Well the last month was spent preparing for the Great Escape and seeing if I could getaway from Andalucía with the shirt on my back.

The day finally came and after a delay of 24 hours from my original start date, due to being attacked by Sherry on my last night, I finally set off in Cristine packed to the gunwales with golf clubs, tents and a tennis rackets.

The heat slowly increased from 30ºC up to 40ºC and the scenery changed from miles and miles of Olive groves to open savannahs and then oak tree encrusted pasture lands of the Spanish maseta. 

"You lose it here and youre in a whole world of hurt"

I had an odd €10 petrol stop and I am talking odd as Cristine just kept on pulling and wouldn’t eat up the gas. What a fantastic change from my old Jeep Grand Cherokee straight-six, 4.0 Litre petrol 4X4, that would need £20 of unleaded just to get the petrol warning light to go off!

"a tree, a tree"

Road works were commonplace and somewhat annoying. Not the actual slowing down but the rumble strips. They were shaking the car to pieces and some were the size of a small Wildebeests lying in the road. It wasn’t long before I heard my first rattle from Cristine and I stopped to investigate under the car.

Selotape had come off

Yup the exhaust pipe was slipping back and out of its forward joint housing (ed..that’s a made up technical term). So I got under her and with the help of a couple of cable ties we set off again.

HighNoon

It wasn’t long before we hit more rumble strips and another patch up job on the blowing exhaust was good enough, I thought, until I got to the Campsite where I could mend the coupling without burning the flesh off my hands.

Paperclip came loose

It was early evening when I arrived at the Camping Noria only to find the office and the reception closed. There was noise out the back, it sounded like a pool. I wandered into Campsite, which was aligned with wooden bungalows and a couple of stray dogs.

Sure enough there was a pool with kids playing in it and a small bar and the owner with some of her friends having a beer. I got the impression that most of them were pissed. I enquired about a camping plot. 

maybe later

“No problem she said it’s going to be around €17 my son will show you where.”

The young lad led the way on his BMX bike down the dry gravelly track past the wooden bungalows. I followed in Cristine.

As we bumped our way along, I did have notions of a grassy wooded area but that was soon dismissed as I was shown to a hard gravely patch, more akin to a builders yard than a camping area. The saving grace was however It was in the shade as it was covered with a large bamboo roof, therefore was a little cooler that the surrounding area.

I wasn’t the only one there, two plots down from me were an older couple with a tent, tables and chairs, lamps and food on the go on a portable gas Primus. They were sitting down reading all very under control. I initially thought they must be Germans but as it turned out they were French.

"av you seeen zat Englaish mans tent?"....."Oui"

I parked the car, opened the boot and pulled out the three man ‘2 Second’ tent. One of those you throw in the air and it opens itself up. Well ..It worked!! I pulled the release strap and it metamorphosed form the hibernating chrysalis into the tented butterfly in …well 2 seconds. Brilliant.

Then I got the steel pegs out and the hammer I had bought for €3 from a bloke in the flea market in Jerez about 4 months ago, ready for this exact moment. 

"Stay"

I positioned the tent peg and gave it the first couple of tentative taps to get it going.

Tap tap tap.

The peg wasn’t going anywhere. The ground wasn’t ground as such but rock hard, packed concrete mixed with small stones. All it had was a dusty top rather like a sponge cake with icing sugar. A sponge cake that has been left in the oven for two days at gas mark 7. Yes, home-made.

I dug a hole with the claw end of the hammer in an effort to get down to something that wasn’t as hard as granite. No joy.

20 minutes later and with 4 steel tent pegs that resembled question marks, I decided to tie the thing down. After a further 20 minutes it was secure although it did look like Spiderman had put it up.

As I stood back and admired my handiwork I heard a scraping behind me and there was one of the stray dogs I had seen on my entry… “finishing-up”.

 Oi…I shouted. It ran off, happy that his work had been done.

I managed to get a swim in the pool whilst trying not to think about the amount of kids that had been in it and after drying off I made my way back to the tent.

