By this Author: BridgetIan

As Bridget said, the ferry we were intending to catch has been suspended, indeed all the ferries run by the company are shut with a suggestion that they may start again at some point in mid-April, perhaps. A quick check on the internet discloses that the Tunnel is still open and accepting booking. I am booked for Sunday 22nd, which gives me time for the trip and to get the dog wormed so she can get back. A vet appointment is made for Saintes on Friday.
I did ring the Foreign Office and after being on hold for an hour did hang up, but given the volume of calls they must be getting it is just one of those things. What I really need to know is can I cross the French border and what documentation do I need. I look on the internet for telephone numbers for random French police stations and call them until I score one where someone can speak English. Yes the border is (at the moment) open if I am going home, but I need ‘papers’.
Bridget discovers on a motorhome website that the French Government has produced a form (in French) with 4 reasons to travel, none of which apply to me. But apparently if I write (in French) the fact I am returning home that should be OK. You need one of these forms for each day travelling so I get 4 printed off.
After Bridget left me I sort the van out as far as possible for the trip back to allow a quick get away and pay the site fees. According to the route planner the journey to the Channel Tunnel is 1,334 miles long and should take just under 21 hours.
Come 5.15am Thursday I get up, take the dog for a walk, unhook the van etc and drive out of the gates at 6.05. I fill the van up at the local petrol station, the ‘word’ has it that there are fuel shortages in France, as usual, the ‘word’ turns out ultimately to be wrong but I didn’t know that at the time. This trip home would have happen anyway and was always part of the plan (the drive across Spain and France over four weeks – not the marathon I embarked on) but filling the van several times a day makes your eyes water at the cost (£280 ish) as it happens over such a short period. By the way while diesel is cheap in Spain, all fuel is expensive in France, I have a new understanding for the Gillet Jaunes!
There is then a very long hard slog through Spain (665 miles) to Hendaye just over the border into France. The drive is long but made so much easier by the lack of traffic. The journey is almost all motorway / dual carriageway and while we have commented on the lack of traffic before, this was stunning. Only around Madrid did things pick up, to what you might expect, but even then, not what you might call busy.
The only real problem is that Bridget took her ipad so I have no choice but to listen to the radio in Spanish. Eventually I settle on Radio 3 which at least plays some music as well as talk. I swear I heard an Oasis song translated into Spanish, what sounded like a Smurf song as well as seemingly endless jazz solos by Juan (Kenny) Ball. You sort of zone it out but endless silence would be even worse.
Approaching the French border I have no idea whether I will be allowed in. As I turn the corner there is a sea of blue lights and police vehicles of both nationalities across the lane leading into Spain, but nothing at all leading into France. I simply breeze on by.
Hendaye is the very first town in south west town and according to the website has an aire (motorhome stopping point some of which have some services). I get to the location to find it is closed and I will have to find somewhere else to stay. I eventually end up in a parking bay by the side of the road in front of a row of houses. Happily no one calls the police whilst I settle in. The dog gets a brief walk but she’s not talking to me given the fact she has spent over twelve hours in the van.
Up at 5.45am I sort things out and am on the road again by 6.20. I get onto the A63 motorway towards Bordeaux. If Spain was quiet, France is more so. On one 21 mile section of toll road I count 5 cars driving in my direction and 14 in the opposite one, lots of lorries but no private vehicles. In one respect the road is much like a UK motorway, many miles are coned off, no sign of any work, not even machinery, just cones and signage saying that they are intending to create another lane (a smart motorway?) and it will take until 2023.
I tune into Wit FM. Skyrock Radio, Virgin and several other French radio stations. While much of what they play are songs in English, the quality is dire and not at all what I would listen to at home. They seem to be written and performed by French singers but in English.
At Saintes I get off the road to go to the vet for Kali. As I drive through the town, I am pulled over along with every other driver passing that point. The police check the van (including the emissions certificate badge) and peruse the authorisation to drive. They are very reasonable, listen to my explanation and I am allowed on my way quite quickly.
Then it is back onto the highway again and more miles. At 498 I’ve had enough and pull over to another aire at the Haras service area near the village of Gace. Essentially, I am going to spend the night parked in a motorway service station carpark. There are several other vans and I have a socially distant talk with one of the other drivers. I mention that I am booked on the Tunnel for Sunday but intend to try and get a ride on Saturday. The woman shakes her head and tells me that the ‘word is’ the Tunnel is solid until Monday and I will have to wait for my Sunday slot.
The dog gets a walk around the car park which includes the first grass she has been able to walk on for a couple of days; she really is not happy with me now. I grab some food and just go to sleep, not a lot to do in a motorway carpark.
I am woken at 5.45am. I am not sure if it is the loud throbbing of the refrigerated lorry close by or the fact that two cows in another lorry have decided to bellow at each other. Either way I am awake so I might as well get going.
If yesterday was quiet on the roads today it is dead. Between 7 – 8am on the major road in Northern France between Rouen and the Pas de Calais I see 2 vehicles going my direction and 14 in the opposite. This road is at least the equivalent of the A34 and probably more like the M4. Unbelievable. My sat nav warns me of an obstruction 10 kms ahead with queues lasting 10 minutes. I am fascinated, how on earth have they managed that. Of course, as I get to the ‘queue’, the road is deserted and despite the sat navs insistence that I will be held up for 12 minutes (it got worse apparently) I just carry on.
As I draw near Calais, I think to myself, I have driven miles on the main road from the west and south and seen precious few vehicles of any sort and only 2 UK registered cars and 2 campervans. If the Tunnel is busy all the traffic must be coming from the east or be desperate European tourists flocking to the UK. Both seem unlikely so I make for the Terminal.
On arrival it is like a scene from a post-apocalyptic film, no one. I go into pet reception (only customer) and get Kali booked in straight away. ‘Change your booking time sir? No problem I’ll do it now.’
I am the only vehicle at all in the vast entrance plaza to the booking in lanes, which is just as well as it is all fully automatic and it takes me a couple of minutes to work out what to do. I drive through stop at the one Border Force booth that it open and finally enter the channels where the boarding vehicles are stacked until called forward. I join 3 other campervans and about 10 cars. We wait about 10 minutes and are then get loaded onto the Shuttle. Then it is off. First time on the Shuttle but I’ll use it again, I mean none of that annoying queuing when you use ferries and waiting ages. I am driving out of the Folkestone Terminal less than an hour since I entered the Calais one.
What a difference in the UK, heavy traffic, people standing around together, workmen doing something on the road. It really was entirely different in Spain and even more so in France.
This is not how we expected our holiday to go or to end, not least because it theoretically had another three weeks or so to go. Clearly now is a period of great uncertainty and fear, but I will remember the 1,365 miles driven back to Calais (plus 132 in the UK) as one of the weirdest experiences of my life. You recognise the scenery / background, but where have all the people gone?

