Touring Wild and Remote Spain 2011: 2011

The Tour

At the end of June 2011 I embarked on a rather exciting venture to tour the wild and remote parts of Spain not normally visited by too many tourists. I certainly intended to stay away from tourist resorts and as much of possible the Mediterranean coast.

My very loosely constructed 23 day route plan was to start from my comfortable home in West Sussex, travel via Cherbourg, Biarritz, La Coruna, track back to the Picos de Europa mountains, south via Salamanca and Cordoba to Gibraltar, then return home via Granada and the Sierra Nevada, Cuenca, central Pyrenees, then along the French coast back to Cherbourg, camping all the way.

It wasn't so much about what was at these waypoints but more what was in between.

The focus was finding beautiful, wild, remote, isolated locations in which I could immerse myself and enjoy solitude, nature in the raw, and hopefully spot some rare wildlife such as the brown bear, lynx, eagles and vultures so common in the UK!

Day 1: Cherbourg to Bordeaux

The Brittany Ferries Seacat left Portsmouth at 8:30 am and arrived in Cherbourg at around 11:15 am local time (1 hour ahead in France).

En route I noticed that before we'd lost sight of the Isle of Wight, the Cherbourg Peninsular was just visible on the horizon.

It was a flat calm crossing, under blue skies and all boded well.

As a teenager I'd stayed in the small village of Bricquebec with my family on a couple of occasions. The weather had always seemed hot and sunny on the Cotentin Peninsula then, and today was no exception. I took a slight detour, not having been back there for several decades, and found the small hotel we'd stayed in, now a Bistro Restaurant called La Taverne.

What was a sweeping, raised green in front of the hotel was now a large car park. I recollect, one Saturday, as I peered out from my bedroom window, an old grey Citroen 2CV and trailer pulling up on the road to the other side of the green, immediately opposite. Pigs were unceremoniously wrestled to the ground on the road, had their testicles removed which were thrown and left in the gutter, and the pigs loaded back on board. No pre-med, no anaesthetic, nothing but a knife! Their frantic squeals made me feel particularly squeemish at the time! I've no idea whether it was a vet carrying out the 'operations'. It wouldn't (I don't think) have happened like that at home...would it?!

From Bricquebec I had to put my foot down somewhat if I was going to make any distance today. Somehow on these sort of excursions you develop a rather enclosed, detached mindset. If you were to count the miles you probably wouldn't start. Doing this alone, as opposed to being with my own family, would have probably already raised an 'are we nearly there yet?' by one of my daughters. On this occasion I was a free agent, no responsibilities other that to myself, and no one to bore to death other than myself!

I took the decision that all the beautiful French harbours I was bypassing would be visited on the way back.

I found myself skirting round Bordeaux at around 7 pm after several hours of motorway driving with just one stop. I wasn't too bothered about where I stayed overnight as the journey proper didn't start until I arrived in Spain. However I contemplated Arcachon as a likely possibility. The motorway lead into Acrachon. There were fast BMWs, Mercedes and Porsches passing me at what seemed to be double my speed and I got a bad feeling about going any further. It looked attractive on the map, and relatives had stayed there, but it wasn't what I was looking for even if it was just for one night. So I ploughed on southwards, leaving the motorway and heading towards Mimizan and Leon on a good straight Roman 'B' road.

I passed through dense forests and contemplated a 'wild' camp, but all tracks were either inaccessible by the presence of restrictive notices or just so deeply furrowed and sump crunching that I didn't want to take the risk! I was turning round at one spot and a French car pulled up alongside mine. A rather weather-beaten middle-aged woman got out and asked if I needed any help. I asked if there was a camp site near by and she directed me to a municipal site near Ychoux. She made me repeat (in French) her directions, which I stumbled though as best as I could, and she gave a warm smile in response. It really isn't easy picking up on a language that's lain dormant in some part of your brain since the last visit to France!

I arrived at C. des Forges at around 8:30pm, pitched, enjoyed a quick supper heated up on the Coleman's, and that was the end of my first day. 522 miles logged.

Day 2: Bordeaux to Santander

Waking up the next morning I heard a stream rippling nearby. There was a different aroma to normal. I stirred and orientated myself and realised I was under canvas, in a foreign country, and not at home. Coming out of the confusion I unzipped the tent flap, and saw ahead of me the wooded bank leading to the stream. Everything else was very quiet. I gathered together my bits and pieces and aimed for the shower. Expecting cold or at best tepid water I was delighted to find hot water in abundance! Back to the tent and striking the piezo lit my Coleman F1 Power Stove back in action for boiling water and a large mug of tea. That's when the day really starts!

The route towards Santander was going to be awkward, not being sure whether to avoid the cities en route altogether, or suffer the likely pain of congestion and traffic just to see something of these places. I chose the latter.

I packed up my new Hilleberg Tarra in a few short minutes, enjoyed a quick breakfast of cereals and fruit, and was away by 08:30 am. I wanted to see if there were any more remote spots locally and headed towards Parentis and the nearby Étang de Biscarrosse et de Parentis (southern lake).

