16th Dec 2023- 10th Jan 2024
I am writing this in the last few days of April having procrastinated the final post in epic and unsurpassed (even by my standards) style. I don’t know why I run out of steam at the end of each of our trips, but I do, and I have, and here I am over 3 months later. I work quite well under pressure and as the ferry for our next trip is in less than a week’s time I feel suddenly motivated.
If one wants to escape the wintery weather of northern Europe by travelling to coastal Spain, one does not head to the north or north-west. The reality of travelling in December and into January finally caught up with us and the jumpers and coats that we had been driving around for months were pressed into service, along with the hats, scarves and gloves. As a rule, living in a van is best in the warm and dry. Cold and dry is okay, warm and wet is doeable. Cold and wet…well let’s just say we survived.
The second phase of our Spanish travels took us into Galicia, which stole our hearts with its emptiness and its rugged and beautitful coastline. The whole region is flavoured by the paths of the Camino de Santiago that cross it and the its provision to the hundreds of thousands of pilgrims that walk to its heart, Santiago de Compostella. It is such a massive part of Galicia’s identity and economy but at this time of year, aside from the occasional hardy soul, the pilgrim trails were deserted. Most of the countless auberges were closed and many of the restaurant and cafe owners had shut up shop to have a break before Christmas. We saw the Camino trail markers everywhere, constantly reminding us that in summer, this whole area is humming (figuratively and literally) with countless sweaty, unwashed folk nearing the end of their long treks having spent weeks and weeks walking all day and their nights sleeping in crowded, noisy, bed-bug infested dormitories. Sign me up!
Our first stop was in Padrón, home of the eponymous pepper, which when fried in lots of oil and sprinkled with salt is one of the most glorious tapas dishes. It also hosts an epic weekly market, which coincided with our visit. We arrived the day before and wandered around the small town. Like every village, town and city, it was adorned with Christmas lights and looked quite beautiful after dark.
The whole lead up to Christmas, and how they celebrate it in Spain and Portugal has been quite different from the capitalist carnivals of other places I have spent time at this time of year (UK, USA, NZ, Australia). Aside from the pretty lights and the odd Christmas market there was almost no hard sell on buying gifts, special food, excess food or doing anything particularly different. It was so refreshing to not be bombarded with crass Christmas advertising and marketing and cheesy festive soundtracks for months and months. There were also no Christmas cards for sale even if there had been the remotest thought in my head to send one. In fact, there were no greeting cards for sale, full stop. Just not a thing here.
Anyway. Padrón. We stayed in a carpark next to the empty market square and presumed, when we woke late the next morning, that we must have been mistaken on the timing of the market day because we had not heard any noises that might indicate that one of Spain’s biggest markets had been set up. Wrong. They had just done it very quietly. The morning was icy cold so we bundled up, made hot coffees to walk with and set out to investigate. The market was massive, lots of cheap clothes, bags and shoes, plenty of ham and cheese, some plants, the occasional vegetable stall and plenty of stalls selling useful things. There were NO Christmas gift stalls. In fact, nothing about the market suggested that Christmas was only 8 days away at all. Heaven! (I am a grinch. It’s official.) We bought nothing but were drawn into a large food tent cooking hot, meaty sandwiches on a large open charcoal grill at it’s entrance. A few butchered Spanish words and lots of gesticulating saw us each served with one of said sandwiches which truely hit the spot.
A coastal meander from here took us to to ‘The End of the Land’. Literally. A village called Fisterra at the tip of a pennisula that juts out into the Atlantic. Beyond the village is a handsome lighthouse, and for some, this is the true end of their Camino pilgramage, a four day walk beyond the classic finish at the cathedral in Santiago.
One of the biggest advantages of travelling in this low season is how quiet it is and the complete lack of competion for camping spots. Our journey here had brought us via a beautiful beachside camping area that was purpose built for campervans by the local council. It had services, a nearby beachside bar, an epic sunset and was free. In the summer it would have been full to the brim. Now? Only 2 other campers. This was the situation for the whole of the rest of this trip. Fisterra was a planned 2 day stop that extended to 4. The campsite had a great view, was right in town and was peaceful, quiet and cheap.
We did an great couple of walks to the lighthouse and back, sat out some rain and explored the village. This is an active fishing village with a small fleet that sells its catch dockside at a rather swanky fish market. This has a viewing gallery where you can watch the deals being done and the fish still flopping around in their death throes and eels trying to escape their crates.
