Sevilla by Day

After a good nights rest, I spent a good amount of time this morning researching two of the many traditions that characterise Spain and especially Andalucia. Flamenco Guitar and Dance, and Tapas. Thanks to mainly TripAdvisor and Lonely Planet's websites along with some general surfing of the internet, I easily created a list of places for reconnaissance also making sure I took full advantage of this beautiful city while I wandered.

I set off weaving through the very clean, rabbit's warren of narrow, cobbled streets that are home to many small bars and restaurants and soon find myself in the canvas-covered, shopping district of Sevilla.
As everywhere in Europe literally every shop has sale banners (in Sevilla's case "rabajas") all over their windows describing the huge discounts that are available inside. I look to take advantage of prices myself as I could do with a pair of hole-free jeans and they are plentiful at 25 Euros. The main problem being they all seem to have a 34 inch inside leg as standard which is a little surprising as I feel quite tall in Spain even without my Cuban heels. I resist the jean need even though I have a sewing kit with me and continue to tick-off the tapas bars on my list as I flat-shoe stroll through the attractive old town.

As I walk in a very likely, ever-widening circle, I open into the tree-lined Avenue Carlos III and take the vine covered walk-way that separates the massive boulevard from the river.

I take my second cafe-con-leche of the morning.
As I sip, I notice the 'El Patio Sevillano' across the street, advertising 'Flamenco Clasico' and immediately inquire. El Patio was established over 60 years ago and its professional, classical guitarists and dancers will play two one and a half hour performances this evening, the first starting at 7pm.
Excellent ... I have found exactly what I was looking for and all I need now is the perfect tapas bar to follow.

I had already marked a couple of maybe's on my tapas list but as I approached 'El Rinconcillo' located on a corner in the back streets, I could feel the tapas-vibe I was looking for from 50 metres away.
I must have walked 3 to 4 kilometres by this point but when I entered the ceramic and wood clad bar, it was worth every hot-cobbled centimetre. The thankfully, air-conditioned enclave was full of chatty locals which makes it all the more perfect as I quickly realised that I was the only foreigner in the place, although the rapid, Spanish firing verbels emanating from the barman suggested he too thinks I'm a local. A common problem I encounter all over Europe especially after 5 sun-bathing days. The first small beer doesn't touch the sides and after the barman adds the cost of my second beer, with chalk,on the well-worn, wooden bar, I manage to establish from him that the place will be open well into the early hours. It simply could not be better and I am really looking forward to my flamenco-filled return.

I'm back at the hotel now and will end this missive so I can catch a two hour siesta before what is likely to be a late one in English terms. Hopefully, I'll have time before check-out tomorrow to share my Sevillian entertainment experience.

Ta ta for now xc

Locked and Left

After 5 days of absorbing sun and booze, the party packed its suitcases with the inevitable knowledge that fun things have to end at sometime and by 11 o'clock this morning, I had fondly waved goodbye to the final, friend-filled airport taxi. As the last to leave, I closed and shuttered the windows of the villa with the now sun-banished, dark rooms leaving me a little deflated. I locked the front door to return the keys, the sound of the lock echoing around the quiet void of the foyer. It was a proper treat and a truly fabulous time, full of laughter and the finest banter that can only be achieved in the company of long-standing friends. Thank you Mark, a 50th not to be forgotten!

The bike loaded, although this time with a few extra kilograms of party leftovers, I freewheeled down the long, steep, off-white cobbled driveway; destination Seville, Spain. An hour into the journey had me feeling very tired, the obvious side-effect of 5 days of fun and having  finger-tipped my usual "Avoid Motorways" SatNav instruction, I was being reliably informed of the three and a half hours still to go. I gave in and asked for "Fastest Route" which had me in the centre of Spain's fourth largest city in under two hours.



I have never been to Seville before but I'm so glad I have had the chance as, so far, it is very impressive. Probably the Andalucian Region's finest city, Seville has many long and wide, tree-lined boulevards that divide a maze of narrow, cobbled streets and hidden squares. The grand buildings are both varied and magnificent which, according to my readings, have Roman, Islamic, Gothic, Rennaisance and baroque heritage. (Photos borrowed from the internet)