We have been following the news and the situation is getting worse. The police helicopter is flying over us regularly to ensure no one breaks any rules and go on the beach. The dog can only be walked on the campsite, we must not congregate and the weather echoes the mood, cloudy and overcast.
When we wake on Tuesday I check the news and read that I may be at an increased risk of severe illness because of Parkinsons as is my daughter(MS) and father ( COPD and age). We make the decision that I will fly home. Eventually my doctor manages to get me on a flight the following day.
Meanwhile we find out that Brittany Ferries have cancelled ferry crossings including the one we are booked on in mid April.
We also hear how the police are going to campsites and telling people that they must not leave the Motorhome even to sit outside and that campsites will be closed the following week.
We aren’t sure if the borders will allow motorhomes through, if the French police will allow travel, anywhere to stop for a night and how to get back to UK. Ian tries to contact the Foreign Office. The call is answered and the he is put on hold for an hour until he hangs up.
Ian decides he is going to leave the campsite early Thursday to make his way back to Calais and the channel tunnel home on Sunday. He books the crossing and prints off the necessary forms for the police to show them the reason why he is travelling.
Wednesday arrives and at 2.30pm the taxi arrives to take me to Malaga airport. Ian can’t take me because once he drives off the site he will not be allowed to return. The taxi driver is wearing a mask, and medical gloves. We drive along the dual carriageway which is almost deserted. The beaches and towns we pass are empty. The taxi driver tells me about points of interest and hopes when “ all this upset is over we will return.” I do feel for the people of Spain. So many rely on tourist business and that’s all gone and for how long.
At the airport he tells me to keep a distance of one metre between me and other passengers. This is a constant message over the intercom and staff are constantly telling people to keep their distance, including couples. It all seems a little pointless because the plane is almost full and we are sitting closely together. Once on the plane we are told there will not be any food, drink or duty free provided by the air hostesses. If we want water we need to go to the galley and ask for it. Passenger toilets are at the rear of the plane as the staff will use the forward ones.
The flight is uneventful and arrive at Gatwick 20 minutes early. We breeze through passport control and luggage reclaims speedily. I have never seen it so empty. I’m surprised to see the shops and restaurants open as at Malaga airport they were all closed. The motorway home is quieter than normal but still a lot busier than Spain.

