Due to
lack of numbers the 1997 Spain Partitour converted to
being a private tour and it ended up being an all
Yorkshire event with Mike Shillitoe, Lynn Tennant, Peter
Brindle plus Eunice and Seymour Hickman. We had planned
on taking a larger party so had chosen Michelin guide
rated accommodation with secure garaging. With a smaller
party there was more flexibility in our choice of hotels.
Britain, France and Northern Spain was experiencing some
filthy, cold and damp weather for the end of June, so we
set off for Portsmouth in the hope of some sun. We all
met at the Harbour Lights Pub (nowhere near the harbour)
in Portsmouth on Friday 27 June, had a nice meal and went
to catch the 23.00 hrs ferry for Cherbourg. All the 20.00
hrs passengers were still there in a chaos of fuming cars
and fuming people because the ferry Pride of Bilbao had
been imprisoned in the Bay of Biscay by "adverse
weather conditions" and was therefore late in
arriving. Fortunately the weather had calmed down for our
crossing and everyone had a smooth crossing and we had a
good nights sleep ready for disembarking at 6.15 am
France was cool but dry on the way to the IMTC frequented
Hotel De Bordeaux at Pons. The weather was unkind on our
second day, we had to twice take shelter in downpours,
one of these under a motorway bridge and the other in a
services where we chatted to a mixture of other foreign
motorcyclists.
We were heading for San Sebastian. San Sebastian did not
look very inviting with the signs written in the native
Basque language and the Castillian Spanish equivalent
crossed out, possibly there were signs missing also. The
plucky leaders took everyone in the wrong direction where
signs were pointing in opposite directions, eventually we
found right direction and we all rolled into San
Sebastian, Pearl of the Cantabrian Coast, it looked more
like Leeds in the grey light of the overcast sky. There
was time at a set of traffic lights for a quick vote to
carry on down the planned route south to find a nicer
place.
The nicer place was Tolosa, except the Hotel Guide books
do not list there being any hotels there, while deciding
who was going to look for a hotel Seymour got talking to
a little old fella sat on a nearby bench, Lynn took the
directions for Hotel Oria, several lefts and rights to
negotiate the one way system. (this is where you cross
your fingers and hope your newly acquired Spanish is up
to speed). Hotel Oria did indeed have secure garaging,
the owner Louis had his two vintage Harley Davidsons in
there, they previously belonged to the Shah of Persia he
told us. Tolosa had for centuries been a market town on
the River Oria and a main route for travellers which
possibly accounts for the warm attitude to today's
travellers. Although there are a number of nice
restaurants we chose the modest price one in the hotel
Cellars, the waitress told us the meal included bread,
wine, fish, meat and dessert so we booked a table.
The first surprise was that the local drink is sidre
(cider) in stacked barrels at the front of the room, your
waitress turns on the tap while you stand about 1 metre
away with your glass ready to catch the stream as it jets
out, after that you go help yourself. The sidre is light
and very refreshing and the method of collection is good
fun. The next surprise was that the meal consisted of not
just one fish and one meat course, you eat and they keep
bringing delicious different dishes - fish, lamb, pork,
beef - until you call for the optional dessert, if you
have any room left for it!
Next morning we were outside the hotel attaching panniers
to the bikes and met a fellow guest who was packing his
cases of bullfighting gear into his trailer, we wondered
if our last nights beef had been trotting round a
bullfighting ring that afternoon!
Our next objective was to travel to Segovia, for a 3
night stay, via the Logrono tunnel. Spain completely
updated the road system and most of the signs and road
numbers agree with the maps so travel is both quick and
pleasant between places with only the odd hiccup where
the map hasn't caught up with the changes, the quality of
the road surface is excellent and seems a little under
used with the lack of traffic in some places.
Our choice of accommodation was the Hotel Los Linajes,
which is well signposted, boasting 3 stars and used by
package deal operators. The front part of the hotel was
once a 17th century nobleman's house in an impressive
location on the walls. It is a short walk up narrow
streets to the main square (Plaza Mayor) the restaurants
are good, the Alcazar is out of some fairy tale and the
storks, rather like overgrown sparrows, favour the
splendid Cathedral, not to mention the famous Roman
Aqueduct, one of the best preserved bits of Roman
architecture in the world. The weather was changeable but
when the sun shone we made use of the hotel terrace.
By now we had passed through the hilly and mountainous
Basque lands into the pasture-land of the Navarra and
wine growing region of La Rioja past towering outcrops of
red sandstone and through flower decked villages. Our
next stop was to be Toledo with a break for lunch at the
friendly little walled town of Avila.
Everything had been going very smoothly and we were
halfway round Spain. It was at Toledo that we lost the
Hickmans. Toledo, sprawls outward from a large arc of the
great River Tagos, we had picked a hotel near the very
famous Cathedral, said to be the most magnificent in all
Spain, so we assumed it would be well signposted and set
about finding a direct route. This proved to be an error
which became a farce. Peter Brindle had set off to Toledo
on his own, Seymour and Eunice were following us. Once
into Toledo we found the Most Famous and Magnificent
Cathedral was not signposted and we had entered a one way
system so there was no way to go but forward with a
police car sitting around. Eunice and Lynn decided to
walk on ahead to find the way for the bikes.
