Lame Horse!

Lovely Nicky dropped us off at Bribie Island to collect our new horse. Popped into a local watering hole to kill some time and grab a feed whilst waiting for the sound of hooves.

We had been warned that the suspension had a slight squeak but still excited to get going. The horse duly arrives and its owner asks if we still want to take it with the squeak. Maybe we have a little drive around the block first?
Little squeak? Mice have a little squeak. Kindergartens emit a somewhat more annoying version, but this thing comfortably wins 1st prize! Navigating a roundabout seems to awaken the herd of cats in the back somewhere by spraying them with icy water! Lobbing a speed bump into the equation was equivalent to taking the cat/icy water combo to the afore mentioned kindergarten and stirring until well mixed. Holy shit! The horse owner who was clearly focussed on 6 weeks of rental $$ suggested we could wear earplugs whilst driving. We suggested he could fuck off!
Sadly, that left us back in the watering hole with our suitcases and no horse! Back on the blower to Nicky who took us back to her awesome gaff West of Brisvegas for a debrief and regroup. Fingers crossed we have found a horse with all 4 shoes intact. Heading off to the Sunny Coast for pickup tomorrow!

Giddy up!!!

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Exploration Queensland

Off again. Closer to home this year. Picking up the Mother of all Motorhomes in Bribie Island and heading North.

Not planning on playing games like ‘running with the crocodiles’ or ‘what species is this jellyfish’, but there again who knows?

Off we go again…….

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Off Home

3 months sounds like a long time to be away. 3 months is actually about perfect. Time to allow quality time with those we love, plus equally essential P & J time.

3 months of almost perfect weather, including Scotland! 6 weeks of #Vanlife around Scotland and the Spanish Pyrenees Mountains.

Family time in Essex, London, Croydon, The Canary Islands, Kent and Jersey. A waft down to the West-Country to see our old school and an old school friend of ours.

Managed to avoid the train striking tosspots for a couple of nights with Hells Bells.

Ima dropped me off at Jersey airport for my flight outbound to Southampton, to meet up with Hels Bels for the final part of our holidays. Always wonderful to spend time with Helen, although this was the first time we’d been to stay since John passed away! Good to see her new abode and of course Bear joined us from Kent.

Then, Bang! All over! Coach to the airport.

Could be worse!

Found a dunny with a difference in Singapore Airport! Can’t personally see these appearing in Sydney, any time soon. A selection of buttons to soothe and generally pamper the backside whilst you liberate yourself of 12 hours or so of beverages and nibbles! Never seen a warning on a bog seat before! Apparently improper use of this item can result in a low-grade burn! Have personally had many a burn downstairs, almost always a post vindaloo situation.

Regardless, pressing all of the buttons was fun. Hobbled back to the bar with a wet, and slightly burnt tea towel holder! Large Gin and Tonic please!

Sydney arrives almost too soon, looking forward to a few days R&R before getting back to work.

Again, could be worse 😀

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Jersey

For once, worldwide calendars and busy work schedules locked into synch.  At last after numerous attempts to gather us all together to meet up with my dad in Jersey it actually happened.  We arrived first and my beautiful Ima met us at the airport & drove us back to her house for chats, tea, laughs and very kindly to hand her car over to us for the duration of our stay! 

We then headed over to Dads house, where we would be staying with the family. Over the next 48 hours the kids arrived, Sam and Nic, followed  by Haz.  We were all together again, making a wish of us all being under the same roof, let alone the same country come true.  

Mr T assisted with the depopulation of Jersey lobster stocks for dinner on the Friday night, where he invited Edward and Pam for a lobster feast.  9 lobsters and a couple of punnets of straight from the sea scallops.  Didn’t take long to work out that the scallops weren’t going to cook themselves. Nor, despite their freshness, the lobsters were not going to present themselves in edible format. A few people copped some lobster juice spray whilst these were dealt with by the in house, world travelling Chef Bear!  Plenty of garlic butter later, we were ready for dinner. Yum!

Sloped off to Emma’s the next day for a spot of lunch. Her and Sister, Penny had knocked up the mother of all Paellas. Much fun again! 

Introducing the kids to some of my old haunts and houses was great,  and taking Harri to Grannies Annie’s house and grave site was special!

Janet and David popped over from the UK for a couple of days.

Sadly, all things come to an end. Took the difficult decision to leave JT in Jersey whilst I popped back to Blighty for a bit more time with Mum. Leaving JT sometime with her Dad!  Although that did not quite go plan she gained extra time with her besty! 

