Day Thirty Four

Day Thirty Four

Spain: Madrid

Spain: Analucia

Thursday 7th August

Meltdown!

We were on the move again quell surprise, heading back over to my parents villa in Andalucía.  At least that was our plan.  Priscilla on the other hand had ideas of her own. 

It was a blisteringly hot day, as we hit the road to cover the distance between Madrid and my parent’s place,.  We learnt later it had been the hottest day of the year, in that part of Spain.  Itt was to cause an almost irrecoverable effect on the adventures of Priscilla, Queen of Europe.

We thundered along the motorway needing every ounce of aircon Priscilla could muster.  Nearing Murcia, about 150km from my parent’s villa, disaster struck.  Priscilla had journeyed over 11,000 kilometres in the last 34 days, it was a burden too heavy for her to carry, she collapsed under the strain.  The heat was all too much for this Japanese geisha from northern Japan, that I’d fondly nick named Priscilla.  Her engine temperature suddenly shot skywards, I managed another 80 kilometres with massive engine temperature variations before Priscilla called time and collapsed, exhausted from the journey and heat, her engine temperature went awall, I swerved off the auto route as we passed an exit pulling into the nearest safe spot to investigate.

Hurling open Priscilla’s bonnet, I was greeted to a hissy fit of boiling vapours,  screeching out of her radiator, engine coolant leaching its way through the system, gurgling and spitting onto the road below.  Priscilla had called time on these adventures and I needed international rescue.

What I was to encounter over the next few hours would provide the sub text for a whole book, let alone my little ol blog.  But to try and be brief the narrative consisted of; blistering temperatures beyond belief; A George Michael looky likey, undercover as a breakdown assistance man, with a mission to test out his English on me, non stop; Hours of waiting around whilst my breakdown insurance company worked out what the hell to do in a country that totally shuts down for a whole month of August; Priscilla being precariously towed off one breakdown truck onto another, in the middle of no where. A second breakdown recovery man who spoke only Spanish, smoked lots of cigarettes and had pictures of busty Latinos and the Virgin Mary in his breakdown cab;  Johnathon in lock down mode muted by the magnitude of the situation; the nicest kind of international rescue, my mum and dad.

We finally got to my parents villa about 9pm in the evening, over 6 hours later than Maureen had estimated.  It was a complete relief to be somewhere familiar, homely and safe.  My parents did a sterling job of watering and feeding us as they listened to the Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of Europe.

Where am I?

OK a quick post, i'm home and alive! Priscilla broke down on day 34 - and its all been a bit kinda crazy since then!!!!!!

I've written blog entries but not been able to post them. To add insult to injury my old laptop, I had lugged around Europe, died on me today just as i was about to copy off pictures and the blogs i had written!!!!!

So as soon as i get that laptop in a state i can copy stuff off the hard drive, the adventures of Priscilla Queen of Europe will continue and conclude........I promise.

There was definitely much to write about!!!!

Hugs

Ray
xxx

Day Thirty Three

Spain: Madrid

Wednesday 6th August

Sex in the City.

Another Carrie Bradshaw moment as I’m writing this………! When you’ve been away from a metropolis for an extended period of time, you forget how enticing they can be. We awoke the next morning, what with new a new city to discover, I simply couldn’t wait to get out and about. I don’t know what happens to the tree hugger in me, when I have a new city to explore, but there is something I find totally exhilarating about exploring a new urban environment, at least for a day or 2.

We had the text from Ian saying he had made his flight and polished off a hearty breakfast, Spanish style, before heading out on the metro to explore. Any new metro system is always a challenge to navigate and Madrid was to be no exception. But navigate we did, an unplanned metro line closure had us rambling through the streets of central Madrid. It was hot, but in the shade of the buildings we managed loads of ambling and window shopping, inevitably turning into real shopping as we bagged bargains, in the summer sales.

Madrid has some very interesting architecture, its no match to Barcelona, but I was intrigued by the architectural nuances. We lunched in Placa Mayor eating an uninspiring snack at prices beyond belief, but it was desperately hot but the location made up for it all as we sat shaded from the sun, eating and drinking.

Clearly eating and drinking is a key theme of this trip. I don’t know when I turned into a ‘foodie’, but as I write this blog I realise that hardly a day goes by without food featuring on the daily menu of events. I’m totally comfortable with that, but its kind of creeped up on me un announced as middle earthdom (other wise know as my 30’s). I’m one of those types who are amazed at those people who see food as function and not the individual tasting treat I now view it as.

Time flew by in Placa Mayor as we chatted and people watched. It’s hard to believe this square was once a bull ring, it felt more like St Marks Square, Venice, than another other square I’d visited. I think I was born to sit in squares, drink and chat, I love it! England is seriously lacking in that department. We don’t have that café culture that the rest of Western Europe oozels in abundance. And I could sit in café’s taking in the cultures of the world as a career, if someone would pay me!

Suitably refreshed and watered we headed on through central Madrid reaching the royal palace, stopping for refreshment in a perfectly manicured square by the side of the palace. The café we chose was piping air cooled mist onto the tables below the canopies. Its hard to describe, it’s like outside air conditioning, very dramatic and fabulously cooling to sit under. We glugged on some very tangy long, lemon drinks I had spied the table behind us drinking, my Spanish lessons coming in very handy to get that for us.

Hot and sight seeing weary we headed back to our hotel for siesta. It turned into a mammoth sleep in as I struggled to muster the energy to move myself from the hotel to refuel. They call Madridians, party people and despite not setting out until almost 10pm Madrid was only just awaking. We headed over to the gay quarter, famous for its night life, restaurants, bars and clubs. Our restaurant choice however was packed with no chance of a table, we opted instead for a funky little noodle restaurant.

Now I’ve learnt a long time ago that I can’t combine sight seeing and late night partying which frustrates the hell out of me but I simply can’t do both like I used to. So come 1am I was ready for sleep, despite the fact that Madrid’s night life was pulsing on around us still.

Day Thirty Two

France: L’argentiere to
Spain: Madrid

Tuesday 5th August

Duracell any one?

We were all up early and it wasn’t long before we had packed up Priscilla, showered and ready for our mammoth drive down to Madrid to get Ian to his flight Wednesday morning, as he returned to China.

All eager and raring to go I turned the key to start Priscilla and nothing happened. My heart sunk, I tried again checking that the immobiliser was definitely off. Nothing. Not even a sound. Priscilla was on strike, clearly unhappy about Ian leaving us. She had decided that a trip down to Madrid was not on her agenda today. We all looked at each other in a panic stricken horror. Everyone’s minds racing ahead, will we get Ian to the airport? What would happen now? What about contingency plans? What do we do?

I scrambled off to campsite reception to see if any immediate help might be available before calling the breakdown service. Mr and Mrs Cheveliere, the campsite owners, were up early just taking coffee and croissant in the bar before starting their working day. They kindly explained that the pool man had a 4x4 and could help give us a spark.

It wasn’t long before the pool man arrived, a Scotsman by all accounts. With his engine facing Priscilla jump leads were engaged and a glimmer of hope glistened in my eyes. But Priscilla was having none of it. She wasn’t taking any energy from some casual passer by, oh no not Priscilla!

A phone call later and the breakdown repair truck was on its way, courtesy of my breakdown insurance. Craving my morning fix of caffeine Johnathon and Ian magically appeared with coffee from the café/bar, as if by magic. We talked over the panic that was now sinking into the reality of our situation. A 10 hour non stop drive to Madrid ahead of us and an international flight from Madrid to catch, the clock was ticking and our options very limited. God this was living life on the wire!

The breakdown truck was not too far away and within minutes of pulling up the mechanic had diagnosed that batteries were dead beyond recharge. How they discharged, I’ve no idea. Ian remembers seeing a light on in Priscilla at some point in the middle of the night, but we have no recollections, I can’t sleep with lights on, so it was an unusual scenario, but hey, when your on the road and had a glass of wine or 10, anything’s possible!

