Well it looks like all that are arriving have arrived, although it is Sunday so you never know. What this means is the “space” we have on either side of the MS is still there which also means that, after cu
tting down some branches, we may be able to get out. 
Planned next stop is Mortagne-sur
-Gironde in the Poitou region of France, a 250 mile hop but that is not until 8th and we still have the Bulls to contend with.
Next to us are 2 motorhomes, one belonging to a Scottish couple, Norman and Rose, and the other to about 4 or 5 Spanish guys. Soon as they arrived, on with the built in ghetto blasters, at full ghetto mind you, and I guess it sounded like what used to be, or maybe still is, “house” music. THUMP! THUMP!....................THUMP! etc ad infonitum. No, I’m not talking about Norman and Rose.
They also must have a young lady, or one of the guy’s balls have not dropped, because someone in there struck up a guitar and she/he began to sing. I don’t know what the song was but every note was missed by a very wide margin; we were in the middle of dinner and had to stop eating - don’t give up your day job just yet, pet.
It was a relief when the main dance music came on from a large tent 100 m away and drowned them out with a different kind of thump and continued until 3 in the morning. Just dropping off and then woken at 5 am with the same guys right outside the MS. I thought at first they were putting a tent up because of the knocking sounds, looked out of window and they were playing castanets. That was definitely a first.
Woke up at around 6:30, God knows why, and had a job not turning the outside speakers to full and putting on a CD of Matt Monroe.
Went for what we thought would be a short, 5-6 mile cycle, of course we got lost, for the second time in two days and it turned out more like 18 miles.
(by the way I know I am in Europe and I should be using kilometres, however if I tell Tricia the distance in kms, she just complains it’s too far and she isn’t going)
How you get lost when you cycle alongside a river, cross a few bridges along the way and then cycle back is (was) beyond me. It turns out that probably when our backs were turned or more likely one of Tricia’s “stops”, the bloody Spanish slipped in another river!
I realised later that we were crossing at the meeting of two rivers, one of which I still do not know the name of, and of course following the wrong river back in almost the same scenery , but vastly different direction. As the sun here is almost permanently overhead, guessing north is not an option. Still, good for the fitness.
I DO NOT BELIVE IT!
I’m typing this at 8:05 (IN THE MORNING) and it’s started up again! (the thump) Admittedly from another motorhome but come on, is there any justice!
No it is them, only they have not opened up all the windows and doors yet AND they are having a go with the guitar again; sounds like trying to put a cat through a grater.
Today the plan is to find the quickest way into Pamplona by bike for the bull run because although there will be buses available from 5 in the morning it’s almost a 30 minute walk to get to the bus stop, and there will be hundreds trying to get on, so bike it is.
Pamplona 6th July
Well, I was wrong about thinking everyone who was going to arrive had arrived, they really started to arrive today.
There were huge queues at reception and in the small space between the vertical drop and the Mothership 2 tents materialised and on the other side another caravan full of Spanish managed to squeeze in along with along with four Italian guys in their motorhome, we can now just about open our door to get out.
Went into Pamplona by yet another route and got lost, again. So it ended up a 24 mile round trip and Tricia was well knackered. The Bull Run itself was very crowded but we managed to video it because I reckon no matter what time we go in tomorrow, 5’ish, we will not get much of a look.
Found some nice parks, including Parque Yamaguchi named after a place in Japan were a local, Saint Francis Xavier lived for a while in the 16th century and which Pamplona is twinned.
The San Fermine’s festival shirts were €16 in the city, we managed to pick them up for €6 just outside as we took in the parks. Might have got one for Swanny.
There were lots of adverts for the use of balconies on the run, €45 for 15 minutes, not a bad rate eh?
When we eventually got back there were even more tents and people. Main reason was tonight was the main gig at the camp site and represented the start of the festival.
My God! I’ve just been talking to John and Irene from Bromley, over here for their two week holiday in a motorhome. He has wanted to do the run for the last 20 odd years and this is his time. What he told me about the run, however, I did not know. First he asked if I was doing it, not on your nelly. Then he said that all the volunteers, and if you did you couldn’t UN volunteer once you were there if you bottled, had to be in their place at a cer
tain time or no go.
It’s approximately ¼ of a mile up cobbled streets and the best men can do it in 3-4 minutes, the bulls can do it in 2 so you are going to be overtaken by at least 16 sharp horns. Definitely count me out.
