World Wildlife Fund
Monday 8 November 2010
Nao Agua
With grey clouds replaced by blue skies it was back on Yellow-7 (the bicycle). Taking two days along the coastal route to reach the final town of Portugal, Vila Real de santo Antonio and instead of using the busy motorway bridge (bicycles permitted) over the Rio Guadiana, used the small, 10 minute ferry back to Spanish ground, at the town of Ayamonte.
Realising after 15 miles or so of leaving my last Spanish map at some West Portuguese coastal town the first job was to buy a new one. Unlike the Portuguese maps, camp-grounds were not shown on the Spanish one, having since become accustomed to using this handy feature to plot my daily route / mileage I decided to stop at the first camp-site I found, this being at Isla Cristina, one of the last towns before the route headed inland and toward the city of Huelva, reducing even further the chances of finding camp-grounds. The days mileage here was only 44, but as with many things in Spain, 'Manana' (tomorrow).
My first warmshowers host informed me of a worth-while attraction south of Huelva: Parc nacional de Donana. This is a large nature reserve area with miles of green-land areas and marsh nesting grounds for birds. Though I had not exactly been following a straight route to date I wanted to try and keep this last section as direct as possible, more so as after 2 ½ months of Europe I now wanted to get on with the real bit, Africa. A visit to Donana park would mean a slight 'blip' to the route, and my plans. So at Huelva it was decision time. Biased to go by two reasons; Firstly, being a coastal route I would no doubt find a camp-ground at one of the towns. Secondly, as the route has little interest to industry the road would be nice and quiet.
I was almost rewarded by my choice straight away as there was a superb 3-4 mile cycle / walkers route leading out of Huelva, along the ports edge. Alternating from a green tarmaced path at the waters edge to a wooden decked path out over the water for several 100 meters at a time.
The first town being Mazagon. My visit here was definitely out-of-season. A holiday resort, no shops open and few people around. Having stocked up on food supplies at Huelva I had everything I needed, and as the beach shower still worked I could quite easily have stopped here for the night, pitching the tent on the deserted beach, but not yet content with the days mileage, it was back to the pedals.
The road continued to be silent, maybe one car every 2-3 minutes, smooth tarmac and smooth scenery, definitely happy with my route's 'blip'! Cycling in the opposite direction I met a German couple, Marion and Andreas. They were on a two week tour. Exchanging information on routes, I gave details of the port cycle lane and, as they were heading to Faro (Portugal), gave info on camp-grounds I had used. Informing me there was a camp-ground just 2 km's down the road for me was good news, and also of a ferry crossing on a route I could cycle the next day near Sevilla.
Sure enough, signs for the camp-ground turn-up and I follow the '0.5km' gravel/washboard route to the site, of which should have read 2 km. Entering reception I greet the man and announce “Hola, uno noche camping por favor”. But the man starts saying “nao camping”. This confused me as he was obviously open, then holds a bottle of water and says “Nao agua”. Confusing me further. I explain I did not need bottled water, just camping, this continues for a while longer until further sign language 'makes the penny drop'. There is no mains water! Nao agua? So no toilets, no showers, no washing. He points on my map to another camp-ground, ~ 60 km away! I point to my watch whilst saying ”bicycleta senor” he then realises my predicament, so lets me stay, and for free.Buying 2 extra bottles of water so I could at least wipe down I head of to find a suitable camp spot. The first choice was a definite no no due to excess mosquito's. With literally no one else around to pester I was a welcomed blood reservoir! Moving up to the caravan zone I find a reasonable location. Still bothered by no water, surrounded by watering points and toilets but just no water. (Only then do you realise how we take water for granted and how crippling it can be without).
Regretting not being content with my earlier mileage at Mazagon, where I could have taken a refreshing dip in the sea, showering down after, cooking dinner and filling bottles. Thinking I may see a similar beach shower here I walk over to see, but who was I fooling? With no water here, there would be none on the beach! Shoulders drooped, plodding back to my tent, walking passed lines of out-of-season Tarpaulin covered caravans, most with the extra clip-on tent / gazeebo extensions, lines of bricks around the bottom flap/skirt to seal against leaves, sand and stray cats. This had been common-sight in most camp-grounds. Some owners used small sand bags, some bricks, and some used old water containers filled with tap water? K-CHINGGGG!! Not seeing the woods for the trees I had walked passed several caravans using containers! Going back to one of them, a large blue container, and was full! The water looked clear and had no bad odour, so clean enough to clean me! Lugging it over the the gents shower I poured some into an empty 5 litre container, lightening the load so I could lift easily above my head for a cold shower. Cleaned up and rinsed off, I was happy.