The next obstacle to unfold was that the breakdown repair man only had one battery of the type Priscilla needed, in his truck. He needed to travel to the nearest battery stockist to purchase a second. Given the electric gadgets Priscilla has, she needs 2 batteriesa and both were dead. The repair man indicated he would be back at 2pm with a second battery. It was now 9:00am and we were already about over 2 hours behind our schedule, the thought of an additional 5 hour delay was demoralising, beyond belief.

Ian and J went off to connect to the Wifi in the café/bar to review contingency travel plans. There was a possibility of a flight down to Madrid, from somewhere local to us, but it was going to be tough to get Ian there. We decided to hope and pray it was indeed only the battery and that we could be on our way not long after 2pm.

Whilst I blogged in the café bar, DJ watched the rehearsals for the next nights canmp entertainment on stage. (sounds like butlins huh!). The Kylie looky likey, with too much makeup on, was trying to teach some of the campsite staff their dance routines for the next performance. Ian in the meantime sunbathed and swam in the wellness centre, god only knows what was going through his mind, but he did a great job of hiding it all.

We ate some take away lunch together without much being said, all the while keeping a look out for the breakdown recovery truck. As we finished our last mouthfuls, Mr Chevelier came to tell us that the next family had arrived, booked to take our camping spot. It was an embossing moment with Priscilla going no where but with heads held high we jumped on Mr Cheveliers golf cart and scooted back to our pitch just as the assistance company called to say that the batteries had been replaced and the mechanic needed us to test the engine.

He had come back in a kind of buggy car, not the breakdown truck we had been expecting and so had totally missed his arrival. As we jumped out Ian went over to apologise to the family waiting to pitch a caravan and I turned Priscilla’s engine.

With a renewed spark, Priscilla made a fiery growl back into action, to cheers and applause from the campers around us. All systems seemed go, but Priscilla wasn’t happy she made a screeching sound like a slipping fan belt as I pulled away, something that had been getting worse and worse, but seemed to stop when I turned the aircon off. Regardless we thundered onwards to L’argentiere, following our mechanic and his silly little car, as I pulled out the cash to pay for the king’s ransom now required for her new batteries.

We were finally on our way. Maureen was estimating an arrival time in Madrid around Midnight. Ian and I hammered the kilometres, the heat of Spain requiring full aircon, but Priscilla wasn’t happy. Every now and then she would let out a little groan something wasn’t quite right. We relayed the driving; allowing big brother and little brother to catch some sleep, in the back of Priscilla, in-between stints.

The parts of Spain, beyond Barcelona, I was hoping to see, disappeared into the dusk as the Spanish motorways threw their worst at us. French motorways are simply outstanding, English one not so bad, Spanish ones death defying, especially in the dark. It was a full on hellish drive with bends that appeared from no where, the kind you would expect on a minor road and road surfaces that made you wonder if Maureen had taken us off route. What with Priscilla moaning, agonising searches for fuel and the stopwatch ticking away, it was a hellish journey, but one we were all absolutely determined to make.

Around 1am the following morning we pulled up at our hotel by the airport. Fatigue overwhelmed us all, the sense of relief that we might have felt, falling into insignificance against the We said our good nights and goodbyes, Ian booking a taxi shuttle to take him to his flight in 7 hours, but we made it.

Day Thirty One

France: L’argentiere

Monday 4th August

Wellness

We’d planned a day off the sight seeing circuit today to allow us to take in the wellbeing of the wellness centre. So the day was punctuated with lots of sunbathing, swimming, saunas’, Jacuzzi and steam. Add into that mix, ice creams, beer and sparkling wine and it was a recipe for relaxation of the wellness kind.