Went into Pamplona, by another different route, how did you guess? and not only was it quicker, we did not get lost and ended at the top of the town next to the bull ring.
This was the first official day of the festival and did not include bulls (tomorrow).
It involved thousands of people dressed in red and white throwing red wine over each other, banging drums, screaming, singing and dancing, almost like a Sunderland home match (except for the thousands of people and change red wine to cans of Stella).
As you can see from the pictures you just could not move once you got into the streets. We managed to find a table in the square and get a couple of coffees, Tricia had to go and was gone for almost 35 minutes, I nearly went back without her.
Lunch was a mixed salad for me and a small plate of paella for Tricia, €36, enough said. Well not really, one of my teeth, small molar, broke in half; I’m sure I brought some superglue.
Pamplona 7th The Bull Run.
Tricia went to bed at 10 pm and I stayed up, put my ear phones in and watched the second episode of “Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy” which she doesn’t like much, the usual music played on in the background.
Then a 5 am start, into the “San Fermine” gear, get in line for the toilet, eat a quick brekky, attached lights (it was still dark) and keep on assuring Tricia that this time does actually exist on a clock.
On to the bikes, because relying on the bus was not the best idea with hundreds of people milling around. On the way in we noticed quite a few people dressed for the festival coming the other way, was there something we didn’t know? 5 minutes later I’m locking the bikes up and Tricia is changing into her shorts on a park bench. For some reason I am the only person wearing pink shorts and the many stares I got were trying to tell me something I should know?
Although we arrived with hours to spare, not a space remained. Standing 2 deep next to the barriers near the bull ring did not appeal to us because of the crush. The place smelt of urine, cheap wine and vomit and was strewn with debris from the previous evening. There were also a lot of people still sleeping in the park and on the streets. The steady drinkers were still going hard at it and were, from the look on most faces and inability to walk in a straight line, still drunk.
We tried the main square but the supposed large screen was nowhere to be seen. So it was back to the bull ring and onto some steps which gave us a tiny patch where we could just make out the tops of the runners heads. That was when 2 ambulances hove into view and parked.
The firework to start the event went at 8 am and then again slightly later (?) then some commotion, a few blurry rushing heads and then it was over. Did not hear any thunder of hooves, screaming, guts been hurled over the wall, nothing. 40 minutes later we were back in the MS watching the clouds come over and the thermometer drop to 21º C.
I guess the above is not exactly painting a picture of a great event but the reason is the change from the exciting and boisterous, clean and merry drunk crowds of the first day in juxtaposition to this sorry lot, was a bit of a come down. Not actually seeing the bulls was in there as well mind.
If there is a next time I would pay the €45 for the balcony. All in all we can tick the box and I’m glad we did it but not for the next 7 days.
BTW no pictures as no batteries for camera so it’s all on video instead.
We started to prepare for our departure in the morning so got the job of cleaning out the tanks. Just got everything ready and this guy from one of our outposts of tents came along and pointed to the front wheel of the Navara. I thought it was a twig; I’d been cutting the overhanging branches of the tree that was blocking us in so I guessed it had fallen on the front tyre. It was a 10 inch long by half inch thick tent/awning peg that some one had left in the ground and was now imbedded in my tyre. Change with the spare, first time for that, and repair with my “professional” tyre repair kit, then back to the tanks. Thank God he had pointed it out in time because if I just drove off with it still in it would have completely wrecked the tyre.
Pamplona 8th into France!
Getting out was fun, cars moved, gates opened and then down a very steep slope and with lots of people helping just squeezed through the gaps, and out!
On to the AP15 toll road because the A121a, which went true north, kind of wiggled a lot through the mountains, which usually meant climbs with tight bends. Passed south of St Sebastian and across the French border with lots of enquiring looks from the police but did not get stopped.
On to the A63, more tolls and finally turned off for our destination, Mortagne-sur-Gironde, a small fishing village and Aire for motorhomes.
Coming into the village the roads got tighter and tighter, as did the bends. The GPS must have been set on “shortest” because it was trying to take us where we just could not go. On one bend a car appeared, we were on his side of the road, and trying to avoid a collision managed to scrape the awing cover on a tree. Never did like that awning anyway, now a bit torn, but it is amazing what you can do with a roll of silver gaffer tape. Getting down to the port was fun, narrow streets, tight turns, sweaty palms, high blood pressure and we are there!
