Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Am Tormented By Tormentas

September 21, 2007 by Mike

Route: Santander - Unquera

Way back on 11 August last year I saw the rock paintings at Alta in Arctic Norway.

Today I visited the Paleolithic cave paintings at Altamira.

Alta.. Altamira. Spooky.

The exhibition here was worth riding three kilometres or so inland (remember, I make up the rules round here). Hats off to the authorities -- mass tourism was endangering the cave art -- some of it 18,000 years old -- so they recreated the cave 200 metres away and take the tourists there instead. It's fake -- but so well done that you drop yr defences and look on in wonder.

The Spanish artists, some 10,000 years older, were better than the Norwegian ones. I'm going to blame the cold weather back in my homeland -- though the truth is, this part of the coast was emerging from an Ice Age when these proto-Picassos were at work. There are pictures of Spanish reindeer.

Altamira is close to Santillana del Mar. Not as old, but the stone-clad streets and buildings have survived for the last 500 years or so. It's a tourist trap, naturally. You can buy any number of postcards but woe betide you if you need washing-up liquid, pet food, or a piece of clothing that doesn't have Santillana del Mar splashed across it.

--

What else? I rode past a campsite at Pechon, which straddles a spit of land jutting out into the Cantabrian sea, which lay invitingly blue and close at hand. The sky was a clear, deep blue too. There were trees in the campsite just calling out to hold me and the hammock. It looked perfect.

I sped on to the next town - needing a coffee and a cash machine. The man who sold me the coffee told me the forecast was for "tormentas" (thunder).. and also that he had rooms at a very reasonable €22. Deal.

So instead of the perfect campsite, I booked into a nondescript workers' hostel. I've watched a game of skittles, along with half of this small town.. and still no sign of thunder. Or even a drop of rain. My mind drifts back to that campsite... a night with the surf lulling me to sleep. Or.. a couple have just stumbled drunkenly into the room next door.. the walls are paper thin.. and.. yes.. you guessed it.. this is going to be a long night.

[Update about six minutes later: Not such a long night after all. The man next door is already snoring...]

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