Day Twelve

What a great ride I had today, it ticked all the boxes - scenic, twisty, and downhill (well, the first part of it). The weather improved considerably as the day went on and reached 25c. The ride today was from Bejar to Plasasencia, about 60 kms. It hugged the main motorway A66 as well as criss-crossing the Via del La Plata footpath. Barely needed to look at the map as it was all on one straight road. To get into Plasasencia was again uphill and by now it was extremely hot. Arrived there about 4 pm. Now I have this issue - stay or carry-on. I was now three days behind my schedule. Because the next section was going to be hard (mostly desert and off-road) I wanted to do this section to Meridia in one go. I wondered around the town for ages, but could not find anywhere suitable for me to stay that was not a multi-storey type hotel (plenty of them) by 7ish was still unsettled and feeling guilty about not carrying on this afternoon, when I came across the bus station - fatal really. Anyway, I was on ‘it’ and 'it' went on a 4 hour ride to Seville.

Arrived there at 11.00 at night, during the journey there was extremely heavy rain which made it just bliss. It was not a good first impression to have off Seville, apart from the heavy rain, I was now in at a bus station at 11 at night, what now? I basically, did not have a clue as to where I was in relation to the city centre. Luckily came across a cheap hotel/hostel just down the street. The room was tiny and windowless except for a tiny louvered slot in the wall. It would do, I’d find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. During the night I could hear torrential rain running out from a broken gutter.

Day Thirteen

First full day in Seville. The first job, get out and get some breakfast. A quick walk around the area soon confirmed I was not exactly in the main tourist area, there were lots of ethnic 24 hr shops. It also had a certain buzz about it and more importantly, I felt very comfortable walking around. Back in my cell, I watched the early morning Southern Spain had been badly hit by the weather, 10 people were killed and cars and houses had been swept away in Malaga (only about 100 kms away). Spanish TV also showed something that the BBC would never show, there were thousands of dead pigs all piled up in the mud where the floods had swept through their barns. The local news also talked about Seville, it appeared to have its first rain in 6 months!

Seville is a great city and the old quarter was worthy of a day's walkabout. I spent quite some time in Seville Cathedral, mainly to get out the now persistent rain unfortunately, so did every other tourist currently wandering around Seville. It did not stop once all day. The decision to stay put was an easy one to make. I made a half-hearted attempt to find another place but decided to stay in my little windowless cell. I sat all evening there watching bull fighting on the telly. It had recently been brought back on TV having been stopped. It was very interesting and just as the final stabbing was to take place it cut-back to the studio where there ‘experts’ opinions were spouted forth. I hold no great personal beliefs about this but the arrogance of the matador really got my back up and so wanted to see the bull inflict some damage on the arrogant sod!

Day Fourteen

Well, let me see! Get dressed and out into the corridor window just to prove I was not dreaming, yes it was raining and quite heavy. Decided tho’ that I would leave this hotel today. There was no way I was going to make my way on to the next stage to Cadiz, what I would do today is ride around the parks and further away places of interest then look for somewhere else to stay. Out in the street, it was not as bad as yesterday but I was soon soaked to the skin. I cycled around the ‘posh bit’ of Seville. Great houses in palm tree-lined streets. Today though, these streets were flooded, not too deep I could still bike through, there was about 10-15 cms of water, especially at junctions for some reason. The main problem seemed to that the drains were blocked with leaves. I was finding it more easier- going than the cars. I cycled out to the motorway junction, where my road south also was starting from. I saw that it was clearly not passable, it was on an old railway track and was flooded to an unknown depth.

What could I do now? - well easy, really - TRAIN. Nice and easy journey (only took 2 hours to Cadiz) - this journey by bike, would be at least three days. During the journey I followed my supposed route on my map, it was a great relief to see I had made the right choice about this last stage as all of the low-lying areas were flooded. Arrived at Cadiz, at about 6 pm and again explored the old quarter looking for a hostel, I wanted this to be the right sort of place as I was here now for 4 days. This was Friday, and the ferry to the Canary Isles leaves on Tuesday. So it was, I ended up at the Hotel Sol. It was just right, no bike shed but they kept in office behind the reception desk for me. The room had all facilities and even had a window, shame about it being on the inside i.e. faced out into the corridor. This was the central hall was the main feature of the building, a large open area beautifully marbled with a glass dome. What's more, it was hot,hot, hot, 34 C, in fact. Thankfully there was a huge (but noisy) fan spinning recklessly above the bed.