Stacks of space for parking and are now hooked up to electricity in the middle of a field overlooking the marina, sorry Alan, port.
Went to pay the €6 for the night and was informed if we ate in the single table farm “restaurant” it would be free camping, dinner was for 8pm. We were basically in the farm’s front room with all sorts of personal stuff all around; it was like a family dinner. It turned out to be Moroccan cuisine with eight other people, including a number of friends of the owner, all French, only one spoke some English, we got by. Meal was superb and all the wine you could drink. Much later we said our “bon nite” and it was off to a deep and quite sleep.
I have always wanted to be in a place where at night there were no city lights, no city/townscape, a placid sea nearby, a full moon and an inky black sky full of stars, last night I got it.
To use a phrase from James Taylor’s “Up on the roof”.
“and at night the stars, they put on a show for free”
We may stay another night.
We did.
Mortagne-sur-Gironde 9th July
Walked about a bit, took some pictures and left on the 10th.
Getting out was fun as well, the other route out was up a steep hill and I was hoping to get a good run into it but somebody had placed some bollards at the corner preventing a quick turn. (well, I’m sure they were not there the other day)
Managed OK and through some tight turns out of the village, destination somewhere around Tours. We tried a few and either we were not allowed on or we (SWMBO) did not like them. By this time I was pretty frazzled with all the U turns, three point turns (Yes THREE point turns) etc. Some I just said we should push on to good old Disney World, Paris.
This time we actually got in and managed a shower.
Next stop; we were booked on the 4pm ferry on Monday 13th so a couple of nights to go, was Le Touquet, where Tricia had picked out a couple of sites. As we approached however she sud
denly decided that a place in Le Crotoy was favourite. On to a packed Aire (70 odd motorhomes) parked and hooked up. Knock knock, opened door and a dark uniformed guy, with a gun, was telling me something in French. What I did understand however was that as we were not a true Motorhome we could not stay. Told him I’d just put €2 in the meter and paid €7 to the manager and he relented but we had to leave the next day. Next day it was
19° C and pissing down so I said sod Le Touquet, let’s get an early ferry, the 12th, and we did and I’m now finishing this off here in my front room at home.
tting down some branches, we may be able to get out. 
Planned next stop is Mortagne-sur
-Gironde in the Poitou region of France, a 250 mile hop but that is not until 8th and we still have the Bulls to contend with.Next to us are 2 motorhomes, one belonging to a Scottish couple, Norman and Rose, and the other to about 4 or 5 Spanish guys. Soon as they arrived, on with the built in ghetto blasters, at full ghetto mind you, and I guess it sounded like what used to be, or maybe still is, “house” music. THUMP! THUMP!....................THUMP! etc ad infonitum. No, I’m not talking about Norman and Rose.
They also must have a young lady, or one of the guy’s balls have not dropped, because someone in there struck up a guitar and she/he began to sing. I don’t know what the song was but every note was missed by a very wide margin; we were in the middle of dinner and had to stop eating - don’t give up your day job just yet, pet.
It was a relief when the main dance music came on from a large tent 100 m away and drowned them out with a different kind of thump and continued until 3 in the morning. Just dropping off and then woken at 5 am with the same guys right outside the MS. I thought at first they were putting a tent up because of the knocking sounds, looked out of window and they were playing castanets. That was definitely a first.
Woke up at around 6:30, God knows why, and had a job not turning the outside speakers to full and putting on a CD of Matt Monroe.
Went for what we thought would be a short, 5-6 mile cycle, of course we got lost, for the second time in two days and it turned out more like 18 miles.
(by the way I know I am in Europe and I should be using kilometres, however if I tell Tricia the distance in kms, she just complains it’s too far and she isn’t going)
How you get lost when you cycle alongside a river, cross a few bridges along the way and then cycle back is (was) beyond me. It turns out that probably when our backs were turned or more likely one of Tricia’s “stops”, the bloody Spanish slipped in another river!
I realised later that we were crossing at the meeting of two rivers, one of which I still do not know the name of, and of course following the wrong river back in almost the same scenery , but vastly different direction. As the sun here is almost permanently overhead, guessing north is not an option. Still, good for the fitness.
I DO NOT BELIVE IT!
