain, still confined in a cold, dark, damp place.  Only the location had changed!

The sheer idiocy of our situation then started me giggling, and we could hear the girls in the neighbouring cabin giggling too. As I relaxed, my hip magically freed itself, and the relief of escaping my wooden chastity girdle transformed my giggles into full blown laughter. 

Pretty soon, everyone was laughing - so hard I am sure there were tears streaming down our faces.  Not that anyone could see faces in that pitch darkness! 

Our laughter had broken the tension that we were all feeling about our predicament.  We were able to share our experiences of the day as well as our near escape. And in that sharing, we were better able to face our fears for our safety that night

We had all sustained quite a shock!  But the simple act of "talking it out" reassured us that we could handle this night and anything else that came our way on this trip.  The various crises of this, our 3rd day of travel, had given us an unique opportunity to bond!  

Each of us were keenly aware that, should the mountain shift again, we might achieve our ‘15 minutes of fame’ posthumously, in a small headline on page 4 of a British newspaper that could read: 

"Hippie tour bus and all 13 travellers

perish in freak landslide in San Sebastian"

We'd not expected to look death in the face on this trip.  But we had to play the cards we'd been dealt.  And, once we decided that we would, absolutely, get out of this situation alive, our fears of being buried by the mountain abated. 
We were then able to relax and, despite the supremely uncomfortable 'beds', fall asleep.  

That night, my dreams focused on my youthful hopes and wishes for the adventures that awaited us, further along "My" Road to Morocco - some of which were to prove delightfully prophetic!

Section 3 - Chapter 4

From San Sebastian to Granada
via Madrid and Toledo in

My Road to Morocco - Day 4 - Day 5