I’m relived to be home but worried about Ian. He will head for home tomorrow at 6.00am.
I’m sure he will write up his journey. It wasn’t the holiday we envisioned but we should be safe and sound. So many people will have their lives changed because of Coronavirus, my prayers are for them. Take care and thank you for reading.

The plan was to move on to Cordoba on Sunday see the assorted cultural highlights there before transferring to Granada early next week for the Alhambra Palace. That of course was before the declaration of a State of Alarm in Spain on Saturday evening and the “lock down” coming into force on Monday. It was never very clear to us if this was 00.00 hrs on Monday or some other time. Regardless we had to get over the border into France by Sunday afternoon if we hoped to get out.

Ian went and made enquiries and discovered that the site opens its gates at 6am. We amend our ferry crossing to 18th March. This would allow for a slightly more sedate drive through France after fleeing Spain. Because we have the dog we can’t just go to the port in one heroic drive as she needs worming tablets to be administered by a vet 24 - 120 hrs before we re enter the UK. Ian settled the bill, packed up most of our gear and we are ready to hit the road at 06:01am on Sunday morning for the 12 hour drive to the border. We hope to be able to camp at Urt (near Bayonne) on Sunday night.

Then we learn the French are having a closure of all non essential buildings and activities and it is difficult to categorise camping sites as essential. Given that the site we are on currently is now refusing all new arrivals, even those who have booked pitches we are concerned we will not be able to get in anywhere, even if the border is open, and that itself seems to be in doubt.

Given the option of staying where we are with power, water and assorted other facilities or possibly ending up by the roadside next to a turnip field in France / Spain we opt to sit tight. Cue re arranging ferry booking again, cancelling the site booked in France and trotting down to the reception here and extending our stay by two weeks. Happily this is not a problem as no one is coming in to take our pitch !!!

Now the question is food (toilet paper is provided by the site at the wash blocks so we don’t have to worry about that). First thing on Sunday after walking the dog Ian makes an itemised list of all the food we have on board. I am not sure I shall ever mock his tendency to have reserves of things again. He works out a menu for 15 days using our stores which looks reasonable. The camp shop is planning to remain open and we can get fresh fruit and veg from there as well as bread. All in all we are reasonably well placed to deal with the situation.

By Sunday morning some of the locals already have news of the police stopping people on the motorways and generally doing what they can to restrict travel so maybe we made the right decision. The main road just beyond the site entrance seems extremely quiet, but it is Sunday after all. The concern now is that this “lock down” is for 15 days INITIALLY, it could be extended. (The next level is State of Emergency followed by Martial Law. Ian is excited by this and hopes we get to that level as he seems to think there will be tanks and assorted other military vehicles on the streets for him to look at !) I have enough medication to take us through to late April so hopefully by then we will be able to travel. In the worst case perhaps we can have more medication sent to the site from home or approach the Spanish health system for new supplies.