I’m typing this at 8:05 (IN THE MORNING) and it’s started up again! (the thump) Admittedly from another motorhome but come on, is there any justice!
No it is them, only they have not opened up all the windows and doors yet AND they are having a go with the guitar again; sounds like trying to put a cat through a grater.
Today the plan is to find the quickest way into Pamplona by bike for the bull run because although there will be buses available from 5 in the morning it’s almost a 30 minute walk to get to the bus stop, and there will be hundreds trying to get on, so bike it is.
Pamplona 6th July
Well, I was wrong about thinking everyone who was going to arrive had arrived, they really started to arrive today.
There were huge queues at reception and in the small space between the vertical drop and the Mothership 2 tents materialised and on the other side another caravan full of Spanish managed to squeeze in along with along with four Italian guys in their motorhome, we can now just about open our door to get out.
Went into Pamplona by yet another route and got lost, again. So it ended up a 24 mile round trip and Tricia was well knackered. The Bull Run itself was very crowded but we managed to video it because I reckon no matter what time we go in tomorrow, 5’ish, we will not get much of a look.
Found some nice parks, including Parque Yamaguchi named after a place in Japan were a local, Saint Francis Xavier lived for a while in the 16th century and which Pamplona is twinned.
The San Fermine’s festival shirts were €16 in the city, we managed to pick them up for €6 just outside as we took in the parks. Might have got one for Swanny.
There were lots of adverts for the use of balconies on the run, €45 for 15 minutes, not a bad rate eh?
When we eventually got back there were even more tents and people. Main reason was tonight was the main gig at the camp site and represented the start of the festival.
My God! I’ve just been talking to John and Irene from Bromley, over here for their two week holiday in a motorhome. He has wanted to do the run for the last 20 odd years and this is his time. What he told me about the run, however, I did not know. First he asked if I was doing it, not on your nelly. Then he said that all the volunteers, and if you did you couldn’t UN volunteer once you were there if you bottled, had to be in their place at a cer
tain time or no go.
It’s approximately ¼ of a mile up cobbled streets and the best men can do it in 3-4 minutes, the bulls can do it in 2 so you are going to be overtaken by at least 16 sharp horns. Definitely count me out.Went into Pamplona, by another different route, how did you guess? and not only was it quicker, we did not get lost and ended at the top of the town next to the bull ring.
This was the first official day of the festival and did not include bulls (tomorrow).
It involved thousands of people dressed in red and white throwing red wine over each other, banging drums, screaming, singing and dancing, almost like a Sunderland home match (except for the thousands of people and change red wine to cans of Stella).
As you can see from the pictures you just could not move once you got into the streets. We managed to find a table in the square and get a couple of coffees, Tricia had to go and was gone for almost 35 minutes, I nearly went back without her.
Lunch was a mixed salad for me and a small plate of paella for Tricia, €36, enough said. Well not really, one of my teeth, small molar, broke in half; I’m sure I brought some superglue.
Pamplona 7th The Bull Run.
Tricia went to bed at 10 pm and I stayed up, put my ear phones in and watched the second episode of “Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy” which she doesn’t like much, the usual music played on in the background.
Then a 5 am start, into the “San Fermine” gear, get in line for the toilet, eat a quick brekky, attached lights (it was still dark) and keep on assuring Tricia that this time does actually exist on a clock.
On to the bikes, because relying on the bus was not the best idea with hundreds of people milling around. On the way in we noticed quite a few people dressed for the festival coming the other way, was there something we didn’t know? 5 minutes later I’m locking the bikes up and Tricia is changing into her shorts on a park bench. For some reason I am the only person wearing pink shorts and the many stares I got were trying to tell me something I should know?
Although we arrived with hours to spare, not a space remained. Standing 2 deep next to the barriers near the bull ring did not appeal to us because of the crush. The place smelt of urine, cheap wine and vomit and was strewn with debris from the previous evening. There were also a lot of people still sleeping in the park and on the streets. The steady drinkers were still going hard at it and were, from the look on most faces and inability to walk in a straight line, still drunk.
We tried the main square but the supposed large screen was nowhere to be seen. So it was back to the bull ring and onto some steps which gave us a tiny patch where we could just make out the tops of the runners heads. That was when 2 ambulances hove into view and parked.