And well we all did feel. Well that was until it transpired that Johnathon had burnt himself to a lobster consistency. He was literally day glow. It had been gorgeous weather but he hadn't put on the suntan cream, thinking his shirt would protect him, but he'd spent a lot of time in the water without his shirt, lethal, but I’m sounding like Mother Teresa, so I’ll shut up. Needless to say he was to come to regret not slapping on that splosh, for the rest of his holiday.

We all rounded the day off a suntanned glow as we took a final trip that evening to the Auberge for a goodbye meal. It was Ian’s last real night with us as, Tuesday was to be spent travelling to get home to his flight back to China. We were all tucked up in bed fairly early ready for an crack of dawn start the next morning.

Day thirty

France: L’argentiere

Sunday 3rd August

Messing about on the river.

We awoke as early as we could muster and set out with the intention of hiring canoes for the day. We didn’t quite fancy the 32KM route and 8KM didn’t really seem worth it so we eventually found a hire place offering a 14KM stretch. We were to be taken up river at 2pm and in the meantime we were free to Lunch on the beach, exactly what we did.

Swimming in the river to cool off we bucked up the courage to do some more river jumping this time from a higher rock, I took the fist plunge in an unusual rush of courage screeching as I whizzed through the air. I landed at an angle, the velocity stunning me somewhat, but giving a real sense of exhilaration. Soon Ian had plunged with similar screams and Johnathon was tinkering on the edge trying to muster up the courage to make the leap before his own silent panic as he took a leap of faith into the cooling water. Having used up all our courage we lunched under some trees by the beach watching other canoes’ sail by before heading back up to base for paddles and life jackets and our trip up stream.

Initially the collection of people that had gathered were asked to take a seat in a clapped out old mini bus, jumping into the front cab had a birds eye view, but it soon became clear that there were more passengers than seats so after somewhat of a kafuffle, another mini bus was brought up from the beach and we were on our way.

We wound our way upstream, nearing our set sail point our minibus veered past a camel, a llama and some baby goats! All of whom were tied to trees at the edge of the road. We assumed they were part of a circus act, a big top on the other side of the road being a bit of a give away, clearly not many vehicles came up to this part of the river.

As we bounced off route on an unpaved road we pulled alongside the rivers edge disturbing a group of young guys and a few girls who looked to be kind of camped out for a few days (the number of beer bottles pilled up around their cars being a bit of a give away). They all had eyes as big as plates so I’m guessing that beer hadn’t been the only intoxicant! Without batting an eye lid, our drivers commenced their canoe lessons, how to steer and how to navigate the river etc, first in French then an abridged version in English for our benefit.

It wasn’t long before we were messing about on the river. The first hurdle was a water shute over a weir, not many meters from our launch point. We all managed this without a hitch giving us all the confidence to paddle on. It was a blisteringly hot day so the water sploshing around us was all very welcome. Johnathon and Ian managed some serious zig zagging, it was Johnathon’s first time in a solo canoe but no one seemed to mind. We managed the second weir with no problem, being helped along the way by an amazingly friendly Dutch family who seemed to be having great fun guiding us to the right spot and sending us on our way for the second water shute. The second shute being a lot scarier as it had no sides just a ramp, but again we all sailed down like pros, my faith in the Dutch restored.

As we glided down the river, dragon fly’s zooming around us, we gathered pace stopping frequently for swims and cools downs and for that all important beer o’clock. As we sailed deeper into the gorge the rapids gave us something more challenging. Johnathon stumbled at one of them, none of us were really sure what happened, one second he was upright the next completely under water. He made a surprisingly fast recovery and soon we were all on our way again.

One of the highlights of the trip was that our route took us under the Pont D’arc, the site of our picnic, the previous day. It was a special moment and as we glided underneath I had a passing memory of canoeing here as a teenager. Here the river is at it deepest and the accessible rocks at their highest. I remembered that some of the teenage group I had sailed with all those years ago had jumped into the river from this spot. Not having had the courage as a teenager, I now flagged down Ian and Johnathon for the jump of a lifetime. We clambered up the cliff side and reached the jump point and without too much hesitation I threw myself off the cliff. Wow it was amazing, even more so because I’d conquered something I didn’t have the bottle to do as a kid. Ian and Johnathon followed, all still alive to tell the tale!

