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In Which I Set Off Once More Unto The Breach
March 24, 2008 by Mike
Marbella
Route: Tarifa - Gibraltar - Estepona - Puerto Banus - Marbella
As I started typing the day up I wrote 'Tarifa' instead of 'Marbella'. After 144 days in the southest town in Europe (sic) (or Norwich..) that's no surprise.
Today I packed up, had a last cup of tea with Annie and a last manly hug with Hernan, made Lucas cry and Malena gurgle, stopped off to see Vitto and the flat and the cat, stocked up on duct tape and set off for pastures new.
I'm leaving behind people I treasure very deeply, who have shown generosity and kindness to me that I cannot begin to relay to you in words. Before I get too soppy, I should point out that they also make me giggle (and drink) as much as it's possible to do. The whole town is good. I commend it to you.. and think you should seriously consider advertising (at full rate) in Hernan and Annie's extraordinary newspaper as soon as possible.
But.. this time, at least.. it was only ever going to be a stop on the journey.
Five minutes out of town, still very much a part of the area I've lived in and know, I realise that I'm back On The Road again. The panniers and camping equipment packed onto the bike make all the difference. Stopping at the look-out point high above the town and the Straits of Gibraltar to take last pictures and a last look, I meet Peter, a Gibraltarian Bonneville owner who quizzes me about the bike and the trip.
Our bikes are about the same age, so he shakes his head: "Mine's only done 5000, and I see you've done over 31,000."
It's when he realises that I've done 31,000 *miles* to his 5000 *kilometres* that the headshake becomes something of a body tremble.
And, as I look out towards Morocco, a gang of young Spanish tourists ask if I wouldn't mind taking their portrait, here, look, with this camera: just press here. Thing is, they ask and demonstrate en español.. which I take to be a good thing. (I answer in cod-Spanish. They thank me in fluent English. Still some work to do there, Mike.)
--
In and out of Gibraltar in an hour: that's how long some cars queue just to cross the frontier. Get a motorbike, people. I've come to know the place, slightly, as a 'local'. That means I've already visited the Rock, seen the apes, gawped at the fortifications, bought the Marmite.. all without camera or video in hand. Today I rode around the Rock besidetheseaside, as far as possible. Roadworks mean the circuit is incomplete, but I got as far as the Eastern Beaches on one side and Europa Point on the other: a great view of the shipping lanes and Morocco, in particular the rock of Ceuta, the other 'Pillar Of Hercules.'
And Europa Point was home to a Real Life ice-cream van. Complete with tinkle-tinkle music and cavernous refrigerated stores of mini Flakes. I had a "99" sat on a small stone wall, feet dangling down over the Mediterranean, being as English as can be (considering I'm half-Norwegian) in the least English climate imaginable. Which is exactly what the people here do every day. The Gibraltarian Paradox.
--
On and on. Past Estepona, past Puerto Banus -- but only because there are no campsites there. I have it on good authority that Puerto Banus is hell on earth, but the truth is, I feel the need to stay somewhere completely and utterly removed from Tarifa, and I figure a full on, 100% tourist resort, the tackier the better, would do.
Past Marbella (a better class of tacky tourist resort) until I find Camping Buganvilla perched above the hectic N-340
dual carriageway, ten minutes walk from the beach.. but with a sea view if the stretch your neck in the right direction and the wind parts the trees at exactly the right moment.
I've met good people here too: more tomorrow. But I'm bushed. Leaving home has taken it out of me, and I have many good memories to help me sleep. Good night.
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By Nick | March 28, 2008 7:29 AM
Greetings from the snowy north! Lucky you, back on the road again down there in the sunny south! Enjoy every mile!