The firework to start the event went at 8 am and then again slightly later (?) then some commotion, a few blurry rushing heads and then it was over. Did not hear any thunder of hooves, screaming, guts been hurled over the wall, nothing. 40 minutes later we were back in the MS watching the clouds come over and the thermometer drop to 21º C.
I guess the above is not exactly painting a picture of a great event but the reason is the change from the exciting and boisterous, clean and merry drunk crowds of the first day in juxtaposition to this sorry lot, was a bit of a come down. Not actually seeing the bulls was in there as well mind.
If there is a next time I would pay the €45 for the balcony. All in all we can tick the box and I’m glad we did it but not for the next 7 days.
BTW no pictures as no batteries for camera so it’s all on video instead.
We started to prepare for our departure in the morning so got the job of cleaning out the tanks. Just got everything ready and this guy from one of our outposts of tents came along and pointed to the front wheel of the Navara. I thought it was a twig; I’d been cutting the overhanging branches of the tree that was blocking us in so I guessed it had fallen on the front tyre. It was a 10 inch long by half inch thick tent/awning peg that some one had left in the ground and was now imbedded in my tyre. Change with the spare, first time for that, and repair with my “professional” tyre repair kit, then back to the tanks. Thank God he had pointed it out in time because if I just drove off with it still in it would have completely wrecked the tyre.
Pamplona 8th into France!
Getting out was fun, cars moved, gates opened and then down a very steep slope and with lots of people helping just squeezed through the gaps, and out!
On to the AP15 toll road because the A121a, which went true north, kind of wiggled a lot through the mountains, which usually meant climbs with tight bends. Passed south of St Sebastian and across the French border with lots of enquiring looks from the police but did not get stopped.
On to the A63, more tolls and finally turned off for our destination, Mortagne-sur-Gironde, a small fishing village and Aire for motorhomes.
Coming into the village the roads got tighter and tighter, as did the bends. The GPS must have been set on “shortest” because it was trying to take us where we just could not go. On one bend a car appeared, we were on his side of the road, and trying to avoid a collision managed to scrape the awing cover on a tree. Never did like that awning anyway, now a bit torn, but it is amazing what you can do with a roll of silver gaffer tape. Getting down to the port was fun, narrow streets, tight turns, sweaty palms, high blood pressure and we are there!
Stacks of space for parking and are now hooked up to electricity in the middle of a field overlooking the marina, sorry Alan, port.
Went to pay the €6 for the night and was informed if we ate in the single table farm “restaurant” it would be free camping, dinner was for 8pm. We were basically in the farm’s front room with all sorts of personal stuff all around; it was like a family dinner. It turned out to be Moroccan cuisine with eight other people, including a number of friends of the owner, all French, only one spoke some English, we got by. Meal was superb and all the wine you could drink. Much later we said our “bon nite” and it was off to a deep and quite sleep.
I have always wanted to be in a place where at night there were no city lights, no city/townscape, a placid sea nearby, a full moon and an inky black sky full of stars, last night I got it.
To use a phrase from James Taylor’s “Up on the roof”.
“and at night the stars, they put on a show for free”
We may stay another night.
We did.
Mortagne-sur-Gironde 9th July
Walked about a bit, took some pictures and left on the 10th.
Getting out was fun as well, the other route out was up a steep hill and I was hoping to get a good run into it but somebody had placed some bollards at the corner preventing a quick turn. (well, I’m sure they were not there the other day)
Managed OK and through some tight turns out of the village, destination somewhere around Tours. We tried a few and either we were not allowed on or we (SWMBO) did not like them. By this time I was pretty frazzled with all the U turns, three point turns (Yes THREE point turns) etc. Some I just said we should push on to good old Disney World, Paris.
This time we actually got in and managed a shower.
Next stop; we were booked on the 4pm ferry on Monday 13th so a couple of nights to go, was Le Touquet, where Tricia had picked out a couple of sites. As we approached however she sud
denly decided that a place in Le Crotoy was favourite. On to a packed Aire (70 odd motorhomes) parked and hooked up. Knock knock, opened door and a dark uniformed guy, with a gun, was telling me something in French. What I did understand however was that as we were not a true Motorhome we could not stay. Told him I’d just put €2 in the meter and paid €7 to the manager and he relented but we had to leave the next day. Next day it was
19° C and pissing down so I said sod Le Touquet, let’s get an early ferry, the 12th, and we did and I’m now finishing this off here in my front room at home. 