A shortish drive from here, across the Galician lowlands, was our next stop, Muxía. Another fishing town, another pilgrim destination. Some pilgrims end their journey here, not Fisterra. This area of the Costa da Morte (Death Coast) has a rich pagan history with its large coastal stones being imbued with beliefs of magic, healing and sacred powers. Many centuries later it is said that the Virgin Mary appeared here to the Apostle St James who was preaching the gospel to the local people without much success. Having arrived in a stone boat which broke up into three pieces and became big coastal rocks, she then encouraged him in his work. There is a chapel here to commemorate this story and thus this is the desination for the pilgrims.
We parked on the dockside which was again deserted and after strolling our own mini-camino to the chapel we hunted out a place to have dinner. This was easier said than done as most places were either shut completely, or in true Spanish style, shut until 9pm dinner service time. We discounted one place that seemed quite busy with a bunch of smelly fisherman having ‘after work drinks’ but we found one other reasonable looking place that had customers. There were two couples sat at tables, one of which finished and left not long after we arrived. We managed to order some food and wine with the help of sign language and Google translate at which point the other couple got up from their table, put on aprons, and went into the kitchen to cook our meals. We were the only customers. A private dining experience.
From Muxía we headed into Santiago de Compostella. Our campsite here was perhaps one of the oddest on our trip. It was only a short walk from the city centre and definitely one of the most secure camps we have had. The views were non existant though as it was a lockup industrial unit. It was a slight mission to find the entrance which was tucked away down a back lane, liberate the key from the lock box and then master the technique of magic wiggling to get it to open the massive double doors.
Then we had to manouvre Davide into the tight space between another stored camper and a scary looking concrete post. This was the base for a camper rental business and a vehicle storage facility, as well as accepting overnight campers. Amenities were scant and it was cold inside as there was obviously no sunshine to help warm us up. This may have been one of the reasons that we had the place to ourselves. Be even weirder if it was busy, and probably unbearably hot in the summer.
We had a couple of forays into the city, wandered the narrow streets, visited a museum and of course visited the cathedral, the conventional end of all of the pilgrim trails. As a registered pilgrim you can attend a mass here on your arrival if you so desire, and its crowning glory (quite literally) is an exquisite carved and painted stone edifice inside the main doors called ‘The Portico of the Glory’. No photos permitted. Look it up if you are interested!
We obviously also found several spots to sample more tapas, more vermouth, more coffees and the occasional beer. Our endeavours also took in a brief spell of gift shopping. Our main present to each other was already taken care of, but we had a €20 budget to buy a small thing for each other to open on the day so we split up for a nail-biting, frantic thirty minute rapi-shop. Who says Christmas shopping can’t be exciting…
Then it was Christmas eve. Our gift to each other was three nights ‘on dry land’ in an AirBnB. When Nick asked me what my criteria were for our chosen property, these were the main ones: a bath, a big comfy bed, a cozy living room with a real fire, a nice big smart TV, and some splendid isolation. It also needed safe parking for Davide on site. After spending many hours reviewing every single available property in Galicia we found a little gem, and this is where we were heading next. On our way we stopped at a Lidl to get the festive provisions for our stay. This might not have been our first choice for our shop but it was the only supermarket nearby that didn’t have underground parking or a height restriction to the car park. In fact it did us proud and although we couldn’t get many of what we would see as ‘traditional Christmas Fayre’ items, we came away with enough food for a week at half the price that we were expecting. No Christmas crackers to be seen though.
Our cottage was a mere 20km from Santiago and we had a few hours to kill before it was ready so we parked up in the sun in a nearby village waiting to receive our text to say that we could check in. Finally, the message came and we beetled over there. Our host met us with a freshly baked cake from the bakery they run and we quickly settled in. It was tiny but perfect. Davide was parked right outside, the fire was a one touch, thermostat controlled pellet fire – so all the ambiance with none of the hard work , the bedroom was on a mezzanine with a massive bath, the views were of distant hills and horses in the paddock in front and there were no close neighbours.
