Orientation

In southern Spain, they are big into renewable energy, and we saw fields of solar panels in between the wheat fields, and combination sunflower-and-wind farms, and I can’t help but picture Don Quixote tilting at these giants of windmills.

So while I was picturing a modern Man from La Mancha, the 3 satnavs were disagreeing about the route. As usual with satnavs in foreign climes, this resulted in a few unplanned diversions and the odd U-turn. At lunch, we discussed the vagaries of GPS systems and signals, and I remain staunchly a map book kind of girl.

Which is an interestingly revealing trait, personality-wise.  I’ve never liked being told where to go and when to turn. I’ve never liked not being able to chart my own course, and create my own diversions.

Double-decker roundabout in Jerez

Jerez de la Frontera - Flamenco country

Lunch at La Laja

Where I got to order things already on the menu and they understood the concept of vegetarianism. This is surprisingly rare in Spain, where fish appears to be classed as a plant. The waiter gave me tips for next time, to avoid another Ensalada Mista mix-up.

Mise en Scene

The rally itself was very quiet, and lacked much in the way of attendees or traders. I did manage to buy myself a helmet which pretty much took care of my shopping list. 

There is no way I will go to a bike rally and not ride, even if it's as a pillion. 

So after spending Friday afternoon at the rally, shopping and browsing (2 very different activities) and siestas and eating and listening to various bands performing their hearts out for tiny audiences (and trying not to feel extremely bad for them), we opted for a group ride on Saturday.

On Saturday afternoon (Friday night was pretty late), we went for a ride down the coast a bit. 5 bikes, 3 satnavs and me riding pillion and paying more attention to the scenery than the direction, which is a good thing, because I find the south western edge of Europe geographically confusing. There are so many plants that I know from childhood and associate with Africa (probably mistakenly).  There are birds whose calls and feathers I know: storks and hoopoes.

There are also the low hills, with sparse bushes dotted about that my mind persists in naming koppies, and barbed wire, razor wire and sun-peeled paint in evidence. The curvy stonework on arches and buildings makes me think of Cape Dutch houses. The run-down parts of south west Europe remind me of home.

If it wasn't for the general cleanliness, the road-signs and the fact that they drive on the right, I’d find it even more disorienting. 

Hotel bar in Puerto de Santa maria

I'm not sure the sunken brick fountain is a good idea in a bar, but whatever...

Planes, Trains & Automobiles

I'm a biker. I like to ride. But sometimes, you just can’t get the time off. This was the case for me this year, and riding down to Jerez de la Frontera for the HOG Europe Rally wasn’t an option. So I made a deal for a hotel room, and booked flights instead.

Jerez is a small airport that pretty much, from a UK perspective, operates in summer. This means I have limited options in terms of airports and flight times. Still, it’s doable.

Then I had to figure out how to get from London to Stansted by 5am on a Friday.

I looked into taxis, and freaked at the price. I looked at the Stansted Express, and it had potential.

Then, of course, I had to figure out how to get to Liverpool Street Station in time to catch the 4.10am train. From where I live, at that hour, that means Night Buses.Yes, plural.

I would have to wake up at 2.30am. That is never a pleasant thought. I looked into taxis, and freaked at the price. I looked again, and found a voucher that meant I could sleep until 3.30.

So, of course, the train was delayed (over-running engineering works) and I got to Stansted eventually at 5.20am, and attempted to race through Security, with its myriad restrictions and delays and idiots. (Everyone knows the 100ml rule, right? Wrong).

I say attempted because Stansted was packed and the queues wound around and around and around the terminal and came out by a section partially closed for refurbishment.

I found the one free sliver of bench and sat, thanking online check-in and cabin baggage. I waited.

The plane took off late, but landed early.  The man behind me had long legs that kept  bumping me. Possibly also because he had a double Jack and Coke around 7am, once we were air borne.

Then there was another train (one per hour, and I missed it by 5 mins, so had to wait on a platform in 36 degree heat in jeans and boots). Then there was another taxi (this time in Spanish) to get to the hotel.

For all the time it takes, and the frustrations of weather and parking and petrol stations, I prefer to ride. 

I prefer the simplicity of a single mode of transport. 

I prefer to get up at stupid if I’m going to be on my own two wheels. Maybe that’s nuts, or maybe I’m just a biker.