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Mum and Roy

Witty words elude me here. We were running out of time, Jax needed time with some old friends so I peeled off to spend a bit more time with Mum. None of us are getting any younger and Oz is a bloody long way away.

Had a wonderful 5 days with Mum and Roy. Jobs completed, fridge and wine cellar depleted!

Love to you both xxx

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Barcelona

Gentle recovery time amongst fire and fiestas. Took some time for a mooch around

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Cerrefoc – Catalan Festival of fire

Holyfuck would be more accurate. What an awesome night to be here. The family event splutters into life at around 6pm whilst the rest of us top up with tapas, essential fluids and fire proof clothing. Thought this might be a cheap option for a haircut and a spot of misbehaviour and checked out the adult version. The raucous noise and fireworks begin further up the street as a ball of flame approaches with alarming speed! This is followed by waves of people dressed as devils and pyromaniacs on board dragons, spraying fire onto anyone stupid enough to attend.

Bloody oath.

Heading off to the blister clinic for sympathy and checking pockets for fireworks before heading to the airport tomorrow!

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España #2 Catalonia

Not keen on returning the horse to Barcelona Airport, so talked her owners into dropping it back on the coast in Catalonia and giving us a cheeky lift into town. There are a couple of routes out of Ainsa. One is described as ’Possibly the greatest motorcycle route ever’. Further research also mentions that some of the tunnels don’t actually have enough room for 2 cars to pass inside. We are no strangers to risk and excitement but fairly keen on seeing our several hundred Euros deposit returned ‘sans haircut’ in a few days time. A quick shoofty at the map and the ever faithful park4night app finds Sant Julià de Vilatorta about 3 hours away.

€3 per night for plug in power, water in/out facilities. Cracking looking medieval town and a heap of awesome walks tick the necessary boxes for a couple of nights. Throw in a bar selling dodgy labelled, but excellent vino and some incredible ale 🍺. Sorted! Two nights here and we are on first name terms with the bar staff so probably time to move on again.

Besalú is another ancient fortress town in this part of the world mentioned by a couple of chaps back in Ainsa. Maps says only about an hour away, bolt all the windows and flappy bits down, off we go. Spectacular tree lined road waves us off. 20 minutes later we have covered about 3 kilometres! The twisty, narrow roads were probably designed for the hoofed variety of horse rather than the rather larger 3.5 tonne, left hand drive example that we currently call home. Happy we emptied all of the smelly fluids before setting off! We finally arrive. The horse parking area here is a dusty, shadeless plot, also being used by coaches to bus in small Armies of similar minded folk. Probably won’t be staying the night here. Clambered past the tour groups waiting for the toy train up the hill and headed into town.

Holy crap again! The way in is over a fortified walkway complete with portcullis and seriously uninviting doors. The tourist shops inside are selling bow and arrow sets next to cross bows, maybe to remind us modern folk of the town’s original purpose. Not sure that Aussie customs would approve of such hardware so wandered past in search of tapas. Found a cheeky little place on the edge of one of market squares inside. Local Catalan Tapas and sangria seemed to fit the bill so we ordered with confidence. Sangria arrived first and any thoughts of the dusty carpark were blissfully rinsed away. ‘Roman squid’ and local anchovies arrived next. In hindsight, the clues were right there! The ocean in this part of the world is certainly NOT local and pretty sure the Roman empire never included frozen/battered squid rings on the legionnaires lunch menu! Anchovies were delicious once you navigated a path past the soggy bread wiped with tomato pips. ’Squid’ was nasty, chewy worm like things in shitty batter. Surely can’t get any worse? Croquettes and jalapeño peppers 🌶 next. Oh dear! Four deep fried turds that needed an axe to access the barely warm insides and a handful non descript blobs of batter/cheese/chilli fresh from the overused deep frier! Foolishly, we scoffed the lot and washed it down with the tasty sangria. The rubbish served up as sea food platter with mounds of deep fried stuff and a few week-old prawns in any RSL would be better than this stuff! Seriously considered shoving a few fingers down our throats to get rid of it. Found a handy gelato stall to see if that would make us feel better. It didn’t, but we happily wandered around this ancient place for an hour so before avoiding the train loads of geriatrics and returning to the dusty carpark. Definitely not staying here tonight.