Day Fifteen

Spent all day wandering around Cadiz. Soon found the main office of Accord Ferries and discovered that it was not opening until Monday. All there was to do then was to walk/bike around the town and so it was that I got to know the old town of Cadiz, very well.

Day Sixteen

Spent all day on the bike. Took a short ferry ride to Puerto Real on the other side of the bay and cycled back. Was a good ride, firstly, came across a ‘Bike Day’ in the local Carrafour car park. Easily, over 2,000 cyclists there. Then coming back onto the dual carriageway road (across the mud flats into Cadiz) the cars in front had been stopped by a Police motorcyclist. It soon became apparent why, there was a big bike race on. I got in behind them - I didn’t half put a spurt on after them, I could see people in the cars on the other side pointing at me as I tore after the pack. Old git on a bike, panniers flapping wildly, head down. I did eventually catch up with them on the outskirts of Cadiz, however, they were now heading back the other way, I stopped and shouted at them for not waiting for me!

A race to Cadiz. Despite shouting at them to wait for me they just went faster! The slip road up in the right of this picture was where the policeman waved me passed the stopped traffic and effectively let me join in! "I thinka, he wassa, takin de pissa".

Day Seventeen

Down at the Ferry Office for my ticket to Tenerife
“Una billete, Santa Cruz Tenerife, bicicleta , por favour”.
“The ferry is full” says the man behind the glass.
“NO! Ow! What!, Eh!”
“….. It is full señor”

The ferry was full. The ferry that runs only on Tuesdays. The ferry I had travelled 14 days for!

Day Eighteen

Well, I am on a list. After they picked me up off the floor yesterday, I found that if you came back on the day of travel, you might get a ‘no show’ ticket. So here I am, 7 hrs before sailing time, the air conditioning, and the decent toilets help - but the day still passes slowly.
Let’s eye-up the walk-on competition; luckily most are luggage free, suggesting they have cars, so no threat to me and therefore not subject to my evil eye. My competitors are, probably, the short, thin Moroccan man in the faded floral shirt. He constantly hovers by the counter window. Then there are the two female American backpackers, there's the blonde one. I don’t see much of her; she pops in from outside and whispers to her friend as the day goes on. Both are very determined young ladies - pestering the nice, very nice, man throughout the day with questions. They have made their point very clear to the bland man behind the glass. This ferry sails only once a week and this going to mess up their plans – big style. They are possibly going further down the imaginary passenger list for every visit. Charm and female guile will not now get you priority. I am sure he would love to bump them off and watch dispassionately the proceeding tantrum and scoff at the threat of a hail of missiles from a passing B52 as daddy is ‘big in defense’.

Anyway, my No.4 is an aging Hells Angel. Male 50’s, big belly, balding, give-aways are the clean clothes and the leather jacket with ‘Gran Caneria Chapter Hells Angels’ on the back. This man is a fraud, a pretend tough-guy, playing with motorbikes on his 3rd mid-life crisis. He has, however, taken the same quiet approach as me. One advantage he does have, being a resident of Canaries he is probably entitled to priority boarding. Yes, it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for.
Then there is No. 5. His name is Jesus. Much to my surprise and probably even more to the western Christian population, Jesus is black - very black and not from Nazareth but from Senegal. And yes, that was his name; his second name was very, very long. He has come in a wonderfully wrecked Citroen van with 'Senegal Crafts - Canary Isles' hand-painted on the side. Jesus, as you might properly expect is cheerful and friendly. He is the only one in the group here today that has spoken to me. By the way, he and his van had tickets; it was his two African companions lurking in the background that were ticketless. I was desperate to ask him about my chances but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I would have felt I was abusing his good nature. I played the seasoned traveller with a minor issue about ‘getting out of town’.

It is now getting late. What seemed like hundreds had come into the office and collected tickets. Come 4 o’clock and there is a deathly hush, all eyes are on the man behind the glass. He calls the Moroccan over - didn’t have to come far as he was hovering inches from the counter - yes, it’s a ticket. The man produces a big worn pile of documents from his back pocket.