Whilst riding around one of the largest old town's of any European city I've visited, I'm sure, on occasion, I was a two-wheeled 'pedestrian-only' given the odd looks I was getting from the many coachmen with their coach and horses, waiting patiently for tourists.
I was still tired so pulled up to enjoy a large cafe-con-leche in a cafe that had a network of small tubes spraying water mist from under each umbrella; a welcome respite in the 35-degree city heat. I used this opportunity to iPhone-search accommodation and very easily found a cobbled-street located, small, typically Andalucian-styled hotel with secure underground parking. After 3 trips back-and-fore to my now checked-in and parked motorbike, I realised I was frankly, ready for bed but I desperately want to enjoy a lazy evening of tapas and local wine.Got it! Stay two nights, you have the time.A quick call to reception had an extension easily arranged so I can spend the rest of today recovering then the whole of tomorrow to consume this glorious city with a long, slow, tapas finale. Perfect.
I shall report on my Seville sensations once experienced but in the meantime I hope you are enjoying the sunshine back home (sorry, couldn't resist that one). Oh and mother, turn the heating off, it's bloody July!
Buenos dias xc

Park Up And Party

I last talked to you from a roadside hotel having just completed 650 kms of wind-battering, motorway riding. A somewhat plastic hotel breakfast had me back on the relentless tarmac of the A62 which led me straight into Portugal withing the hour. Besides the immediate and obvious difference that transforms the flat open plains of central Spain to the rolling, substantially greener hills of Portugal, my introduction to this Atlantic-exposed country was the tuneful hooting and enthusiastic thumbs-up from a BMW driving, young driver who seemed very excited that I was riding in his national lands. This was followed by an overly persistent, large man trying to sell me an iPhone 4 while I was filling up at a motorway service station; he finally understood my unwillingness to buy at my 11th and slightly louder "No!"

Covering 500 kms in very good time, I arrived in Cascais on the coast, west of Lisbon, at 3pm where I met up with an old workmate who has been living there for some years. I have been to Cascais a couple of times previously and it was really terrific to be back as it is a marvelous place; spacious, marsh-mallow cobbled streets and pavements, excellent fish restaurants and the clear-skied heat of the sun lessened by the constant ocean breeze. An extremely pleasant evening in my friend's newly acquired town-centre restaurant had me cheering my decision to break up my journey to the South with this stop-over and a pleasure to experience, once again, the warmth and friendliness of the Portuguese.

After catching some fish for the restaurant at the local market, I was back on the road heading south again, on the final pre-party leg of my trip.

An easy run and I arrive at the villa about 4pm ... a huge place, already full of 10 people (5 couples), all long-standing friends of the birthday boy.
A warm and cheery welcome was soon followed by a well-earned dip in the pool where I could have stayed for a week.

I will be here until Thursday so won't be blogging as I also know all these wonderful people very well and have done so for many years. Once this party starts, it will not stop. Oh, here's the jolly gang ...

Biker Brunch

Glorious sunshine, bright blue Atlantic, rock music bellowing from the roadside, solar-panelled van, chilli-dog, extra chilli, America's finest canned drink ... A proper touring biker brunch ... Aye thang yaw!






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Location:Cascais, Portugal

Hola ...

My apologies as I'm nearly two days behind but I will attempt to catch up right now...
So I left you in my previous blog with my au revoir to the lovely family on the farm to the south of Nantes. It was 9.30am or so and beautiful day was ahead. Temperatures started at 28 degrees and by the time I had reached Bordeaux (via La Rochelle) at about 3pm, it was a steaming 37 degrees! The day was full of charm and beauty that commenced with La Rochelle as mentioned, followed by a glorious ride through remote countryside from Hiers-Brouage, a 16th Century walled town, to the Gironde Estuary. The area was cluttered with Oyster and Mussel Farms cultivating their slippery beauties in the plentiful, natural waters and the air was spiced with their sea-salt aroma. I passed many a roadside stall and small village restaurants advertising this local produce at increasingly competitive prices and even now don't understand why I didn't stop for a decadent dozen.
Anyway, I arrived in Bordeaux an hour or so later and decided against stopping for yet another cup of consistently perfect French coffee but instead headed for the coast ... Mimizan,to be precise. Why? Because the name seemed to stand out as I scanned the map.