The kitchen had everything we needed except an oven but that didn’t matter as we had our own gas oven parked right outside. We had an amazing few days and it was great to stretch out. The three days was obviously dominated by the planning, preparation and eating of food and Davide did an excellent job of cooking our Christmas stuffed chicken. We also watched many movies including that pinkest of films -Barbie. We were sorry to have to leave and quite astounded at the amount of guff that we had brought into the cottage when it came time to pack it all back up again. We rolled on
Next we headed up to the north-west coast and a town called A Coruña. This is the second largest city in Galicia by population and partly inhabits a pennisula at the end of which sits Torre de Hércules (Hercules Tower), a Roman built lighthouse which is apparently the oldest lighthouse in the world still in operation and a UNESCSO World Heritage Site. We found a free parking spot overlooking the city from an elevated roadway to its west from which there was an epic view over the bay and the pennisula and on a coastal promenade that headed back towards the city. There was space for about 15 vans but we only had a couple of co-campers. The road was quiet but it was obviously a popular route for cyclists and walkers, well it was until mid afternoon when the wind and rain hit. We knew it was coming and we were prepared for it, but jeepers, it was relentless. For 20 hours! Gone was the view. Gone was any prospect of even stepping outside. Gone was being able to hear the TV over the din of rain on the roof! We were happy though. We were warm and cozy thanks to our diesel heater and we had infinite cups of tea and treats.
Eventually at about midday the next day the storm was gone and we emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. It was definitely time to stretch our legs and explore our surroundings. We set off down the promenade which was busy again with lots of other people appreciating the sunny, dry day. We had an epic day afoot, following the coastal path down into town, past the octupus sculpture, the millenium obelisk, along the rocky coastline to the city beach, up and around the headland to admire the Torre de Hércules, around to the marina and funky harbourmaster’s building, through the old streets to the beach and then back up the hill to our perch (via a stop for a beer or two-after walking 14km we were very thirsty).
The second night in our camping spot was not quite as secluded as there were more vans staying the night and the addition of a very intriguing, yet highly annoying, late hour rendezvous of a couple that arrived in separate cars, parked right next to us and played their music very loudly before heading off separately again. Hmmmm.
After here we were heading east along the coast and picked a campsite in a largish village called Valdeviño. It was selected as being the only place within stiking distance that had the following qualities: 1) it was open, 2) it had power plug ins and hot camp showers, 3) there was a laundrette nearby. We do shower in the van from time to time, but it’s not the same as having a proper long soaking with mains heated water.
We arrived at the hillside camp which was a terraced marvel of retaining walls and a steep paved driveway. Check-in was via a very sophisticated website and automatic number plate reader. As we were the only residents for the first of the two nights that we were here, and it only cost us €11/night, it was going to take a while for the owner to recoup his civil engineering costs and technology investment. The camp faced west and from its elevated position had some epic sunset views. We made use of the facilities and warmer, dry weather to do some cleaning of Davide, inside and out, and of ourselves, and having also done all our laundry on the way in, we felt like brand new.
The next day we headed out on another 14km loop walk which took us over the hill out the back of camp, through a gum forest, down a lane to the beach, up to a headland lookout and then back along the coast to our village. It was another gorgeous stroll that was deserted aside from the odd passing car. This trip was starting to feel quite exclusive! We thought we might have camp to ourselves again, but – horror of horrors – two other vans arrived in the evening! What? Share? Hmmff! The other thing that came that night was the next storm with more crazy wind and rain. Davide has internal privacy shades for the front cab windows but since it has been colder we have been deploying our external insulated front ‘eye mask’ screen too. This keeps us much warmer and cuts down on condensation and although is waterproof, is definitely not, in its current form, designed to withstand a strong wind! We woke in the middle of night to an unholy flapping and spent a damp and chilly few minutes prancing around outside in the dark restraining and removing it then trying to fold it up to get it into the garage locker. Sorry to our neighbours for the din of slamming doors and stage whisper shouting and swearing. Modifications needed.
The next day was New Years Eve and we continued eastwards and headed to a town called Viveira. This was a moderate sized town of 16000 people in the Lugo province on the river Landro. There was a free parking area close to the town centre and we thought that we we might find some New Year festivities to soak up and perhaps there may be some fireworks at midnight. That was the plan anyway… We arrived and found our parking spot which was some designated campervan spaces in a large municipal carpark next to the town’s small football stadium. There were a few other vans and although it felt a bit desolate, we were comforted by the presence of our neighbours. And then they all left. Back to solo camping then!
We explored the town in the afternoon. There was a terrible rock band playing awful music really loudly in the square and a very weird display of lifesized models in ‘olden days’ dioramas circling the church. This included a full sized model of an elephant. We were not entirely sure how this fitted with the medieval theme. There were a few bars and restaurants that we thought might be open later for some merriment, even if only from the sidelines, and we went back to Davide to recharge our batteries for the upcoming late night.