Being so tired by this time, I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. With the sponge I had acquired 4 months ago from a sponge shop in Jerez, ready for this exact moment, I rolled it out and it was perfect. 

Batcave

I lay down and tried to sleep. It had been years since I had slept in a tent and it isn’t easy I soon remembered..

It was 11pm when I hit the sack and lay awake listening to all the kids still running around and shouting. By 1am they had all run out of puff and gone to bed. Then it was the parents, stumbling back to their abodes, scuffling their way around the campsite over the dry gravelly pathways. Ahhhh silence at 2am, now for some shut-eye.

“Woof”

A lone dog from the far end of the campsite made a solitary ‘good night’ bark in dog speak…or so I thought ……It was in fact “Oi…Dogs! What have you lot been up to today?”

Then they started..

”Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof”…

”Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark”

“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof”

”Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark”

It sounded like there were at least 10 dogs, some inside but many outside at houses and waste grounds around the campsite. All were barking at each other, and being Spanish dogs they were all doing it at the same time.

"Bamboleooooooooooooooo"

An hour later they calmed down and I managed to get some sleep…..

Then the silence was broken and I was awoken by the sounds of a cat fight right outside my tent!!

Wow that sounds like a good one I thought to myself as I sat up in the pitch black listening. I knew it wouldn’t last long, cat fights never do, and sure enough the screeching soon stopped and I imagined the two cats with their backs arched backing away making that low whining…..ahhhh sleep

Then I heard it……

“Woof”…..

The cat scrap had woken up one of the dogs……..and that was it, they all started up again excitedly talking about the cat fight…

”Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof” (Did you hear that cat scrap)

”Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark” (Yes I think it was that Ginger Tom)

“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof” (Yeah well he’s been asking for it)

”Bark, bark, bark?” (Did he win?)

“Woof, woof, woof, woof,woof” (I don’t know, it was down by the English blokes tent”)

”Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark” (What, where you had a shit)

“Woof” (Yup)

Another half an hour later and they all calmed down again and I managed to get some more sleep

06:30am

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

What the hell…!!!. I chuckled to myself. Classic. Just the other side of the tall hedge, right behind my tent there must have been some sort of chicken run and up piped Mr Cock and he started “Chatting” to his mate three fields away.

Backwards and forwards went the crowing, I listened, knowing that my sleep was well and truly over. Back and forth went the crowing

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (Morning)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (Morning)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo?”(Hear that cat fight last night?)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (Yeah, Dogs were talking about it all night)

 “Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo?”(Were they?)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (Apparently it was that Ginger Tom)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (He’s Foreign don’t you know)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (I think he got the shit kicked out of him)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo?” (How do you know?)

“Cock-a-doodle-dooooooooo” (It certainly smells like he did)

I awoke and stretched like you do when you get out of a tent and started straight away on the exhaust pipe. It didn’t take long to fix, I packed up the tent, said ‘Au revoir’ to my Gallic neighbours and I was on my way from Animal Farm and back on the open road.

One of my impromptu pit stops was a hill top village called Alcaraz, yes I too thought they had spelt it wrong. I made my way up into the main square and found a bar in the corner to rest Cristine and myself out of the midday sun.

Alcaraz main square

Without doubt the further I travel from Jerez the quality improves in all aspects. From toll roads to tapas and everything in-between.

Unbeknown to me my little detour up to Alcaraz was going to be worthwhile visit.

I ordered a beer and the ice cold Mahou turned up and with it a plate of pork scratchings. I poured the beer into the freezing cold glass and the ice formed around the top of the beer. I popped one of the pork Scratchings into my mouth and it was like an Angel crying on my tongue.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm

They were incredible and without doubt the best scratchings I have ever had.  I finished the whole plate, savouring every taste explosion.  Bar Hostel Alfonso VIII was the find of the century a must for all pork scratching lovers.

Day of the Triffids - The beginning

The road became long and straight as I passed Albacete then with 30km to go to Valencia I hit all the holiday traffic and my progress slowed to a crawl. An hour later I made it to my destination just as a few spots of rain began to fall.

We made it. 491 Miles, £41, 59mpg fully loaded. Carbon footprint - Size 3