Mimizan, was a classic, pine-enveloped, coastal small town with a campsite set amongst the trees, exactly what I was looking for and within the hour (having already purchased provisions en route) I was pitched and ready for supper.
My experiences of travelling alone are that you are often not alone as there is always a friendly someone, as per the evening before and last night was no exception.
Idris (sorry if I have spelled your name wrong) was tented in the adjacent pitch and was there to work his summer holidays before his final year of IT study.
It wasn't long before we were sharing cigarettes and wine, discussing  French politics, the meaning of life and as it got dark, generally flailing our arms in a Tourettes fashion fending off the invasion of mosquitoes. Then, without warning, the air changed from completely stagnant to a fierce wind, which reminded me of Romania and those very hot, dry days dissected by stormy nights. With this in mind, I suggested we call it a night and as I packed the last item away, a flash of light and crack of thunder confirmed the change of weather to come. And come it did ... It was so loud inside the tent that I recorded the rain on my phone but I can't find a way to load a file that isn't a pic or a video. Anyway, it was weirdly yet wonderfully comforting and cozy in the tent with all that lashing loudness outside.
The next morning, I thought I'd woken in the England I'd just left; cloud-clad sky and the temperature had literally halved overnight, 18 degrees at best! Idris had already gone to work for a 6.30am start so I missed that au-revoir, frankly, the whole campsite was pretty quite and empty anyway. From what I have witnessed on my travels so far, tourism is definitely down from last year. One owner of a previous lodging I stayed in said his bookings were down 40%!
I set off and decided to hug the coast toward Biarritz, a firm favourite of mine due to previous visits but as I scanned maps on a coffee break about half way there I realised two things ... Firstly, it was Thursday and secondly I was still a long way from my destination in the Portuguese Algarve.
What I haven't mentioned yet is that this trip, at least initially, has a purpose and that is to join a very good friend and his small group of guests, at a villa he has rented for a week, to celebrate his 50th year. They all start gathering from tomorrow (Friday) and I've quite obviously been in a relaxed, touring mindset. So down went the espresso in one gulp, I entered my final destination in the SatNav and then hit 'Fastest Route'. Yup over 1,300 kms to go, so off I went. Within 10 minutes I was on a motorway which became my rolling home for the next 8 hours. Over 650 kilometers later and 100 kilometres short of the Portuguese border, the only thing I've seen in Spain has been petrol stations and toll booths. No worries, I'll have time after the celebrations. Besides, the weather was cloudy in France, fog bound in the Pyrenees and it wasn't until 200 kms into Spain that the eventual sun drove temperatures back to the expected norm for this time of year (mid-30's).

So no good stories for you I'm afraid and as I've still got some 700 kms to go, it's all going to be 'autovia' i.e. boring.
Oh and before I forget, a little vignette ... had a great, gesturing conversation today with a sweaty, bearded, middle-aged, Spanish petrol attendant, fag hanging out the corner of his mouth (in the parking area at this point) who was pointing to all the flags stuck on the bike of  the various countries I've visited and after realising that I was riding on my own ... slapped one hand on his forehead, the other firmly grabs his balls, Michael Jackson stylie and he shouts "grandé, non!" Funny guy, loved him ... yet another great character on the road.


OK, gone mid-night by a margin again, buenos noches xc

Filling-In

So to fill in before my last missive depicting the delights of coffee-sipping in La Rochelle today, I decided after a lay-in yesterday, to wander the centre-ville of a rather splendid Nantes so I loaded the bike ready for take-off upon my return and left it in the very secure hotel car park. Returning to said parking following an impromptu poisson luncheon and nonchalant, cobbled meandering, I changed into my leathers, hopped on the bike and proceeded in an orderly manner to the exit barrier thinking an approach is all that is needed to raise the barrier. Non! "Insert la clef, s'il vous plait". But my room key (plastic card) didn't work! Well it was now 5pm and was obviously deactivated. Not wishing to return to the hotel reception and pay another 12 Euros, I looked for a Plan B. Ah! Fire Exit! But a traverse of 5 or so small concrete steps was between me and the wide outside ... hmmm ... well if Evil Knievel can do 5 London Buses, I'm sure my BMW Beast can do 5 steps. So. Wedged open the door, short run-up (that's all I had), stood up on the pegs in a MotoX stylie, then dugga-dugga-dugga-dugga-dugga ... up and out. Ta da. Went sooooo much better than I thought, I knew I shouldn't have turned down that part in the Italian Job!

About 150 kms later, it was 7.30pm and I needed somewhere to stay. "Chambres d'Hotes" said the sign and a sharp a-gauche onto farm-track lane took me to a farm. Funny that!
Bloody deserted. I knocked doors, rang bells, nothing.



Then a car pulled up, two ladies appeared but they were guests not patrons. Clio, as I was to later find out, very helpfully, phoned Le Patron and got me sorted with a split-level room in rustic splendour. Fabulously rural, fabulously French.
To cut a longer story short as this blog is growing to big, it's 1.30am and I'm fatigue'd. Arm-filled with bottle, baguette and accompaniments i adjourned to a late sun-ladened jardin and while de-corking Clio approached with an invitation to join them. "Mais oui".
Smatterings of English, French and Italian pleasantly ate up the hours into darkness with Alexandra and Clio; both are involved in the restoration of a near-by cathedral. Fascinating, friendly, charming and pissed.

