View Larger Map
Sunday, March 24 – Tavira to Ayamonte, Spain, 874 km
Mike and I did not bring camping equipment for this trip. In spite of the cost savings over paying for rooms in small inns, we did not want to carry the extra rate. When I think of cooking dinner over a Sterno can versus a hot shower and comfortable bed after a hard day of cycling, there really is no choice. Besides, camp grounds are usually in the outskirts of town and to see any attractions or visit a bar after we pitch our tents we would need to ride to the next town and likely ride back in the dark. We wouldn’t be able to drink much every night and we’d be leaving all our belongings unprotected.
Still, we do not plan to spend every night in pensions and other inns. They get a bit expensive. Youth hostels are cheaper, noisier and have more restrictions, and are they are often full, but from time to time they’re better options and better places to meet other travelers.
Several gay men and couples between Provence and Amsterdam have answered our ad in “Gai Pied”, inviting us to stay in their homes for free. We have also joined Servas, an organization for travelers to want to meet and be hosted by locals when they travel. I procured lists of hosts for several countries in western Europe.
There were no convenient hosts for Portugal but there are several in Spain. The first two are in Huelva and Sevilla in southern Spain, where we will be in half a week. Mike writes and speaks Spanish but I don’t, which is the source of my frustration this morning. He hasn’t written or spoken to the hosts we have selected to ask in those cities because it will be slightly cheap to do so once we are in Spain, only a day or so before we arrive. That probably means we are unlikely to find an available host on such short notice and we’ll have to pay for a hotel instead. He takes ludicrous risks and will walk the line of being rude just to save a few pennies. This is causing me lots of irritation this morning.
He also likes to sleep in when he can, which means we don’t have much time to tour the town before we leave. But he is finally up, donning his red and white Captain Canada cycling jersey, which he says will be to our advantage when we are crossing the border in to Spain this afternoon. If our passports are not enough I can’t see how his jersey will, but I am saying as little as I can to him while choking back my desire to wring his neck.
We have to miss seeing the churches and castle, but we do get out in time to see some things. Walk through the streets and alleys, we marvel at the bathroom tiles on the rear walls. We cross the ancient old bridge over the Gilao River, the last remnant of what was once a Roman port. It is now only a pedestrian bridge. The harbour is silted up now and the nearest beaches are a couple km from the town, which is probably why it hasn’t been redeveloped as tourist resort.
We find the Tourist Information Office and it is open on weekends. There is a note from Nick waiting for us. The women working there say he came in several times last night before we arrived anxious to connect with us. His note says he has found a place the three of us for only 1500 esc in someone’s home. He provided direction on how to find the street he is on, but no he forgot to leave us the house number. We leave a note for him in return, suggesting he meet us in a few days at 6pm on the steps of the great cathedral in Sevilla instead. I sure hope the cathedral has steps.
We are stopped and questioned by a 10-year old boy on a bike as we are set to roll out of town. He likes our bikes and Mike's Captain Canada jersey. He is excited to learn we are from Toronto. He and his family are moving there in four months and he's looking forward to it. We wish him the best and say we might see him there.
It’s early afternoon and we have left Tavira headed for Spain. We reach the border at 23 km at Vila Real. We use the river ferry across the Guadiana River to take us to Ayamonte on the Spanish side. There is no customs office of course, since both countries are part of the EU. Then we ride around to check out the town. Perhaps entering a new country on Sunday when everything is closed and without any local currency is not the best way to start off anew. But Mike manages to find one exchange office open where we exchange our remaining escudos into Spanish pesados. The commission rate is quite good.
The town feels very empty so I suppose there is not a lot to do on Sundays. There are also not many pensions. While we are looking, several children on bikes surround us and blast us with questions until Mike gets the bright idea of getting them to help us find a place to stay. That doesn’t work as well as it did in Tavira. They help us find a couple but Mike says they are too expensive. We even ride 7 km south along the river delta to the ocean and back looking for something cheaper, but we finally settle on a place for 2200 pesados (about 3000 esc). If this is an indication, Spain will be more expensive than Portugal.
For this price my bed sags terribly and I have to lay the mattress on the floor if I want to be able to walk tomorrow. Before bed Mike and I walk around the town and stop to watch a Semana Santa (Easter Holy Week) procession – regiments of youths in coloured robes with KKK-like pointed hoods strolling somberly with their faces turned down, carrying a giant cross and gaudily-painted statues of the various saints and virgins on large platforms on their shoulders. Not as festive as a Mexican procession I suspect. I wonder what percentage of these youths actually still believe in the Catholic Church. PHOTO 1: Tavira alley
PHOTO 2: bathroom tiles
PHOTO 3: Tavira riverfront
PHOTO 4: approaching Spain, Mike with his Captain Canada jersey
PHOTO 5: Ayamonte street
PHOTO 6: Ayamonte sunset
No comments:
Post a Comment