Safe to say this is not the way we expected this trip to unfold, but it is still an adventure. Suffice it to say, we are both well, comfortable and sufficiently well supplied. I am winning the league we have in board games so things could be a great deal worse. I’m also self medicating to keep the virus away and drinking lots of wine and gin.

The site has put up notices telling us that we must stay within our motorhomes/caravan or outside on our pitch. We must not form groups or gatherings. We are allowed to go to the supermarket for food. The beach is closed and we will be subject to heavy fines if we go against these rules. I’ll keep you informed of what is happening.

On Friday we drive off to see the town of Ronda which appears in our 1000 places to see before you die book. (Which when you think of it means that if you assume you will live to 80 you would have to visit 1.05 each month from when you first draw breath, so a bit of a tall order!)

Anyway Ronda; it is a smallish town which was centrally involved in the 700 years or so of warfare between the Christian Spanish and the Islamic Moors. It sits on a mountainous spur which is cut in two at the tip by the Guadalquivir river as it flows through a gorge more than 390 feet deep. Fortified in turns by both sides the gorge was spanned by “The New Bridge” which was built in 1793 and performed the role of prison as well as bridge, the cells being built into the piers that support the arches. In the Spanish Civil War time and money was saved by hurling prisoners from the cells to the rocks below, effective if not compliant nowadays with the European Convention of Human Rights.

The old town on its rocky island is made up of twisting narrow streets, some spectacular public buildings and graceful plazas shaded by a wide variety of trees. Many of the larger roads have orange trees lining the highway, full of fruit which seemingly is just left to fall onto the ground, all in all a peaceful and rewarding visit.

The route too and from Ronda is our first which is not largely motorway / dual carriageway. It is described in the atlas as “a tourist route”, I think on account of the views. It is certainly picturesque, sweeping vistas over the Sierra Nevada as the road winds and climbs ever so sinuously around the assorted mountains in the way. Numerous tunnels and viaducts (some literally clinging to extremely steep slopes) make up much of the 44 kilometres while the remainder is largely hairpin bends. Let’s just say you need to concentrate and the speed limits of 60 or 80 kph are reasonable assessments of what is safe. Mostly Ian does well, but on the approach to one turn he decides to help himself to a travel sweet. That next bend really is sharp and is coming up very quickly, the van wobbles around the curve and I make sure to provide the sweets to the driver from that point on rather than letting him fish around for one.

We want to get some fresh food so had decided to call into a Carrefour supermarket on the way back, so details were entered into the (not so) trusty sat nav. We exited at the correct junction and were rewarded with an interesting trek around what appeared to be a standard housing estate with an empty building which many years ago might have held a small shop. (Ian did up date the sat nav before we set off on this trip.) Getting off the estate was exciting as we seemed to have to go down narrow lanes with on coming traffic (SUVs are surprisingly popular here). Eventually we escaped and made our way to a Dias store which provided some of our needs.

Saturday was a planned relaxation day, gorgeous sun, light cooling breeze and a brilliant blue sky. A walk on the beach in the afternoon allowed Me to see more naked men than I have seen in a very long while. The average age appeared to be 70 and it is safe to say that none appeared to have spent overly long working out. Ian was complaining over the lack of “eye candy” for him when a very large lady emerged from the dunes and walked in front of us. Not so much Claudia Schaffer as Jo Brand.

After three days at the campsite it’s time. to move on. The weather has been fabulous, very warm and sunny. We’ve been relaxing, me sitting in the sunshine, Ian doing his running and walking into town for bits of shopping! I have also,cleaned Bernie and changed the beds.
The campsite was very busy when we checked in but less so after the weekend. We have noticed a difference between the Spanish and the British campsites. Here the vans are crowded in much closer together. It’s pretty tight, manoeuvring into our pitch could be quite challenging, but Ian has no problems. Lots of different nationalities here but particularly Germans, Dutch and Swedes. The range of motor homes is huge, indeed some of them are enormous. One Swedish vehicle near us holds six adults and is the size of a 54 seater coach. It must be a nightmare to manoeuvre on smaller roads. There are a lot of people staying here for the long term, in some cases many months.