I had breakfast with the whole family of the house this morning, three generations of them, all so wonderfully welcoming and warm; even to the point of a family ensemble, drive-way au-revoir. Such nice people.

I'll leave it there for now; more about today tomorrow although it is already tomorrow. Hope you slept well. Bon nuit xc

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Location:Mimizam, France

28 Degrees

Oooooh yesh .... I am replete on a feast of sunshine and lashings of open road. This is what I came for; long may it continue.
I will talk of my delightful night's stay later but just a quickie for now to share the glory of La Rochelle's harbour. Esspresso avec ciggy while mapping my journey south ... I shall take the coast road ... Parfait!
I leave you with my current visage ...



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Back On The Road ...

Helloooo, remember that summary of last year's trip that I was going to do... well ... it was a 'promise' with all good intention but here I am, more than a year later and yes, I didn't get round to it. Shame really as there were lots of stories that I missed out in my 'reportings' but those of you that have done blogs, know the effort and time that they take!
Anyway, enough excuses, what's more fun, at least for me, is that I'm back on the road ... yippee, wrapped in large dollops of hoorah's ... quick segue about hoorah's ... me, I'm a horrah kinda guy but many will spell it hurrah which I note the spell check only question's the former ... well, bollox (spell check that you annoying laptop thingy), it's hoorah for me. I find the pursing of the lip formation while executing the sound far more pleasing, so there, but do carry on hurrahing after the "hip pip". Struth, I really can prattle on about nothing and it's only been 3 glasses ... you still reading or gone to make a cup of tea.
Where was I ... oh yes ... ferry from Portsmouth at 8.15 this morning, destination Caen. Full of more kids than primary school. I really had forgotten how much noise a herd of junevilles (as my mate calls them) can make; I AM getting old! Even on deck where I sneaked out for a ciggy, the sound of lashings seas, Atlantic winds, squabbling seagulls and the infinite-horsepowering drone of  colossal ferry engines, were but a semi-demi-tone on the volume of "Like, One Direction are sooo much better than JLS"!
I know, I'll go watch a movie ... "Bonjour, excuse-moi madam", started well, "what movies you playin'?", poor finish. Ah, ticket for Herge's Adventures of TinTin ... Spielberg and Best Animation, excellent! Snuggled down in reclining bliss when KAPOW! Literally, 2 mins into the movie the herd descend like Wildebeest with bags of sweets that were wrapped in firecrackers! I felt a "BE QUIET" coming on but their teacher beat me to it. Wasn't that bad really but when we arrived at port, I rode off the ferry pretty sharpish before they did a kid-count on the coach (just kidding ... no pun intended).

So headed South toward my first stop in Nantes and the hope of better weather ... well you would have thought so ... I'd been heading directly towards the equator for 4 hours and it was still f**king raining. Began to feel like that character in the old Peanuts cartoon strip that always had a rain cloud above his head!

I've just read what I've type and it sounds like I'm off to a terribly miserable start but in truth it's absolutely not the case ... I'm totally chilled and back doing what I love most ... will leave it there for now but I will do my best to keep y'all up-to-date. Bonsoiree x

PS Clepto, if you're reading this, massive big-up on your European Tour and I hope to catch up with you somewhere in this Continent in the next few weeks ... CHARGE!

As Simon & Garfunkel sang ...

I am, without question, "Homeward Bound" ... I've booked the Euro Tunnel; that, in its self, as if I needed reminding, is the final acknowledgement that my trip is over. Although as you have probably noticed from the general mood of my blogs and the distance between them recently, that ever since turning around from Romania and the realisation that my quest had quested, a certain amount of wind has been taken from my sails.
This travelling, this exploring, really started to come into it's own once I had passed what we commonly accept as Western World civilisation but it is the 'yet to get there' countries that had the most fascination for me. As someone has already suggested and brilliant with it, that my starting point the next time should not be the UK but somewhere far and then journey back. Like China, South Africa, India or Rio Grande (that's not the one in America but the real one at the southern tip of South America).