Incidentally I bought the Hilleberg Tarra tent especially for this trip in order to allow me to overnight as quickly as possible and 'wild' camp should the opportunity arise. Being green it was very inconspicuous and would entertain any bad weather should that situation arise, if not in Spain at other times in the future.

I enjoyed an espresso outside a little waterside cafe. Afterwards I drove on and stumbled across a quiet spot, a secluded beach and a half sunken wooden dinghy. Something of a Robinson Crusoe setting! Not a soul there!

It was around 10:30 and I thought I'd enjoy the moment, grab my chair and towel and have a sunbathe and swim for an hour. I strode out into the water, and strode, and strode but the water didn't get any deeper! After about 200 yards I was only just about up to my waist so collapsed into the water and stayed there for a good 20 minutes. Bliss!

The trouble when you lay out a plan is you can't stay anywhere for too long. Santander was calling. So everything was packed away and off we went. Biarritz! Queues of traffic, crowds of people, narrow streets...what have I done? Stationary now. Nothing moving. I ended up becoming lost in an attempt at extricating myself and unwittingly found myself driving along the seafront past the Casino then past the absolutely tiny Vieux Port that looked as though it should have been anywhere else but the centre of bustling Biarritz.

Having learnt my mistake it was motorway, regrettably, from here. I didn't leave Biarritz until about 2 pm so a skirt round San Sebastion and Bilbao was the order of the day. The traffic again, even on the motorways, was horrendous, and this was certainly not what I had set out to experience!

After several hours I arrived at a clean but chock-a-block camp site 'Los Molins' just short of Santander, in a small village called Bareyo. Early start I thought! Seemed almost a waste of a day, apart from the morning swim, but had accomplished 252 miles and I was in Cantabria, Spain.

Day 3: Santander to La Coruna

No time to hang around, I was up and away by 7:30 am!

I hoped this was the start when I would begin to see some lovely sights. I was on the southern coast of the Bay of Biscay, a more southern version of Cornwall maybe? But it all just seemed laid aside for tourism, mainly Spanish, with not a UK car in sight.

Anyway, back onto to main N634 coast road I was happy to stop anywhere that seemed worth stopping for. To my left in the far distance I could see one of my main destinations, the Picos De Europa mountain range. That was the home of the almost extinct brown bears, lynx and wolves. It looked stunning but too far away to photograph.

I continued past Villaviciosa and Gijon and Ribadeo. There was the occasional pretty beach that lent itself to a photo:

and then a rustic location for a quick lunch:

a thoroughly delighful spot at Viveiro:

and finally a campsite at Meiras

where it was good to learn that the water was drinkable!

359 miles covered and had I done the right thing following the coast road. Should I have just gone straight to the mountains?

Day 4: La Coruna to Cabo Fisterra

Following the motorway round La Coruna I headed for Carballo then Malpica. From here minor roads only ran along this stretch of coast, and the atmosphere changed quickly to a simple rustic.

The roads meandered around steep tree-covered hills occasionally opening up onto an intimate small harbour or bay. There was little development or even signs of tourism. All very natural and unspoilt.

Laxe had a remarkable white beach headed by dunes with a small port at one end.

Camelle was a delightful, small fishing port.

I drove to the headland of Cabo Vilan:

and then to Cabo Fisterra:

I found a perfect spot to 'wild' camp overlooking the Atlantic. Being the most western point along this coast any yacht sailing across Biscay would pass close by.

Watching the sunset from a lovely place such as this was exactly what I had in mind for this trip:

116 miles covered and the best day by far!

Beautiful!

Day 5: Cabo Fisterra to Somiedo Mountains

I hadn't been attacked by wolves or trampled by roaming mountain cattle so all must be well, and it was!

I left Cabo Fisterra for the the first major location of my trip. The Somiedo mountains followed by the Picos De Europa. The Somiedo mountains are the last wilderness location of the scarce brown bear. They reside very high up and are rarely seen.

There were numerous unfamiliar structures on stilts that featured in gardens, on the roadside, in fields, almost anywhere and to which it was difficult to attribute a likely function. They were in fact hórreos or granaries for storing cobs and other crops, and have been around for many centuries.

My journey took me through the pretty fishing village of Portocubelo where I stopped for a coffee served from an old fishing equipment store:

past Muros:

round Santiago de Compostela (it was definitely a place I regret not stopping at), following part of the pilgrimage route, the 'Camino de Santiago', otherwise known as the Way of St James. This led across the western mountains of the Cordillera Cantabrica through Ponteferrada to a small village, Sena de Luna, at the foot of the Somiedo mountains.

In a couple of the more remote villages I noticed locals transporting their own-grown produce in small home-made trolleys from their flourishing allotments to their shops or stalls, presumably, following their appealingly simple daily routines. This low economy, self-sufficient lifestyle could quite likely have gone on unchanged over centuries.

This route was interspersed with very beautiful, mountainous scenery and seriously unattractive coal and cement mines.

C. Rio Luna was my new base.

After 275 miles that day I decided to 'veg out' and slept for what was left of the afternoon.

