>Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator
(>Pictures at the bottom!)
Gibraltar – Spain – Portugal – France – Switzerland
It has been a few days now since we left Morocco for the Spanish enclave of Ceuta, just before the Islamic month of Ramadan. It was also a departure from another world. As soon as we had passed the border controls, we were already in a familiar culture; for us, Ceuta was the stepping stone to Europe.
Before the ferry left for Algeciras, we still had enough time to explore the enclave and go around it. It is a city with neighbouring settlements and, surprisingly, a lot of forested land. The special location of the enclave in northern Africa is also noticeable from the high fence along the border and the omnipresent military. But it was still worth seeing, despite the low clouds and windy weather.
As we left the ferry, the sun came out from behind the coastal mountains, as if to say goodbye to us. But our eyes were soon fixed on the north and the Signal Hill of Gibraltar. We immediately consulted our tablet and explored the streets through the English enclave and immediately decided to spend the first night on the European mainland on English soil.
As soon as we were out of the traffic of Algeciras, we plunged into the narrow streets and coastal roads of Gibraltar. However, we were not allowed to drive up Signal Hill; presumably we didn’t have 007’s licence. We would have loved to drive our jeep up the mountainous road to the highest point and follow in the footsteps of the super agent with screeching tyres. But the park ranger refused us access and told us in a friendly but very firm manner that this was a “no go” area for us.
We also couldn’t find a suitable place to stay overnight. The headland is just too narrow and there were prohibition signs everywhere, which took away any desire for free standing. So we went back to Spain the same day and a little further north we found a parking space on the coast where there was still a space available for our small vehicle.
We have often been to the southwestern corner of Europe, but we have never been further north than Lisbon. So we quickly decided where to go on our journey home. Although the weather forecasts did not predict spring weather with lots of sun, we soon set off in a northerly and westerly direction towards Portugal.
After leaving the coastal region, we soon climbed up into the countless sierras. You could spend weeks exploring this landscape and never take the same road or path twice. After the Parque Natural de los Alcornocales, there was wide open land that belonged to some finca or other. Finding a place to stay for the night was rather difficult in this region, but our experience always told us that a great place would come. Also, finding the way was not always easy, because the paths suddenly ended in front of a closed gate, a prohibition sign forbade the onward journey or mud and mire prevented the passage.
We didn’t really want to stay where Columbus was buried, and Seville was getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. We wanted to get out into rural Spain and away from the urban area. It was worth it; as soon as we had left the wide fields around Seville, we went up again. Along with large fincas, which probably serve as large and private hunting grounds today, extensive forests, mountain pastures with goats and flocks of sheep followed. In this rural area, there were still places where, until recently, entire mountains were being mined and the raw materials transported to the nearest port. The scars of human intervention are slowly disappearing and the planted forests are covering the scars of the mining. Where there was once industrious human activity, nature is reclaiming its territory. Houses and entire settlements are overgrown and have probably already been forgotten by the local population.
The sun accompanied us as far as the Río Guadiana, but then the sunshine came to an end; thick clouds brought the first drops of rain, so we had to finish breakfast early. In Portugal, we studied the weather forecasts very intensively, and as the heavy raindrops splashed on our car, we were a little at a loss. For the next few days, a lot of moisture is supposed to come from the southwest and unload in the hinterland with a lot of rain. Did we plan wrong?
Since the precipitation and wind are supposed to be somewhat more moderate on the west coast of Portugal, we immediately drove towards the coast. It was the right decision. We had a long stay in Vila Nova de Milfontes at the municipal campsite; washing was overdue and I (Tom) was finally able to finish the maintenance work on the Jeep that I had started.
As soon as we continued our journey north, thick clouds came rolling in from the sea towards the mainland. The further we got from the coastal region, the more our windscreen wipers were in use. In the late afternoon, we found a place for the night at a reservoir, which is probably a real paradise when the weather is nice. We found enough dry firewood for the evening fire, which made spending time outside a lot more pleasant.
We still had a full two days to go to Lisbon. We also had to give up several times because the chosen route was impassable or we simply got stuck.
We reached the Portuguese capital later in strong winds but dry conditions. The public transport connections from the municipal campsite to the centre of Lisbon were very good. So we left our jeep and visited the centre of Lisbon by bus, tram and on foot. The wind howled around all kinds of corners, so that many market stalls around the tourist areas soon closed. But – for once – we didn’t get rained on!
Of course, we couldn’t miss Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of the European mainland. From the top of the cape, you can look out over the expanse of the Atlantic and dream of an endless world. Three years ago, we also stood up there on the cliffs and looked longingly out into the vastness of the ocean. At that time it was still very quiet; the Covid pandemic calmed down some tourist hotspots.