So I last left you with my German sausage on Monday night and followed it by spending all of Tuesday basking in the expected, 30 degreeC, cloud free heat, by the lake which enticed me with a couple of cooling dips during the day. The sunbathing was made all the more bearable by Marcus du Sautouy's BBC Radio 4 podcasts of a 'History of Mathematics'; all 10 episodes. I know it may sound bizarre too many but maths really does it for me.
Wednesday morning's internet research had me heading in a south-westerly direction towards Dijon as it seemed a better forecast for the next day or two. It was near 800 kms to Dijon and unlikely that I would get there before nightfall but head in that direction I did. Sun at first all the way to Munchen, where I had a munch, but as I left the big city, I could see the grey horizon did not hold a good message and indeed the clouds split, letting all beneath know of their full contents. I was prepared, so not disheartened, but simply plowed on with my mission of the day to cross the border into France.
It rained all the way. It seemed never ending. How far was France? Then. without warning other than a sign showing French speed limits, I was there and not a moment too soon as I had done over 500 kms at this point and was saddle sore.
Fifty k's later and the 'Le Cheval Blanc' restaurant sign 'avec chambres' had me swerving 'a gauche' to simultaneously satisfy my hunger and tiredness, in that order. Nothing to report other than an extremely good meal and good night's sleep, oh and a peace and quiet, and I mean quiet, not a sound, from these tiny, remote, French villages. Quite harmoniously wonderful.
Having made the decision that I don't want to ride the full 800 plus kilometres to Calais, I book a Premier Classe (French equivalent to Premier Inn), in the vicinity of Reims, about half way. As I leave the room, the very attractive French weather lady, tells me there are storms, sun, rain, fog, hail, drought coming ... drool ... was she talking ... anyway, I set off for what turned out to be a perfect day. Motorcycle, sunny and dry, jeans, mountains, winding roads, charming coffee-shop stops and twice as much time as I need. Yes, that's a perfect day and a sweet finish to the trip. I was in the zone.
I'm back in the hotel now after an evening of contrasts viz staying in the infamous champagne region, a gastronomic centre in its own right, having just finished the 8 Euro All-You-You-Can-Eat buffet at Fujim, the local Chinese restaurant. E voila!

With a slightly sad heart, I head for Calais and the train tomorrow but the journey has been fantastic and provided experiences that I shall hold dear and never forget, but I did first write the word 'epic' but changed it to 'fantastic'. Why? Because, it's not over; when it is, I will know and then it will deserve the word 'epic'.

I will do a summary in the next few days, in the meantime, thank you for following and although it was impossible to mention everything, I hope I shared enough to give you a flavour of my experience because an experience it certainly was.

Life and it's people are beautiful .... Thank you for reading.

The Incomplete Nomad On Two Wheels x

Lake Chiemsee

Lake Chiemsee, that's where I am, about half way between Munich and Salzburg and where I took that last sunset picture. The day started overcast but turn into sunbathing rays by lunchtime and the forecast for tomorrow is excellent.

The minute I entered Germany, it was, as you would expect, pristine. Everything works, the roads are smooth, sign posts galore and clean.
I ride the back-roads which isn't easy here as the country is literally criss-crossed with motorways, it is an incredible infrastructure but it's real Germany I'm after.
Although the butt-end of German humour, Bavaria is very attractive; country roads are scenically delightful and the villages are cleanly manicured with every windowsill and balcony adorned with colour. I slightly find it all a little too precise, a bit Stepford (if you've seen the movie Stepford Wives), somewhat personified by the biker's who mutually frequent the pub I visit opposite the campsite. Squeeky-clean, sparkling motorcycles straddled by riders in blemish-free, wrinkle-free leathers that must have wondered who is this, slashed-jeaned, dirty-jacketed, un-shaven rider on his off-road muddied, sticker-covered, fully laden R1200. Do they ask, no, but I do my usual "guten-tag" as I pass and order my pint. Not that this is a fair experiment, but I have had no confrontations at all, anywhere on my journey, until here; "You can't park there" said one on the first day, not that I was blocking anything and a kid, about 7 or 8 years old, who called me a "dummkopf" because I couldn't speak German. His mother was rather embarrassed but I joked it off. Germans outside Germany are a lot more friendly, I know, I've had the pleasure of meeting them.

I took a stroll around the lake today and came across a vintage car works with quite a few classics including this fully restored, wooden framed, Morris Minor Traveller and they only wanted 12,000 Euros for it. That sounds cheap to me. Maybe it didn't have an engine. Still cheap and bloody tempting. The bike costs more than that! Whatever, she was a beauty and in deep, rich green too.
"SOLD" to the scruffy Brit .... no I didn't.

Oh, managed to convince the jolly camp commandant (should I say that) to let me have electricity in the tent which does look very odd I must say. A large-diameter, electrical cable that disappears into the front flap of the tent, must look like I'm powering a gin distillery or a marijuana plantation; just want power for my laptop and phone, honest.

Anyway, am in said earlier pub and just finished a curry-covered sausage that's longer than your arm and I'm consequently, properly stuffed. Basking in evening sunshine, I think a coffee and sticky are in order ...

ta ta x