Soaking in the Spanish Sun

We have stalled out – in the best of all possible ways.  Joe and I spent the month of March running from wind and rain, moving every few days.  Everywhere in Spain and Portugal, it seemed, high winds and torrential rains arrived just after we did.  Brief moments of glorious sunshine would get our hopes up for spring, and the arctic winds would blow in again.  Locals and fellow travelers bemoaned the “worst March ever” in Europe. 

It hasn’t been too bad, really. Armed with our iPhone weather app, campground finder app and good GPS (thank you, Diane), we have aimed ourselves for – and found – the brief pockets of warmth and sunshine before the cold found us again, forcing us to move on.  We’ve walked miles every day, visited medieval towns and castles, explored Moorish history and strolled along the beaches – often in our jackets, scarves and hats. All three of us had birthdays – March 8 (Joe), 21 (Jacob) and 25 (me).

A week ago (and still), southern Spain was rainy, Portugal was windy, and France was still under the frigid hand of Siberian weather, when we finally found an oasis where the sun shines every day and temperatures stay above 50°. On a color-coded temperature map of Europe, where blue is freezing, green is pretty darned cold, and yellow is chilly, we have found our Orange Dot, an hour south of Valencia, along the Mediterranean coast.  


We are camping in Daimús, a beachside community whose winter population is almost non-existent but whose thousands of empty apartments testify to the crowds that will arrive in July.  The campground was almost deserted when we arrived, but now it is filling up with families from Barcelona on their Easter week break. There is a wonderful bakery not too far away, a decent grocery within an easy walk, and bike trails everywhere for Joe to explore on his new bike. There’s even a dog park by the beach, where Jacob can run off-leash and speak Spanish to the other dogs. Most of our fellow campers are Spaniards, but they have put a pocket of us foreigners in what seems to be the international section: one British couple, two Dutch couples with dogs, and a French family.  The folks next door are from the Netherlands, and we have enjoyed getting to know them and their dog, Dot, a sweet, lumbering Lab who loves Jacob. 

On Saturday, we ventured out to Valencia to join a group of expat Americans in the March for Our Lives rally there.  It was good to feel like there was something we could do (besides regular calls to our Congressman) to add our voices to those calling for an end to gun violence in the U.S.

Getting to it was complicated by the fact that the entire city had been closed to traffic for what turned out to be the Valencia’s annual world championship half-marathon race. As we circled around in the camper, trying to find our way around the police barricades, the race began, and the lead runners ran right by us!  We saw Netsanet Gudeta of Ethiopia, who ultimately blew away the women’s world record for the half-marathon, and Geoffrey Kamworor of Kenya, who won the race for the third year in a row – also a record. We finished the day with a lovely dinner at a beachside restaurant in Valencia before heading back to Daimús.

At home here, we eat very simply – muesli or Oatabix and yogurt for breakfast, bread and cheese for lunch, pasta with sauce or sautéed vegetables and potatoes for dinner.  Then, every other day or so, we feast on seafood and other local delicacies at area restaurants: fresh green salads, cuttlefish, fried calamari rings, grilled fish with their heads and tails still on, delicious paella, followed by chocolate cake, flan, and other sweet treats.

Today, it is 72°. The sheets and clothes are drying on the line beside the camper, Jacob is sleeping on the ground outside, and I am sitting in bare feet and capris in the sun.  It is the first time we’ve stayed a whole week anywhere, and we’re not packing to leave. We found an English-speaking Anglican church service in nearby Gandia for Palm Sunday, and will stay here at least through Friday, for the Good Friday service there.  Later that evening, we’ll witness what we’ve been told is a not-to-be-missed Good Friday procession of drums and horns and cannons through the streets of Gandia, and on Saturday, will consider moving on to France, weather permitting.

We’ll let you know.

––––––

Some photos from the last week:




The King of the Camper on his birthday





Comments

  1. noraMarch 27, 2018 at 9:19 AM

    so enjoying reading about your adventures, thanks for sharing

    ReplyDelete

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