And then the next storm arrived. Now we were alone in our dark, deserted carpark, with the wind and rain lashing at our windows and had absolutely no enthusiasm to venture outside, New Year or not. We made the best of the moment with home cooking and ‘fancy drinks’ (ie vermouth rather than beer) and celebrated the strike of midnight in a unique and traditional Spanish style. Slightly bizzarely this involves grapes. At midnight, on each of the twelve strikes of the clock one must eat a grape. If you can manage to eat all twelve you will have a year of prosperity and good luck, each grape signifying each of the twelve months. This tradition started in the late 19th C, but became popular in the early 20th C. It was promoted by grape farmers in Alicnate who were trying to increase sales of their bumper crops. Genius! Fortuitously we had enough grapes in the fridge, and although not all were in their peak physical condition, they were edible. We found a live ‘count-down’ on an internet radio station and scarfed grapes as tradition dictated. There were a few lone fireworks which we looked at from the window, and that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was how we saw in 2024. Happy New Year!
The next day the sun was shining again, although it was still quite windy and we headed to a campsite just east of Foz. This was unmanned and the gates were closed, but a quick phone call and my near fluent ‘Buenas tardes, Señor. ¿Hablas inglés?’ followed by a short conversation in English, resulted in the owner opening the gate remotely. There was no mention of how to pay during our conversation, no information in the camp and at no point over the next 48 hours did a manager arrive to collect our camping fees. There were about 5 or 6 other campers but as the cold, windy weather continued, everyone was holed up and we saw no-one to ask. We fitted in a windy, waterfront walk that afternoon, watching a few hardy surfers, then holed up ourselves as the wind got stronger as the evening progressed. When we ordered Davide we had organised to have hydraulic levelling/stabilising rams fitted as an optional extra. In the end there was not time to fit them before we left on this trip so we headed off without them. We have come to realise that 99% of the time that they are unecessary as we happily manage with levelling blocks and the wind is rarely strong enough for the rocking to bother us. The 1% of time where they would be excellent would be nights like the 1st Jan on the Galician northern coast in a gale. The onshore wind made Davide rock like a crazy bouncing American lowrider. It was very unsettling and we didn’t sleep well. Still not worth the cost of the rams though! The next day was wet and windy as well but cabin fever forced us out for another walk during which we predicatably got quite wet. The ‘fun factor’ of travelling in the depths of winter was waning slightly. We left the next day having put the correct money for our stay in the suggestion box.
Ribadesella is a lovely place. This was our only stop in Asturias, the next province along the coast to the East. Asturias has some gorgeous jagged mountain peaks, and apparently the roads up through the mountains have gorgeous views and the landscape is magical. Doing it in a 2 wheel drive, 7m, 3.5t van in winter was not going to be sensible so we stuck to the main road along the coast, which was still beautiful. There were countless tunnels and viaducts and it was very scenic. We had chosen the town of Ribdasella in our traditional manner: totally at random and were very pleasantly suprised to find out how lovely it was. It is built at the mouth of the river Sella at the foot of the Picos de Europa.
It has stunning views, a white sandy beach, a lighthouse on a small headland accessed by a flat walk along the promenade and a small river waterfront with a small fishing fleet. Its claim to fame is that it hosts one of the most anticipated kayaking events of the year: The International Sella River Descent. Kayakers from all over the world gather here for the event that is held in the first week of August. The aim is to be the fastest to descend the final 20km of the river from the mountains. Over 1000 entrants take place and, as you can imagine, it is absolute bedlam, both on the river, and in the town generally.
Here we explored the town and sampled its most famous nutrients: flat cider and blue cheese. The cider is poured with great skill and from a great height into tumbers by experts in order to create a degree of foam and froth, in lieu of bubbles. Only small amounts are poured at at time as the froth quickly dissipates. In a bar, despite the fact that the cider is purchased in 1L bottles, one does not pour one’s own measures, one waits patiently for the bar staff as they circulate the bar, pouring 50-100 ml into each persons glass from their personal bottle. Can’t imagine that working in the UK! Along with that they eat the driest blue cheese in the world. It is so dry that just one bite can remove all the saliva in your mouth. The combination with the cider, though, is magical and they complement each other perfectly. I am not a fan of cider in general (too much in too short a span of time in my 1st year university Oct 1991 to June 1992) but it really was a delicious combination.
