Thrifty Fifty - Ainsa, San Sebastian and Sailing
Day 8 – 100 miles: San Sebastián → Bilbao. Accommodation: The Galicia (Hull parking ;))
Day 9 – Many nautical miles: Bilbao → Portsmouth
As I write, we’re on a ship named Galicia, 214 metres long, 41,000 tonnes, and now 20 hours into the 36-hour return sailing from Bilbao to Portsmouth. Our phones are loaded with media, our bags are stocked from Lidl, and the ship has its own entertainment.
The mood is good with the sun beating down and reflecting off the water, whale-watching is taking place on the sundeck, and its restful after eight days of continuous riding.
Extra entertainment came courtesy of Ken as he shopped to buy a gifts for his wife and daughter from the onboard shop. It has wide selection of worldly treats, but he’s tighter than a rusty nut and simply couldn’t loosen his wallet.
We had a four-berth cabin, though only three of us slept in it despite four being on the ferry. It was reminiscent of Clun, where the group mysteriously found itself a man down overnight.
Our fifth team member, Jason, left us on the morning of Day 7 in Aínsa, choosing to “lone wolf” his way back to Blighty. He clearly didn’t fancy being cooped up in a tin can on the rolling ocean, and he’d recently visited San Sebastián anyway. True to form, the king of mechanical sympathy made it back to Dieppe the very same day, three days down, one day back.
After the lone wolf left the pack, the rest of us meandered to San Sebastián, the food capital of northern Spain, famous for pintxos (tapas).
The scenery shifted on this leg, from burnt and arid to lush and green. The tarmac roller coaster still snaked left and right, up and down, but now ferns grew by the roadside and water vapour hung low over the trees.
The scene was almost rainforest-like. And, like a rainforest, it was wet, or more accurately, in English, it pissed it down for hours. The roads turned damp and slimy, every corner a sliding risk.
We arrived in San Sebastián like soggy lettuce, but ready to sample the culture. Our Spanish hostel proprietor was a kindly older man who had seen Fawlty Towers, which made for lively conversation. At one point, he even asked me to help him carry a discarded flower basket from the street bin into his basement for fixing up.
San Sebastián is a beautiful city, full of bars, cafés, and bistros, rich with history, and apparently popular with surfers. We strolled the streets and sampled its delights. Paul M caught the distinctive whiff of Mary Jane and attempted to blag a puff from a smoking rasta. Unsurprisingly, the rasta was less than thrilled by a 66-year-old intoxicated Yorkshireman pestering him for a drag. Probably just as well.
We ate and drank deeply of the culture, but after midnight, as the streets began to empty, in the food capital of Spain, we somehow ended up in McDonald’s. Paul promptly took and ate the wrong order. The actual orderer grew increasingly frustrated with the staff, providing further entertainment as Paul happily ate his meal.
The following morning, we rode the 100 miles to Bilbao along the coastal road. It was fantastic to see the ocean.
I felt a real sense of accomplishment as I wafted along: England, France, the Pyrenees, and northern Spain, all in just eight days. Even though we travelled as a group, each of us had our own journey and i hope my companions enjoyed it as much as I did.
Thank you for joining me.
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