This is it, our last day in Europe. We have now exhausted our 90 day window and must escape back to Blighty pending the next part of our trip. We figured the best plan would be to get as close as we could to the ferry port of Santander, and managed to find a campsite just 15 minutes away.
On the way we stopped into a services for lunch, and it occurred to me while writing this post that I believe I have neglected to ever talk about the brilliant Spanish roadside services. There are very few motorway service stations in Spain, and by that I mean service stations that are immediately on the side of the road like we are used to in the UK. They just don’t do it, they’re always a couple of kilometres off the road, normally in a small town or village. This normally means that you don’t get rubbish overpriced petrol station food from the big chains like you do in the UK. No, instead you invariably find a proper independent restaurant stuffed to the gills with passing truckers and locals in the know. To be honest they’re never normally too visually appealing, more of a spit and sawdust kinda deal. But don’t judge them on their lack of interior design and hicks-ville vibes because they are always welcoming (despite the initial slack-jawed stares that I seem to get everywhere anyway) and the food is always hearty and well cooked. They always provide a “menu” of three courses including a drink and coffee as well, and normally for a ridiculously affordable price of around 12 euros. The most expensive we found was 15 euros, but the cheapest and best was just 10! There is normally also a “menu infantil” on offer for the kids. There might not be much choice (Spanish kids are not normally too fussy) but breaded chicken, sausages and croquettes are the staples. Don’t forget that this is Spain, and you won’t normally get lunch before about 2pm, so keep driving until then and you’ll be well looked after!
We arrive at the campsite which is a sea of British number plates, so I guess it’s a well known dropping off point. It’s also only 100 metres away from a beach, and we thought that we might be able to squeeze in one last swim, between cramming in some school work obviously. Unfortunately, the weather had other plans however. As we arrived the wind was picking up, and that night was the windiest and coldest we have experienced in the last three months with wind speeds of 50mph. I am very glad that we hadn’t booked the crossing that left on Monday , it must have been awful in the Bay of Biscay that night! So swimming was off the cards, but we did manage to squeeze in two days worth of school work as well as having a walk around the bleak but beautiful Isla De La Virgen Del Mar. This rocky outcrop is an island at high tide joined to the mainland by a small bridge, but at low tide it is joined by a long beach. We visited at high tide and the sea was impressive to say the least. It was a great place to just sit and watch the powerful 30ft waves crashing against the cliffs, making us glad once again we were here and not on the previous ferry.
We also had a chance here for Kate to finally try to harvest the seas of pampas grass she has been coveting for weeks now. This invasive species of grassy weed blankets the landscape in northern Spain, after having been mistakenly introduced from South America in the 50s in the imported grains. The dried versions of the seed pods are, however, currently extremely fashionable and rather expensive in the UK. Apparently, gone are the days when the presence of this particular grass on one’s doorstep only symbolised nefarious key-swapping parties were happening within! It is now bona-fide interior design.
We boarded our ferry the next day at 2pm Spanish time knowing full well that we wouldn’t be reaching British shores until 8pm British time the following day. That’s a full 31 hours at the mercy of the notoriously rough Bay of Biscay. Christ, what had we let ourselves in for? I had made the fatal mistake of searching for reviews from previous travellers, and found that the majority of these reviews displayed a similar theme of regret running through them! Ah well, how bad could it be?
The Galicia, our ship for the crossing, had loads on board to keep us occupied on the crossing. We had a decent 4 berth cabin with video on demand, there’s a kids TV room, 2 restaurants, a play park on the top deck, all we had to do was avoid the dreaded sea sickness. If anyone was gonna have a bad time here it was Bam. Bam is always the one who ends up throwing up in the van (have a look at the Tuscany blog post), so I was guessing big seas were not going to be Bams friend.
We once again wanted to squeeze in a fair bit of school, three days worth to be precise. Then we wouldn’t have to do any more until we touch down in St. Lucia next week, and we can just spend the weekend in England catching up with friends and chores. So we had a decent two course lunch in the on board restaurant (very well priced, but perhaps a misguided idea considering the state of the seas ahead) and started lesson number one. But it seemed Poseidon had made a bee-line for us immediately and Bam was struggling already. One tactical vomit later, and with the help of some expertly placed anti-sickness armbands she eventually managed to make it through day one. Just. Whilst I was in the middle of Hunters English lesson, a slightly muffled message over the ships tannoy system caught my attention as it mentioned a “Mr Russell” and “camping car on deck 5”. Oh crap, what had happened? As I approached the desk to hand myself in, it turned out that there was no less than three Mr Russells with a camping car on deck 5! “Great,” I thought, “it’s not me after all”. Obviously some other poor sap had left their lights on or something. As it transpired the number plate in question was indeed mine, and I was the poor sap in question. It turns out I had somehow neglected to properly apply my handbrake, and the crew had had to put chocks under my wheels to stop it from running way. What an idiot! Never mind, no harm no foul, back to the English lesson.
Our included dinner was a hearty affair as well. Three course dinners are included as standard with the cabin, and I’m not one to not take advantage when food is included! Although I do believe that Bam and Kate saw their dinners again not too long afterwards. They were not alone. The ship was by this point a total vomit fest. The poor chap whose job it was to drag the wet-vac from place to place hoovering up peoples recycled lunch was working overtime. He burst into the restaurant as we were eating dinner (I guess somebody hadn’t managed to finish their meal), and I then saw him again outside as we left, attacking another messy job. I sloped off to use the facilities (I wasn’t allowed to use the one in the cabin!) as the kids returned to the cabin with Kate. As I entered, I almost went head over heels on somebody else’s accident that Mr Wet’n’Dry hadn’t yet reached. Then while I was sat there quietly reading my emails there was a loud crash as the door burst open, immediately followed by the familiar soundtrack of another poor soul’s technicolor yawn in the cubicle next door. A chuckle then rang out from another of the stalls followed by a smug voice stating “I just done the same thing mate!” It seemed everyone was literally in the boat, inviting a certain degree of solidarity. Time to escape this chunder fest and carefully pick my way down the corridor to seek refuge in our cabin. Lying down supposedly helps no end with the motion sickness, so in the cabin we all stayed.
The sea seemed to get worse as the night went on. I regularly woke as the ship rocked up and down the enormous waves, although not feeling queasy, it’s just a strange feeling. Amazingly the kids slept very well.
At about 5am I woke to the sound of my phone ringing. I had received a phone call from the company who look after the tracker on the van. When I was called down to the deck the previous evening to reapply my handbrake I guess I had mistakenly turned the alarm back on. There’s a good reason they tell you to deactivate your alarm on ferry crossings, and this was a case in point. The rough seas had set my alarm off and luckily the tracker had let me know otherwise I’d have ended up with a flat battery the following day. So up I got at 5am, got myself dressed without waking the others and made my way bleary-eyed through the completely deserted ship to the info desk to request permission to access the car deck and turn my alarm off. Lesson learned.
The next day when we woke the seas had finally calmed down as I guessed we were now through the Bay of dismay and entering the English Channel. This was an altogether easier day and we managed to complete all our lessons without anyone feeling sick again.
The ship arrived on time despite the weather and that was it, we were home. Luckily the van still started despite the alarm going off in the night, and bizarrely it still felt normal to drive on the correct side of the road again! So that’s it, three days to recoup, check everything is ok at home, see some friends, unpack the van and pack some suitcases ready to head off again next week. Watch this space for another instalment from the Caribbean soon…