The next place we found ourselves in was Santillana del Mar, in Cantabria. This well preserved medieval village was slightly inland and was selected as a place to stay as it looked quite pretty and the camp was very close to the village. The campsite, although not full, was uncharacteristically busy but this fact initally passed us by. It was my birthday on the day that we arrived here but unfortunately I was feeling unwell and very ‘digestively upset’ (probably due to something I had eaten the evening before but I could blame the cider…!) This, along with with enduring gale force winds, was one of my most challenging days of the trip. I shan’t go into the intracies and the limitations camping toilets. I spent the day wrapped up in a blanket on my sofa, accepting medicinal cups of tea from my nursemaid whilst fielding birthday calls and messages. Much Netflix was watched and by the end of the day I was feeling 50% better.
The peace and quiet of the next morning was rudely disturbed at dawn (8am) by a series of sporadic loud explosions. What was this? Deliquent youths getting rid of their New Years Eve fireworks? But hmmm? Deliquent youths aren’t usually up and about so early. I Googled the matter. It seems that we had stubbled on something, again completely by accident. Although Christmas Day is fairly low key in Spain, it seems that the 5th Jan is a bloody big deal. This is ‘El Día de Reyes’ or Three Kings Day. The day is spent in preparation for a big festival and parade in the evening, with effigies of the Three Kings being mounted on floats or carried through the streets. Large crowds come out and celebrate, with a special round cake containing a hidden suprise being traditionally served. Sweets are thrown to the children and there is much excitement. It is this evening when gifts are exchanged and then the 6th Jan, or Epiphany, is celebrated quietly as a family holiday. It transpired, according to my Google investigations, that although the biggest parades are in the big cities around the country, there are some excellent and noteable parades in some of the smaller towns and villages. Top of that list? Yup. Santillana del Mar. No wonder the campsite was a bit busier! By the evening I was feeling much better and we went out to investigate. Here they tell the ‘Story of Christmas’ by way of a walking play, where scenes are played out by costumed actors in various scenic locations in and around the very beautiful streets of the village. The crowd follows the action, itself becoming the parade for the inital part of the celebrations.
Later there were some firework flurries, interdispersed with announcements and proclimations over the public address system, none of which we could understand, of course. We stood amongst the masses, all in good spirits, all responsibly and politely drinking small beers and wines on the streets and in the square. (It’s rare to see public drunkeness in Spain). Nick had a few beers, but I didn’t feel like it. What I did have the taste for was churros and hot chocolate, which was delicious and perfect for the moment.
In true Spanish style the parade proper wasn’t scheduled until ‘later’ and we had no idea what time that might be. It was by now 9pm and there was no sign of it. More rain was imminant and it was cold. I was flagging. We headed home having had a lovely few hours and not too sad to be missing the main event. Ten minutes later is started pouring and didn’t stop for 36 hours. Good decision by us.
After another day of looking at, and listening to, the rain (and bouts of hail) out of the window we headed off. Nick had heard about a place in the hills near the village of Galdames in Basque Country where a chap who lives in Concejuelo Castle on a hill has an impressive private Rolls Royce collection. It is reportedly the only complete collection in Europe of all the Rolls Royce models manufactured between 1910 and 1990, as well as dozens of other classic cars. It is housed in several outbuildings on his property and is open to the public every Sunday and public holiday. We had timed the journey to be here on a Sunday, and set off into the hills to find it. We knew where the castle was, but we approached it from the wrong direction and the roads weren’t passable for us, so we had to ars* about for a bit to find the right road, which was still awful. Finally, after much swearing (not by me) about the poor navigation (apparently by me), we arrived and went in. For a private collection it was pretty amazing. We ooh-ed and aah-ed, agreed it had definitely been worth the stress of getting there, and left by the correct route.
We had one more solo camping experience in a non-descript town in a steep sided valley called Balmesada which actually was quite pretty. It sat on the banks of a river, which after all the recent rain, was a raging torrent. Our camp was a dedicated municipal campervan park in the shadow of a newly built, large and imposing Old Age Care facility. Not the prettiest building, but at least the neighbours were quiet. The park was electronically controlled with a barrier and cost the outrageous sum of €2. No wonder everyone else was boycotting it. Far too expensive!