The following morning I continue through the Donana park, North-Easterly, the road still being quiet on traffic, heading toward El Rocio, a town that over-looks the marsh area. 
The towns 'high street' resembled a film set from the wild west, no tarmac, just sand, fighting to control the bike as it snaked through it!
Just passed El Rocio the final section of the 'blip' continues. Silk-like tarmac, no traffic, blue skies, woodland either side.
At the camp-ground I made good use of the wi-fi. Wanting more of the quiet roads I was getting accustomed to I used Google maps to plot a back-route out of town for the following morning. This proved worthwhile as the road I found had just 2 cars pass by in 1/2 an hour. It reminded me of an old route I cycle down back home, hedges threatening to over-grow the route if nature had the upper hand.
In the afternoon I pass this driveway that resembled a Hollywood Boulevard, I think it was a hotel.
The road out of Utera continued in the style I prefer, twisting and winding, wide and open with a generous hard shoulder, the mountains coming into view, pulling me forward. As most mountain camp-grounds close out-of-season I expected to free-camp, so had bought supplies at the supermarket in Villamartin, the town at the foot of the mountain climbs. Meandering up the first town was Prado Del Ray, continuing to El Bosque I asked about a camp-ground, there was one, but as thought, closed. Hunting for a free-camp spot I found a park area, next to a crystal clear stream, I was told by a local man as the area was a national park to wait for night time, pointing to his eye, indicating that no one would see me. There was a café' close by and a few people walking around so decided, still with dinner to cook, that maybe this wasn't too good. Pedalling on the map indicated a small lake just outside the town, but being in the mountains was not visible, with all road-side land fenced off and gated my only option was continue the 8 miles (12 km) to Ubrique. It was now 5pm, the sun already low and starting to drop behind some small peaks, my progress reduced to 8mph (at best) my a continual ascent all the way to Ubrique. The town eventually arrived, but a camp-site did not. And with no hostel it was a hotel for the night.
I was almost rewarded by my choice straight away as there was a superb 3-4 mile cycle / walkers route leading out of Huelva, along the ports edge. Alternating from a green tarmaced path at the waters edge to a wooden decked path out over the water for several 100 meters at a time.Cycling over the large traffic bridge that crossed several estuary outlets that feed small rivers (rio's) the road was still quite busy, with large petro-chemical based storage tanks and facilities dotted along the road for many miles, but slowly, surely and thankfully the road quietened, until I was pretty much the only vehicle around, a sand edged, forestry lined, smooth mile-crunching tarmac route running into and through the Donana park.
The first town being Mazagon. My visit here was definitely out-of-season. A holiday resort, no shops open and few people around. Having stocked up on food supplies at Huelva I had everything I needed, and as the beach shower still worked I could quite easily have stopped here for the night, pitching the tent on the deserted beach, but not yet content with the days mileage, it was back to the pedals.
The road continued to be silent, maybe one car every 2-3 minutes, smooth tarmac and smooth scenery, definitely happy with my route's 'blip'! Cycling in the opposite direction I met a German couple, Marion and Andreas. They were on a two week tour. Exchanging information on routes, I gave details of the port cycle lane and, as they were heading to Faro (Portugal), gave info on camp-grounds I had used. Informing me there was a camp-ground just 2 km's down the road for me was good news, and also of a ferry crossing on a route I could cycle the next day near Sevilla.
Sure enough, signs for the camp-ground turn-up and I follow the '0.5km' gravel/washboard route to the site, of which should have read 2 km. Entering reception I greet the man and announce “Hola, uno noche camping por favor”. But the man starts saying “nao camping”. This confused me as he was obviously open, then holds a bottle of water and says “Nao agua”. Confusing me further. I explain I did not need bottled water, just camping, this continues for a while longer until further sign language 'makes the penny drop'. There is no mains water! Nao agua? So no toilets, no showers, no washing. He points on my map to another camp-ground, ~ 60 km away! I point to my watch whilst saying ”bicycleta senor” he then realises my predicament, so lets me stay, and for free.Buying 2 extra bottles of water so I could at least wipe down I head of to find a suitable camp spot. The first choice was a definite no no due to excess mosquito's. With literally no one else around to pester I was a welcomed blood reservoir! Moving up to the caravan zone I find a reasonable location. Still bothered by no water, surrounded by watering points and toilets but just no water. (Only then do you realise how we take water for granted and how crippling it can be without).
Regretting not being content with my earlier mileage at Mazagon, where I could have taken a refreshing dip in the sea, showering down after, cooking dinner and filling bottles. Thinking I may see a similar beach shower here I walk over to see, but who was I fooling? With no water here, there would be none on the beach! Shoulders drooped, plodding back to my tent, walking passed lines of out-of-season Tarpaulin covered caravans, most with the extra clip-on tent / gazeebo extensions, lines of bricks around the bottom flap/skirt to seal against leaves, sand and stray cats. This had been common-sight in most camp-grounds. Some owners used small sand bags, some bricks, and some used old water containers filled with tap water? K-CHINGGGG!! Not seeing the woods for the trees I had walked passed several caravans using containers! Going back to one of them, a large blue container, and was full! The water looked clear and had no bad odour, so clean enough to clean me! Lugging it over the the gents shower I poured some into an empty 5 litre container, lightening the load so I could lift easily above my head for a cold shower. Cleaned up and rinsed off, I was happy.
The towns 'high street' resembled a film set from the wild west, no tarmac, just sand, fighting to control the bike as it snaked through it!
Just passed El Rocio the final section of the 'blip' continues. Silk-like tarmac, no traffic, blue skies, woodland either side.
I was intrigued to find the town the German cyclist's had mentioned, Corria del Rio, with the ferry crossing. Upon arrival I was seen to be having direction problems to find the ferry and a local cyclist put me back on track, leading me through the maze of one-way cobbled streets.
Home for the night was to be Dos Hermanas. Not too sure of best route I flag down a Guardia Civil Jeep, the driver directs me across the road and down what looked like a drive-way to a farm. It turned out to be some sort of bridleway / walkers route. Rough, bumpy, and stone riddled. Fine for a mountain bike but not for a tourer. Unless there's no choice the extra stress and strain these sort of sections put upon the bike is not worth-while, so I head back to tarmac and play safe...Mr paranoid wonders whether the officer(s) were having a laugh at 'the tourist's expense'??
In the afternoon I pass this driveway that resembled a Hollywood Boulevard, I think it was a hotel.
The road out of Utera continued in the style I prefer, twisting and winding, wide and open with a generous hard shoulder, the mountains coming into view, pulling me forward. As most mountain camp-grounds close out-of-season I expected to free-camp, so had bought supplies at the supermarket in Villamartin, the town at the foot of the mountain climbs. Meandering up the first town was Prado Del Ray, continuing to El Bosque I asked about a camp-ground, there was one, but as thought, closed. Hunting for a free-camp spot I found a park area, next to a crystal clear stream, I was told by a local man as the area was a national park to wait for night time, pointing to his eye, indicating that no one would see me. There was a café' close by and a few people walking around so decided, still with dinner to cook, that maybe this wasn't too good. Pedalling on the map indicated a small lake just outside the town, but being in the mountains was not visible, with all road-side land fenced off and gated my only option was continue the 8 miles (12 km) to Ubrique. It was now 5pm, the sun already low and starting to drop behind some small peaks, my progress reduced to 8mph (at best) my a continual ascent all the way to Ubrique. The town eventually arrived, but a camp-site did not. And with no hostel it was a hotel for the night.
With the last day of European leg there were still more, long snaking ascents to climb,
but with views like this there was no complaints, Autumn time in Spain.
This sign reminded me about reaching the end of my U.S Route 66 tour, and
also reiterates the Spanish history behind the vast city, originally founded in 1781.
Knowing I was almost at Gibraltar I was surprised at what little signs there were, not until I got onto the A7 (E-15) route that runs around the bay area was the first sign: 'Gibraltar 5km', dropping off the A7 at the next exit onto the road that runs to / through Campamento, of which 'The Rock' came into sight. Entering passed Spanish/English customs checks then quite literally over the runway with cars and scooters galore as the barrier lifts and traffic lights go green. I thought I'd treat myself to a hotel for two nights, though at Gibraltar prices it was back over the runway to a Spanish one!! The Hotel Rocamar, this was perfect, to my left I had a good view of the rock, to the Right was the bay of Algeciras, and several miles across the Estrecho De Gibraltar, was Africa!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments
(Atom)
Dude the reason you didn't see any signs for Gibralter is because the Spanish still hate the fact that we own it haha.. They refuse to have signs pointing the way on Spanish soil.
ReplyDeleteNice pics
Ed