All of us were by now around the window. I heard a murmur from the man, it sounded like my name ‘YES’!
I so wanted to stick a finger up at the mighty US of A contingent but not before I actually had the tickets in my hand. A few questions to answer - how was I paying? I wanted to say 'Anyway you like cash, credit card. Do you fancy a nice bike and would a bag of oranges help'? I resorted to my Fairfx Card in the end. A few further clicks on the computer then the words.
'Ah, I am afraid Senor......
A voice echoed around my head, 'Noooooo'!

I listen, there is only one berth available and it’s in a 4-berth cabin. I restrain myself from shouting 'CALL THAT A PROBLEM.....!'
Tickets duly arrived and were now in my sweaty hands. I was heading for the ferry queue now in full ‘unruffled mode’ and was directed to the usual group of German motorcyclist and the 'proper' bike boarding area. There are always German bikers waiting to catch a ferry. There was only one other cyclist in the queue and amazingly he had a trailerthat had a little mongrel dog in it. All belong to a young lad ‘Jamal’. He has limited English, but we got on very well and soon established our touring credentials with each other.

What was running through my mind now, was who was I sharing with? Probably, a cabin full of Turkish lorry drivers. I would crash open the door carrying panniers and a bag of oranges (that’s another story) and there they would all be - smoking Camel cigarettes and sitting there in sweaty vests. Well-worn playing cards sitting on a small hillock of strange coins. The largest man would be lying on the bunk cleaning his fingernails with a flick knife.
'Missee Thatcha’, she good ladyee, eh, Misteer Englishman, you like?'
I would whimper a reply, 'I am not English, I am Scottish'.
'You come, stay me in Turkey land.'
'Is Turkey like Scotland? Does it rain and have midges and haggis?'
'You taka pissa, mister Englishman, I’ll slitta your throat in the night'.

As is only right and proper, after my ordeal of waiting 4 days for this ferry, I am the very last person on board. My cabin is so far empty; just me and my imagination. What seems like ages, the door is opened and it’s my companion for the next three days, Jamil - the dog/biker, we both give relief smiles.

ORANGES ARE THE ONLY FRUIT

I should also explain about the large bag of oranges - I did not really spend all day in the ferry office. Once I was ‘listed’ and sitting there it dawned on me that if I did get on board, I would be reliant on the (obviously expensive, to me anyway) cafe/restaurant on the ferry, so I bought some food. And what a quandary that caused. Firstly, my back-up plan was to go back to Seville and fly out to Tenerife so I did not want to get too much. On the other hand - I needed three days of food but still needed to carry it on my bike. In the end, it was a two litre carton of Spanish wine, about 30 oranges, a large bag of mixed nuts, peanut butter, and dry biscuits, (I know how to live).

An amazing dietary collection and an immediate realisation, now that I was on board, I had got it wrong, not just that it meant eating 10 oranges a day, all was unnecessary anyway (apart from the wine). I knew, but had completely forgotten, that the ferry ticket price included your food! There was a big mixture of people on board, the very wealthy (I had spoken to a couple of Scandinavians who were taking their Volvos over for the winter). The oldie hippy contingent, they were the most dominant group (about 30). They found travelling very trying and seemed to be asleep, on deck, for the entire journey. Then there were the Africans, I guess about half the passengers. I later found out that the food was done this way to stop people like me from bringing food on board and cooking it on deck or in the cabins.

Oh! One last thing about the ferry - THE TIME - all during this three day journey the cafe opened exactly an hour late every time. Quite annoying for me but still mañana and all that. It wasn’t till we were approaching Tenerife that I spotted that the clocks had gone back an hour. I assumed the Canaries Isles are on Spanish (European time), but it isn’t! I had crossed a time zone. Strangely, as this happened without any warning I found it quite unsettling.

Anyway, the ferry was an 'experience' it was a great journey, I saw dolphins, whales (waterspouts only) and flying fish but I was weary of being cooped up for so long, and was relieved to get off and be met in Tenerife by friends. A big car took me and the bike to my ‘home’ for the next week.

Eil Fin