Sulked in our van for a while whilst scouring the internet for somewhere devoid of dust and deep fryers. A campsite at Sant Llorenç de la Muga looks like it ticks the boxes. Shady plots, 20 mins walk from the nearest small town. Also happens to be yet another ancient fortress town on the bank of a river. Arrived a bit late so plugged the van in, grabbed a head torch and wandered into town. Almost dark when we arrived but hard not to be impressed by ancient water wheels and portcullis guarded entry points. After a few late nights of music and general lack of sleep, it was almost bliss to find the town virtually closed. Closed that is with the exception of a community hall type thing in the main square that served snacks and beverages. Don’t mind if we do, Dos Cervezas por Favor 😀. Headlights on and took the gentle stroll back to camp. Super quiet night although the rock hard bed in our trusty horse is starting to take its toll now, looking forward to a ’real’ bed.

Lazy, late, dippy eggs for brekky. Toast, marmite, filled up the Camelback with a full 3 litres and went off exploring. Apps like Komoot are unlikely to appear on most phones. It’s for idiots like us who decide to wander about without phone reception in the middle of nowhere. Headed up to the watchtower outside town for a shoofty. Perfect idea in the mid afternoon sun! Beginning to understand the whole siesta thing. Utterly cracking view from the top before our electronic guide works her magic with incredible accuracy through forests and back to town.

Two nights here and our Spanish van adventure is coming to an end. The 🐎 lives in Pineda de Mar on the Costa Brava. Birds of a Feather come to mind as we book into a campsite near the beach for our last 2 nights. Not a lot to shout about in Pineda de Mar unless sitting around a pool being entertained by screaming kids and pissed POMs is your bag. Calella is about a half hour walk and looks more hopeful. Oh yes! This is what heaven must look like! Cheese and other yummy stuff is there too. Rude not to.

Sloped off for wood-fired pizza next then a slightly irresponsible midnight hike back home. Quiet night in with pasta and Netflix for our last night before being violently roused at 3.30am by the doof doof set. Van clean and return tomorrow. Barcelona next

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Aires and Graces

No, not a typo!

For a couple of million years, doing one’s business has been the result of an awkward design fault. On day 6, a bloke called God created animals and us. With a world population of 2, and a diet of forbidden fruit, Mr Whippy and his antisocial chums were probably not an issue. Several eons later, there are few more of us. Stir a few chillies and other fun stuff into the mix and God’s day of rest looks more and more like he got on the piss on Saturday night without finalising his design! Samuel Pepys’ messy encounter with his neighbours’ turds revealed a few unpleasant realities. Anyone who has experienced that squidgy feeling between the toes on the beach has been treated to a more modern example.

Fortunately for most of us in the modern world we have a flush and forget system as an add on to our water bills. Sink and shower stuff happily disappear at the pull of a plug. Nastier stuff heads in the same direction via the porcelain U-bend. Problem solved. Living in a motorhome generally has a similar solution. Sink and shower stuff drains into a smelly tank underneath somewhere. Bits and bobs from the small room go straight into a cassette thingy that lives underneath the poor excuse for a dunny. A measure of chemicals keep the niff to a minimum and off you go. We have a self in-forced ban on numbers greater than 1 in close confinement but off roading or any vigorous movement is likely to result in an unfortunate reappearance of fluids. Not recommended!

That brings us to Aires. A legal and sanitary means of dumping waste rather than a larger scale version of taking a shit in the bush. Park the bus over the concrete/drain area signposted Agua Gris, locate the big handle at the back, give it a sharp yank and step swiftly away. The result is a smelly racehorse on steroids as up to 100 litres of fluids that have been quietly festering in 30 degree heat for a few days meet fresh air. Yummy! Emptying the contents of the under khazi cassette into the same open drain is unlikely to make new friends. Agua Negra has its own special spot for emptying. You know its getting a bit full when the toilet paper tickles your arse if you sit down. The cassette thingy lives inside a locked door for some reason. Can’t really imagine these being on the list of things to pinch amongst the local yobs! A few days worth of Number ones is surprisingly hefty. Lug it over to the disposal point, unscrew the cap and off you go. Pressing the anti vacuum button speeds up the process but leaves little margin for error. Feedback in this matter is universally negative! Rinse, shake and repeat a couple of times then find a hose for washing feet!

Job done for another few days!

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España

So, arrivederci Italy. Hola España! Nunca pensé que mi español sería necesario de nuevo! Also, terrified about the possible consequences of driving a 3.5 ton motorhome on the wrong side of the road! Skinny roads in Scotland have heaps of passing spaces. Moving targets such as Sheep and Cows are fair game and tasty. The POMs, Aussies, Cloggies, Frogs, Krauts etc all fall into the same ’sort of welcome’ box in Scotland. Not so much in Spain after Boris and hordes of geriatric voters decided to fuck up the status quo by leaving the EU! Red passport about as welcome here as a Russian oligarch. Also, chuck in the lack of an International Driver Licence and this could be exciting! I always thought that these were something invented by corrupt Balinese cops to extract a few extra bucks from pissed Aussies on scooters. Apparently not! Impossible to comprehend that the NRMA have been granted sole authority and revenue raising rights to issue these things. Digital copy please? No sir, paper only! Not much use when our mailing address is ’No fixed abode’. How the fu(k did an organisation less watertight and older than the ark get awarded that gig?