We continued along the coast to the north, from one surfer’s paradise to the next. The strong wind and the recurring rain kept the surfers and us in the sheltered interior of the vehicles. But a coastal forest offered us an ideal campsite, where, in addition to the crackling of the fire, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean gave us the feeling of being ‘completely detached’.
We still wanted to drive towards the upper reaches of the Rio Douro, where the grapes of the famous port wine grow. So we turned off again and headed inland. Unfortunately, the heavy rainfall dampened our wanderlust, and so we were drawn back to the coastal region. It’s a shame, we would have liked to have driven around in the Portuguese mountains a bit more. We stayed loyal to the coastline; it rained again and again, but much less than in the mountains.
Unfortunately, we did not see the vineyards in the upper reaches of the Río Douro, but we did stroll along the harbour walls in Porto, where the coveted port wine was once loaded onto ships. Despite intermittent rain and a lot of wind, there were many tourists at the quay and in the alleys of the lower part of the city; surprisingly, there were a lot of English-speaking visitors. In any case, travellers are offered all kinds of things and with the appropriate euros, you can experience the ultimate in Porto and Port wine.
Meanwhile, the weather deteriorated even more and you could almost say; ‘land submerged’ inland. We also received a definite appointment from our second son, which we absolutely wanted to keep and therefore had to continue our journey home relatively quickly. So we stayed on the Portuguese coastal road and avoided any detours into the hinterland, which would probably not have been particularly appealing in this rain.
From now on, we made good time; between the appointment in Switzerland and the dreary, wet weather, the travelling was no longer any fun at all. At the Río Miro we left Portugal behind us and headed for Santiago de Compostela. On this coast with its countless bays, we often left the coastal road and climbed over countless mountain slopes and once had the feeling that it would snow. But it was not snow, but small hailstones, which sugared the landscape white.
Since we were not on a pilgrimage, and since we couldn’t find a parking space and it started raining, we decided not to visit the old town of Santiago de Compostela again and drove straight on. In Asturias, we first followed the coast far inland before driving down to the Costa Verde again. It was actually a wonderful landscape, but unfortunately the rain that kept falling spoiled the travel experience.
But it couldn’t always be just the coastal road; soon we were heading up again into the mountains. I (Tom) secretly hoped that we would still have a chance to see the peaks around the Picos de Europa. We kept seeing snow-capped peaks in the distance, but we were never sure which mountains they were; there were too many clouds around the mountain tops and the rain also did not allow for longer stops. On the other hand, large and small groups of people paddled down the Río Sella in canoes as if it were sunny.
The weather forecast and the actual rain showers spurred us on during our journey home. During the day it was reasonably pleasant, but in the evenings and at night it was always very cold. The thermometer was usually in the lower single digits. If we were able to light a small fire in the evening, it was still pleasant under the rain cover. Without a fire, it was too cold for us outside and we squeezed into the narrow camper cabin. Our diesel heating provided cosy warmth, although we missed the crackling of a fire every time.
So we headed towards France in no time at all, taking the main roads. As soon as we arrived in France, we searched in vain for a restaurant that could serve us moules frites; I (Tom) had a great desire for this French speciality. Unfortunately, in the end there was no seafood treat and we said goodbye to the Atlantic Ocean. Despite the miserable weather conditions, we followed the side roads into the Atlantic Pyrenees and crossed mountain ranges that were actually closed but were still being used by the local population.
This is how we reached the place of pilgrimage of Lourdes, almost through the back entrance. Lourdes is said to be the most visited place of pilgrimage in the world, which is probably true. We had never seen such commercialism around a holy place, where everything that could possibly have something to do with Mary is sold. Despite the low season and the rain, there was a lot of activity in the alleys. It was relatively quiet in the holy district and we almost had the upper basilica to ourselves. During church festivals, the place could probably burst at the seams!
After Toulouse we left the side streets and followed the main national traffic routes. Soon we reached the Massif Central, where one could probably spend a lot of time in the many remote valleys. But we had to move on and as in Spain; it was wet and cold! Yes, we had snowfall again and again on the various crossings and it was really no longer particularly pleasant at the evening camps. But who travels through the wide landscape in March! 😉
Now the story would soon be told; in the southernmost foothills of the Jura, we got lost on countless side streets because the chosen road was closed and we didn’t want to take the motorway. And as a farewell gift from France, we received a small present from the French police in the form of a fine; I (Tom) had driven too fast along Lake Nantua. Although the sign with the crossed-out place name was past, I must have missed some 50 sign. If you pay immediately, the fine is 90 euros; otherwise it is massively more expensive. 🙁
Switzerland is known to be rather small and the remaining kilometres were soon covered. But here, work is already waiting for the next projects and we are not short of ideas. We may be planning our next big leap soon: Oceania is high on the agenda.
But first, there is the next wedding celebration in our family, which started in Dornach/SO and will culminate in Belgium.
It will be great! 🙂
Chantal and Tom, March 2025
>Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator