Baiona.

So here we are.  Above Portugal. Suspended by wine and fishy dishes.

Yesterday it rained. Muchos. So we drove for much of the day to get away from it. Ended up in Baiona, on the west coast.

Went out for us tea last night,

It was smashing. So were we,  crabs legs mainly. 

Found a great place to pitch up next to the beach and it's getting warmer,  so more shade for me and Betty.

Met a group of British twenty somethings who are in the Navy and sailing a ship south. Managed to persuade them that the Lady R is indeed a Lady who owns a Caribbean island and that adventures in a camper van were just that. Adventures.

Lady R pre wine.

Drank far too much delicious local vino blanco and suffering today. So will be staying by the beach.

Not the Lady R, not pre wine. Note to self: empty toilet whilst sober...

Even Betty is suffering today,  it's the late night,  she's too young to drink. 

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the...

...camper van.

So, a funny thing happened yesterday. We went up the hill, we went down the hill. On the way down we encountered a cow walking up the road towards us. Well maybe it was a bull, I was too high up to check.

We were driving on the right, which is the correct side of the road. The cow /bull was being followed by two farmer looking types.

The cow/bull was on a mission he/she had places to go, people to see. In its own serene way it walked sedately, but with purpose, up the hill.

I decided to drive on the left. No point in irritating the cow /bull by causing an impasse. Now the driving wheel on Fifi is on the left. This is important as it meant that when I moved to the left, ie wrong, side of the road the Lady R was sitting in the middle of the road. Right next to the cow /bull.

'Its a bull, ITS A BULL!' exclaims the Lady R in panicked tone and vaults over the centre aisle into the back of the vehicle with a turn of speed that would have made Usain Bolt blush.

'Its OK,' i reassure, 'it won't be able to get you.'

'But I'm wearing RED ' She yells.

Laugh? I nearly ran the farmers over .

Potes meet.

Woke up yesterday in Comillas, took myself off to the loos to make full use of the facilities. Arrived to find them locked. It was ok though because the three workers who had the responsibility for opening the door stood there. Waiting. With the key. It did beg the question, 'How many Spaniards does it take to open...?'

Anyway, I went in all British and polite, 'Please, can I use toilet?' 

'Yes', came the stern reply. 'At nine am'. It was quarter to. I was dancing. But so were the man, wife, their three children, the elderly lady next to me and her hubby, also advanced in years. I tried looking pitiful (not easy whilst dancing). Child 3 started to cry. Elderly lady commenced a tap dance of impressive proportions across car park, but to no avail. Workers were staunch: doors open at nine. 

Elderly gentleman had been Spanish for some time, he got an idea. 'Where is it written? Where is it written that toilets open at nine?' 

Immediately, three workers spring into action. 'It IS written. It is written here..'

How many Spaniards does it take to look for the opening times..?

After some earnest searching the three had to admit defeat, no times written. Doors open, no more dancing.

Then we drove to Potes ('Pot-es'). Consider if you will a road. A road which winds through mountains, narrowly scraping cliff edges and littered with overhangs. A road with rock falls, which follows a beautiful green river. 

'Look' says The Lady R, 'look how beautiful it is.' I could not look. I was hanging, grimly, to the steering wheel, trying to chug a course through the fearsome landscape. It's ok though, she took pictures, so I'm going to have a look at them.

To break up the journey we stopped for a swim and took advantage of the freshly running water to shower, hair and picnic on Pascal's honey (he of donated vegetable fame) and bread. It was blissful. 

Betty was slightly perturbed at the image of two decapitated heads in the water and reacted by trying to fish them out but otherwise, all good. 

Arrival in Potes was gratefully received, post road and we parked up. 

One siesta, one tour of town and one jug of sangria later and two happier campers you could not wish to find. 

Betty news.

So, the pooch has discovered some new skills...
Sea bathing

 Driving.

Canoeing.

 Jumping for bananas.

Comely Comillas.

Arrived in Comillas late Sunday evening. Rocked up at a campsite. They wanted €25 ' not paying that ' came the cry, so we found the smartest street we could with the poshest houses and parked there. Not as easy as that sounds, when you've got 22ft of German design its no mean feat reverse parking on a corner in the dark. 'Swing it round ' says the Lady R. Hmm. In the end I found a handy kerb and abandoned her there. Turns out we made a good choice and now we're hanging with the rich folk.

Comillas is lovely,  a couple of Gaudi buildings,  a lovely beach, a port, free WiFi, clean toilets 🚻. Nothing to moan about. We've decided to stay two nights.

 Man walks his geese in the beach (yes,really).

 Cemetery,  they're just dying to get in.

 Angel of the North (of Comillas)

Angel again.

And relax...

It takes a while to chill out when you're usually running around at 100mph.

On Wed me and the girls did a long drive, some of it on motorway. Fifi did us proud,  there were times when me managed to overtake..with a little gentle urging and some revs, once we even hit 70mph, sliding along downhill in the vortex of a large lorry. Kerchinga.

Betty's been a good girl,  the Lady R less so. Wed night we arrived in La Clotte,  a small village of some 300 people. Using the Lady R's amazing sense of direction it took us only thirty five minutes to visit the village's nooks and crannies, searching for the right house. Three sweaty girls arrived..eventually to a warm and sunny welcome from the lovelies.

Some time and a few drinks later and one of us went to bed ' early', gorging on sweetcorn and salad cream sandwiches on the way whilst the other danced into the night singing things which cannot be written here and had to be walked home. Quiet night then. Betty made some new friends too.

The next day we partook in the luxurious activity of showering. Oh,  Bliss. BLISS. Probably as much for those around us.

Thursday was a good day. We packed loads in and barely managed to offend anybody.

Coco steals the bone.

.

Betty fetches the stick.

Hugo discovers the chalk.

 Marika delivers the tour

 Becky empties the toilet.

 Malcolm cooks the chicken.

Pascal delivers the vegetables.