Anyway, confidence high after returning the Scotland van unscathed, I painted L & R on the back of the opposite hands and ventured into the unknown.

Our new horse arrived at the airport to greet us, together with the owner and her Catalan only speaking boyfriend. This could be fun! An hour or so later and several hundred Euros cash deposit lighter, we get given the keys. Nearly dark now so we point the bus North and head out of Barcelona. Quick stop in a supermarket then happy to discover the trusty park4night app works here. Somehow we woke up next to an olive grove in a national park. No interest in Alicante with associated fish and chip venues, we continue North to the mountains.

A few hours later, my trusty co-pilot parks us again overlooking the Pyrenees and a reservoir. Never too shit to have a chef and handy kitchen in these places!

Off again for a couple of hours before we waft off for a few hours walk in Morillo de Tou then a gentle few k’s to the medieval castle at Ainsa. Holy crap, driving a motorhome up here is stressful enough, can’t imagine trying to get in here wearing a suit of armour whilst the inhabitants are pinging arrows and stuff at you! Just behind the castle, there is a massive carpark. 3 Euros for 24 hours, free ‘water’ emptying facilities for the van and handy toilets for Mr Whippy and his chums! By chance we also landed in the middle of a fiesta, town square heaving with all sorts of market goodies, (Cheese, Jamón ibérico and wine mainly!). Parked up the horse and locked down for a couple of days…

Jaca and Pamplona next…

Took a baby pause to plug the horse into the campsite at Morillo de Tou for the night, shower time for us, battery charge and water for the horse! Some knob called Wim Hof had somehow convinced a hundred or so paying folk to come here from all over the world on the basis of learning how to breathe, then get into a blow up pool full of ice. Not sure what was more silly, the huffing and puffing/dancing abound a few annoying bongo drums or the complete ignorance of such incredible surroundings and a bar! Not for us! Will save the ice for beverages and head off.

Jaca tapped into the map and off we trotted. Slight concerns were aired as we passed a roundabout clearly indicating left! Never mind, map knows best right? Best that is on a motorcycle or something smaller that a Fiat 500. Had to check Jackie into a stress clinic and nearly shaved a few layers of paint off the van as we weaved 100km through some fairly tortuous roads better suited to two or four feet. Worse still, Jaca only has one legal spot for motorhomes, arrived to find it totally full with coppers lurking on all corners to book ’illegal’ vehicles. Didn’t fancy a €200 haircut, so buggered off to a nearby village. 20 mins out of Jaca, we land in Santa Cruz de la Serós. Restaurants and bars all closed here mid afternoon so settled down for the night.

Given the lack of hospitality in Jaca and the probability of running with the rozzers in Pamplona, we binned this idea and headed back to Ainsa. Just in time for another festival! This one kicking off with a band at midnight. What is it with the fish stealers and lack of sleep?

Somewhat sluggish the next morning, we decided that a pizza would help. Just at the same time as a group of a dozen or so musicians came plodding around the square. Each restaurant would put out a few plates of food, wine poury things and beers. The entourage of about 20 children and old people got stuck into the freebies whilst the band smashed out a few folk songs. Also ordered an oven baked, black pudding casserole for fun. I generally thought that a casserole was a soupy number, not here. Had a crack at the wine poury into gob things too.

Local band in the square kicked off about 8.30. Pretty tame, rock/metal mob and thankfully still able to enjoy normal levels of conversation. Early night for us then 😀. Until about midnight that is, when the not so tame, rock/EDM/anything goes mob fire up their speakers. Holy crap! 500m away from ground zero, our bus starts shaking as the limits of the Richter Scale and Medieval foundations of Aínsa Castle are given a 21st Century testing! Eardrum/vibration tolerance test winds down around 5. Won’t be partaking in a third one!
Back at the campsite in Morillo de Tou. We seek medical attention for bleeding ears. Wim and the learn to breathe set have moved on so we book in for a couple of nights RnR.

Spotted this four-legged rug in serious need of a wash and a haircut

Wim’s next set of people paying for how to breathe lessons are arriving, so time for us to move on. Catalonia next…

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