We asked a dozen shopkeepers on the way to Hotel Santa
Isabel and all of them said we could take a motorcycle
down here and to ignore the no entry signs, some spoke
English so there was no misunderstanding. We found the
hotel, went back to the bikes and mounted up, we had gone
only a very short distance when the crowd of shoppers
began shouting "Prohibido", one looked like she
might hit us with her handbag. We wished the ground could
open up and swallow us. The Hickmans some way behind us
turned back because they could and we pulled left into a
side street. We waited for the Hickmans but they did not
appear, suddenly a scooter passed us and with a noise
like a wasp stuck in a tin can buzzed off down a narrow
street, a metal barrier was a little in the way, it was,
however, the direction we wanted to go so we followed
him.
At the back of the Cathedral we asked a traffic warden
for directions, she got out a street map and showed us,
so we wound our way round the one way system slowly. On
reaching the hotel we changed into cooler clothes and
Lynn walked back to where we had last seen the Hickmans,
no joy, Mike then took the bike out to search further, as
he got it out of the garage the Hickmans appeared on
foot. Seymour said he thought he had found the Cathedral
and had parked the bike there, Toledo has many large
churches many of which would pass as a Cathedral in any
other city, we eventually found Seymour's bike not fare
from the city walls outside a large church.
The hotel was comfortable and the 2 days in Toledo passed
all too soon before we were off again, out of the
contrasting scenery of Castilla y Leon and Castilla- La
Mancha headed for a 3 nights stop at Albarracin in the
Sierra de Albarracin / Montes Universales mountain region
of Aragon. We travelled via Aranjuez.
Aranjuez doesn't immediately look like very much to shout
about when you reach it but this leads through a regal
stone arch into a beautiful tree - lined Avenue, from
there it becomes very Grand as you pass the flower beds,
numerous statues and fountains of the Royal Gardens. Road
signs for Cuenca/ Teruel are on the opposite side of the
road - if you are approaching from the roundabout you
will see this, from the side entering by the arch there
is no sign. Such a friendly place, it seems they don't
want you to leave, when you do see signs in the town
centre they don't make it clear which way to go, even the
correct main road suddenly changes from normal surface to
a College entrance (gravel) or to cobbles which looks
like a minor road.
Peter took a detour via sleepy villages with, at times,
cart track lanes over the mountains, Seymour and Eunice
took a longer route on main road while we followed the
Cuenca route then turned off up into the mountains on a
delightfully irresponsible whim which led us up deserted
lanes to a tiny deserted village of three ruined
buildings and over the Montes Universales Mountain Range.
There was for a very long time nothing but circling birds
for company and they looked suspiciously like vultures at
that!
Albarracin is a very charming little place with the old
quarter like a separate entity across the river bridge
from the newer part of Albarracin. From the friendly,
very comfortable and modern Hostel R. Santo Cristo our
balcony looked across a meadow of wild flowers over to
the towers and walls of the 11th century castle built by
the Moor Aben Racin.
A ten minute walk into town before dinner sharpens the
appetite, the restaurants and tapas bars are hidden in
the tangle of extremely narrow streets, Peter did much
sterling work exploring everywhere we went for the best
eating places, but we liked the El Portal belonging to
the same family as our Hotel Santo Cristo, we ate there
at a very reasonable cost every night, except for the
last night when Lynn slipped down a step, sprained her
ankle and had to go back to the hotel without dinner (
she watched the Spanish version of "You've Been
Framed" she laughing so loud that Seymour could hear
her next door). Seymour was in bed getting over a bout of
Spanish Tummy. While at Albarracin we went on a nature
walk and checked out the local prehistoric cave paintings
and visited the swimming pool (200 pesetas per Day).
Our next port of call was Tortosa on the more humid and
palm strewn East Coast where we stayed at the Parador
except for Peter who stayed at the Hotel Tortosa Parc
which he was not impressed with and joined us for dinner
at the Parador. Due to us choosing different menus the
waiters got confused and when they realised they had made
a mistake part way through the meal became agitated, Lynn
had ordered Pheasant with Grapes and got the bird with
raisins,
(dried grapes ), but very tasty it was and she decided
not to mention the glitch in the Spanish to English
translation on the menu in case it made the Head Waiter
more upset than he already was. To complete the one night
stopover the dustbin men came round at 2 am and probably
woke half the guests with the noise.
The final stage in Spain was up into the Pyrinees to a
delightful little town called Torla in the Ordesa
National Park. Shortly after we arrived the sky turned
black and we watched a brilliant show of fork lightning
through the torrential rain, forcing a helicopter to land
in a field opposite Hotel Bujaruelo. The storm vanished
almost as quickly as it had arrived and we were soon able
to look up the mouth of the gorge again but the weather
had taken a turn for the worse and never really improved
though we were only caught in one shower the next day
when we went out for a ride around.
Far too swiftly the time came to leave Espana and zip
over the mountains back into France, we hoped the weather
would be better on the French side of the Pyrinees but it
was a shock to the system to ride slap into a bank of
mist / low cloud as soon as we crossed the border.
The weather was not so extreme and was quite sunny and
warm as we journeyed to Nontron for an overnight stay at
Grand Hotel Pellison which is another hotel from the IMTC
list. It is grand enough to have a small outdoor swimming
pool but the weather was nothing like warm enough to use
it. It was now Mid July.
After a good meal on the patio and a wonderful nights
sleep we were ready to face the second leg of the journey
back to Cherbourg, longer but more interesting if you go
through the towns and countryside and take in the sights
as you travel.
It was a tired but happy five who shuffled onto the
overnight ferry at Cherbourg and a refreshed bunch who
set off for home back to Yorkshire the next morning. It
had been a very good holiday, we had travelled some 3,000
miles in a fortnight and apart from a blown bulb the
bikes had needed little more than filling with petrol.
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