Day 6: Sena de Luna

I decided to stay here for a further night.

Just behind the hedge was a path. I joined it and kept walking!

It led onto a rough track and after about 4 miles to El embalse de Barrios de Luna, a natural reservoir.

I secured a spot on a ledge by the waterside and dived in! The water was clear as far as you could see and then went somewhat dark, an indication no doubt of its depth.

This structure was, well, just there! Difficult to know what it was for but there nonetheless.

When I returned to the site I stopped for an americano coffee at the little bar. I heard a commotion as a white van came tearing along the unmade road bleeping its horn all the way. It screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust in front of me, and a rather diminutive Spanish girl climbed out, threw open the side doors, and displayed an enticing selection of fresh fish! I bought a large bag of mussels for about 2 Euros and that was me sorted for the rest of the day!

I have to say that this small, laid back rural site was one of my favourites of the whole trip. C. Rio Luna had a bar, that was nothing more that a shed, mainly frequented by local workmen. There was a seperate tiny office that was also a shed. The owners' home was yet another shed (no, not the shed by the lake!). Everyone there appeared to be so contented!

This was one of those lovely, simple days that you remember because it was just that!

0 miles too!

Day 7: Somiedo to Picos de Europa

I packed up and headed for the Somiedo mountains.

There was a mountain walk identified in one of my guides from Valle de Lago to the Lagos de Silencia. My hopes were high of spotting a brown bear.

Either side of the track mountains were interspersed with grassland and forests, and below a lush valley remained in sight over the whole walk.

The stone relic was a mountain shepherds' shelter (un teito). It was originally thatched, the exposed roof timbers providing a clear outline of it's original shape.

At this point, just before I took this photo, I heard some shouting as 3 men came racing down the mountain, from the one just behind this building. I felt a little threatened because it's not unheard of for mountain bandits to hold up and rob tourists! This was a perfectly remote location for such an attraction!

As it happened they were a small group of Spanish men on holiday, had their GPSs attached to them, and were negotiating the mountains 'off piste'. They wanted to know if I was alright and where I was aiming for. They explained the use of this building, told me that the brown bears were most unlikely to be seen as they remained under the cover of the forests and/or very high up in the caves, and finally gave me a map of the mountains and then carried on with their hike!

I have to say that the friendliness of those Spanish people I met was quite amazing. They were patient, polite, considerate and very willing to help at any opportunity, particularly when it came to my relatively slow Spanish.

At least I knew I was reasonably fit having covered about 10 miles on this walk.

Afterwards I made my way to Puebla de Lillo en route for the Picos de Europa mountains.

When I arrived at C. las Nievas I had to settle up at the nearby restaurant/bar. I was waiting outside as it remained closed well after opening time clearly indicated on the door of 8pm.

A middle aged man and his young niece arrived on their bikes. They were local and were on an evening sorti to enjoy a drink before returning home. We were talking about various things in my ponderous Spanish, but nonetheless getting by. His niece kept asking me, in her very polite, perfectly rolled Castillian Spanish, about 'guglay', 'tweeterrr' and 'mezenjerrr'. I just couldn't get it until it dawned on me that she was referring to Google, Twitter and Messenger!

The restaurant eventually opened and in we went. He offered me a drink and we continued this extraordinarily patient trialogue in Spanish for another half an hour or so, whilst they fiddled around with a computer behind the bar, trying to register my passport details and verify my presence there! His niece continued helping me through the inevitable absent moments when the vocabulary just wouldn't arrive!

He warned me about the risks of the Mesetas, the central plains of Spain, it being July and the raging temperatures! He said he wouldnt go at this time of year. Everything shuts down, he warned.

Oh dear!

51 miles today only!

Day 8: Picos de Europa (Cain - Poncebos)

My next 'appointment' was at Cain in the Picos de Europa. From there a path hangs from the gorge following the Rio Cares to Poncebos.

The narrow road to Cain twists, turns and winds round the mountains, beautifully maintained with smart timber crash barriers running much of the length from Corinares. Arriving eventually in Cain, a pretty village with an inviting restaurant on the left, a hostal and souvenir shops, I parked beside the river at the beginning of the walk.

This 12 km path was hacked and blown out of the mountainside between 1916 and 1925 (and reconditioned in the 1940s) by the hydro-electric company Viesgo in order to service the hydro-electric canal that runs between Cain and Carmemena. How such a feat of engineering was accomplished I shall never know. Follow this link to a very interesting video about this very subject.

It started innocently enough at river level, over the dam, along a further footpath and back over the Rio Cares by bridge.

Whilst the path had a gentle incline the river started to drop away, unrecognisably at first.

After a while you became aware of the drop beside the path. There was no barrier. Just a sheer drop.

Inevitably as people walked in the opposite direction one party (usually the ones with the drop on the right) had to move to the outside to let the other pass. There were a few moments of vertigo.

It was a miracle of engineering. There was no knowing when the rock was blasted how stable things would remain. Those who had to drop down to reinforce the track from below probably had the worst job.