As we neared our destination, our arms and shoulders aching, it was a relief to arrive at the beach dragging our canoes ashore and clambering back up the beach to Priscilla. We ate that evening in the Auberge, another splendid meal accompanied with plenty of wine to numb our aching limbs. That night we took a late night amble down by the river, quite how we clambered on down there in the dark I’ve no idea (we certainly had a few scratches the following morning). But the view of the milky way, in all its splendour, was well worth it. I remember drunkenly ambling our way back through the campsite taking a short cut and somehow or other we woke up someone sleeping in a hammock. It was all a bit of a blur!

Day Twenty Nine

France: L’argentiere

Saturday 2nd August

River Rats

We awoke hung over and dizzy from the previous night’s excesses and we forced ourselves into the wellness centre for a hang over swim. It took us all a while to muster ourselves. We had planned a visit to a local street market and a trip to Pont d’arc on the Ardeche for swimming and a BBQ.

We reached the market, a little later than planned and floated around the stalls, taking in the sights and smells. I say floated as we were all still a little delicate from the previous nights excesses. We bought some duck breast and other ingredients for our BBQ but not the tuna streaks we had planned on. The fish stall having closed by the time we reached it. As we trailed back to Priscilla we stopped at a chicken rotisserie stall and bought some aromatic roasted potatoes to go with our BBQ.

On route we stopped for groceries and realised that we had things missing for our BBQ, like plates and wine glasses etc so we routed onwards via our campsite. We eventually made it to Pont d’arc about 2pm and headed down onto the river beach. It’s a very beautiful and dramatic location the Pont d’arc being a natural bridge that the Ardeche river has carved through, right in the heart of the gorges. We swam in the warm waters, another blue sky day and it wasn’t long before we had the BBQ sizzling and the corks popping.



Johnathon rustled up a duck brest salad to start, when I think back this was quite appropriate considering we were by the river! More swimming and splashing about followed, a glass of wine gaving us the courage to do some river jumping off the rocks around the Pont d’arc into the river. I took the first plunge and having survived we were all soon clambering through caves, up onto rocks and jumping back down into the river. Our second wave of cooking consisted of chicken breast with an orange sauce, the potatoes from the market and petis pois. Quite a feast considering we were on the beach cooking on our little BBQ! We stretched the day out and as people left for the day the the beach began to feel like our very own.

Still very warm we were swimming and gazing at the views when around 7:30pm things came to a standstill on the beach. A river rescue team had canoed onto the beach on the opposite side of the river with what looked like a body wrapped in the reflective foil sheets, strapped onto the top of the rescue canoe. The body or human (we couldn’t work out if the person on the stretcher was still alive still) was taken onto the beach and an eerie silence enveloped the gorge. Soon things became a little clearer as 2 significant others were rowed from the other side of Pont d’arc to the beach. By this time we had guessed the body was still alive and that an air ambulance may well be flying into the curve in the river to take the poor person off to hospital.

Indeed our suspicions were confirmed as a helicopter scoopped in overhead breaking the silence, it was scouting out the landing spot. Not long after, the chopper glided in through the gorge landing on the beach opposite us, men dressed in white, jumping out with medical bags etc. It was all a little surreal, just like something out of a movie. Eventually the patient was stretchered into the helicopter and off it flew, up and out over of the gorge, the significant others being rowed back to shore by the river rescue. It was all a little sombre, especially considering we had planned to canoe the river the following day, but kind in a strange way exciting, simply as its not something you see everyday.

Undeterred we swam some more as the sun slowly sunk, at this point we were the only people still swimming in the river, the temperature remained incredible warm, really refreshing. We ambled back to base camp with a sunny glow and some fab blog material!