We are going to Gibraltar which is about one and a half hours away and then onward to Marbella. We miss the turning onto the motorway and the sat nav punishes us by taking us down a single track road. It is riddled with potholes and a big ditch runs by the edge of the road, the edges of the road itself is buckled and pitted, seemingly designed to push the unwary into the aforementioned ditch. But after a few kilometres it relents and takes us back to the main road.

The weather is again gorgeously sunny and warm but the downside is we can’t leave Kali in the van. Parking is just outside the border in a marina car park. We could have stayed overnight here but it seems a little basic for the likes of us! So passports in hand (including Kali’s just in case) off we trot. We pass through passport control without incident, in fact they only have a cursory glance at the passports. To get into Gibraltar you have to cross the runway of Gibraltar airport. The barrier was down and next thing we see is an easyJet aircraft flashing past us, about 60 yards away, it was taking off! Once the plane has gone the pelican crossing lights go to green for vehicles and pedestrians and we cross the runway and we are in a little bit of the UK. People are speaking English, prices are in Sterling and there are ships we recognise, Marks & Spencer’s, Debenhams and Domino pizzas, not to mention UK uniformed police officers. We are restricted as to what we can do with the dog, so we walk up and down the high street and buy a bottle of gin.

The Rock itself soars above the town and we can see a fair few of the fortifications that have been built over the centuries. The Moorish Castle and the Second World War gun batteries are particularly to the fore. The walk into the town itself is through “the land port” at one time the only way into the town from the land. It is a series of two consecutive tunnels covered by walls and bastions. The scene of bitter fights during 13 sieges according to a plaque on the walk.

Various statues and information signs tells us a little of the history of The Rock, not least the fact that Neanderthal remains have been found there. There has been much land recovered from the sea to the west of the original town and it seems to be covered with large modern blocks of flats which do not add to the romantic charm of the place. Still people have to live.

Once back in the van we head for Marbella an hour and fifteen minutes away. The sat nav takes us on the toll motorway. Again the electronic tag does it’s magic, although Ian is worried that because we had to go through the lorry / coach lane (due to the height of Bernie) we will be paying an inflated price. The road surface is much better as we travel through rolling countryside and see the mountains (the Sierra Nevada range if you are interested) looming above the arroyos and towns. Numerous bridges and viaducts span some quite exciting gorges, definitely not for you if you are at all concerned over heights, or more pertinently falls.

The site we are now on is about 80-90% full, and this is low season. There seem to more Brits here and lots of long term or permanent residents. The beach is a short walk away (across a motorway pedestrian bridge). The next morning we are having a relaxing day so take a walk with Kali onto the dunes and beach.

As we amble along the beach throwing sticks into the waves for one very excited and wet Labrador I espy a older man wear just a baseball cap and flip flops strolling towards us. I take second look, and a third and yes everything is swinging free in the breeze. I am shocked and Ian threatens me with all sorts of dire outcomes if I take a photo of this man from the front. So dear reader I was only able to take a quick snap from the rear. The man walks back and forth passing us (and numerous other fully clothed people) three times. Ian says he might try this tomorrow, I hope he is joking but you never know!

At the end of the beach we come back via the dunes area. Although we cannot understand the signs it is clearly an important ecological area because literally miles of elevated boardwalk has been erected to allow you to see the dunes without in anyway disturbing the plants or wild life. We see rabbits (surely not rare?) lizards, various birds etc. One point of note and concern are the pine tree caterpillars. We have been warned of these as they are dangerous and even lethal to dogs. They are about a inch long, black, white and brown and are supposed to travel around together. We spot a line about 18” long composed of what we believe to be these caterpillars moving nose to tail across the board walk. Happily Kali ignores them but we’ll have to keep an eye out.

Our immediate plans are to drive to Ronda tomorrow (to be reported on in due course), then have another relaxing day here before moving towards Cordoba and Granada where we have booked tickets to see the Alhambra Palace. Currently we are debating about perhaps spending more of our time in Spain because of the weather rather than returning as originally planned through France for the last fortnight when of course the weather will deteriorate. No decision made yet.

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