Next stop, Bilbao. We love being able to stop within striking distance of a world renown city, whether that be on foot, by bike or on a bus. Bilbao didn’t disappoint. Our options for camping close to the city were limited, but we found quite a spectacular spot. It was high on the hill to the west of the city and had the most amazing view down onto the centre.
It was an easy, gravity powered walk into the city, down a rabbit warren of steps through a residential neighbourhood, and there was a regular bus service to get us home. We, of course, had plans to visit the Guggenheim and had luckily been organised enough to pre-book our entry tickets a few weeks earlier. We spent some shoe-leather here too, exploring front streets, back streets, the riverside walk, the funnicular up the hill on the opposite side of the city, and down again.
One evening we treated ourselves to one last nice meal in a restaurant called Victor Montes, where allegedly Ernest Hemmingway had eaten once, (that chap really got around) and on the other evening we found a welcoming and cozy bar where we had enough plates pintxos to warrant it being called a dinner – which is not really what it’s designed for.
Of course the jewel in Bilbao’s crown is the Guggenheim. One could forget that it was actually built to house modern art collections, as it really is the most spectacular piece of art in its own right. Its shape and form change as you walk around it and its surface changes as the sun appears or disappears from the clouds. It is a marvel. As with most modern art galleries, Nick and I are not shy in mocking/critiquing pieces we perceive as lame, or giggling at the pretentious, self-important description cards that are mostly word salads. There was a good Picasso exhibition and an amazing installation of massive, weathered steel pieces called Matter of Time by Richard Serra which must be permenant because there is no way they’re coming out of there!
Bilbao was our final stop and a great place to finish this trip. After two nights here we retraced our steps to Santander to catch our ferry to the UK. We had a quick stop in Lidl again to stock up on vermouth, the small cans of olives with the anchovies stuffed into them and Serrano ham and then headed to the port. Here was the first test of our New Zealand passports giving us extended time in Europe over and above our 90 day Schengen allowance. We had been in Europe for 112 days. I was armed with a copy of the paperwork in both Spanish and in English, an acurrate record of our dates in each country, and proof by way of bank transaction statements. Not an eyebrow was raised nor a question asked. Our border officer just stamped our passports and waived us through. Easy as that.
Our crossing was 29 hours across the Bay of Biscay in stormy January. I don’t sail well. I love the sea, but it hates me. I was prepared for it to be awful. We had booked an outside cabin so I could see the horizon. I had purchased some sea sickness tablets (which turned out to be medicated chewing gum – perhaps Google translate didn’t work as well as I’d thought) and I avoided having an alcoholic drink at dinner. In the end it was bizarrely flat calm and I felt perfectly fine. The ferry was brand new and only one third full. It had a lovely top sundeck but an icy wind precluded any significant perambulations. We amused ourselves with a few meals, watching our individual downloaded movies and sleep. It was a very civilised way get back to the UK. Until we got back to the UK, that is. It took an hour and a half to disembark and get through immigration at Portsmouth. Every van and camper was having to open up and be checked for stowaways. Border Force obviously don’t think you can stuff a few illegal immigrants into the back of a Range Rover. We finally got underway at 10.30pm and decided to make a push for my parents’ house. Many road closures and diversions later we finally rolled onto their place at 3am, where we crashed (in a sleep way, not a collision way). We had made it.
Our first trip in Davide had been a success. It is hard not to compare Davide and Europe to Big Dave and Tin Can in the USA. What Europe lacks in its wilderness and epic roads it makes up for with its history, ancient buildings and the quality of its food. Travelling in Davide felt easier, but we had exchanged certain compromises for others. We learnt our own work arounds to these as we met them. We did far more ‘free camping’ and campsites were alot cheaper in Europe, but the facilities were far more basic. Language is always going to be an issue when travelling. I tried hard to learn some basic Portuguese and Spanish to add to my moderate French, but its never the same as being able to communicate in a mother tongue. Even if our ‘English’ can sometimes feel quite removed from ‘American’
So now, after three and a half months of catching up with family and friends in the UK and Australia we are just about to set off again. Spring nearly feels like it has struggled into being and Davide is being repacked and readied to hit the road.
My Dad and Step-Mum, Tina need an honorable mention as they continue to provide us with a base to call home. We could not continue to live our current life without their gracious, and oftentimes bemused, support. We intermittantly occupy space in their home and their lives and we are eternally grateful for putting up with us.
Tin Can Travels will continue, hopefully in a more contemporaneous fashion, during our next adventure. Coming soon!