TravelStream™ news feed for member rbruce on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/rbruce en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sun, 05 Oct 2008 05:02:46 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1223189520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1223189520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1223189520/tpod.html Sun, 05 Oct 2008 05:02:46 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Rome, Lazio, Italy

I awoke Monday morning surprisingly refreshed and full of vigour. Sunday night happened to be THE social night at this hostel in Florence. Backpacker inns are really a crap shoot that way. The days of the week lose their significance once commitments and obligations leave and a lot of liquid cash enters the lives of young folks.Having balked at the suggestion of the bike mechanic to replace my entire drive train (rear cassette, chain, front rings, +/- derailleur) at a minimum cost of 150 euros, this morning I had come to accept my fate. I was walking to Rome. The sun was shining, the air was fresh and crisp and I knew I could at least coast the downhills. I was pumped and ready to roll. A quick check to make sure my tires felt the same way and I was off.The usual turmoil of trying to find a tertiary road out of town ensued. Firenzians are quite friendly, however. I had an enjoyable encounter with some flamboyant old men sitting around the cafe. They were arguing with each other about which direction my desired road was, whether it was my best option to Siena and whether or not it still existed or if it was now 'chiuso'.With some trouble I made it out of town. Not on the road I wanted but on one that would meet up with it soon. Not bad. The Tuscany region is very pretty, especially on the forgotten highways and especially in the fall. This area is also known as Chianti, the world famous wine growing region. Vineyards blanket the hillsides and old men transport the daily haul along the twisty roads in their miniature three wheeled piaggio pick-ups, seemingly oblivious to the honks of impeded motorists.Along the stretch back to Rome one passes through plenty of volcanic relics. The tell-tale circular shape of collapsed caldera lakes, columnar basalt columns along the roadside, volcanic ash layers in the highway embankments. Apparently, Lake Bolsena at least, still emits plumes of volcanic gas every once and a while. The ancients found that the easily hollowed volcanic 'tuff' rock bluffs made an ideal location for necropoli (cities for the dead, basically burial chambers in the rock). One stretch called the Necropoli della Via Cassia has 64 burial chambers excavated out of the rock face over a 180 m stretch. A quote from the tourist info sign: 'However, today most of the chambers are used by locals for gardening sheds and parking garages'. How quintessentially Italian.My last night before hitting Rome I decided to camp up in the hills rather than push the extra 10 or 15 km to the Prima Porta campground where Ainaz and I were to reunite. One more night to say farewell to stealth camping, and Ainaz was still in Venice anyhow. I spotted an unfenced and treed embankment just as the road broke from the shroud of the hills and the expansive valley of the city of Rome came into view. I parked the bike and went in to investigate. Immediately I found a beautiful flat and grassy spot at the base of the hill. I grabbed my bike and returned to the spot. In preparing to set up camp a fetid odour crawled up my olfactories. Geez, a guy goes three days without a shower and all of a sudden he smells like a rotting sheep carcass. Oh no. Wait. That's a rotting sheep carcass. All right  Jake, looks like this spot is occupied. Let's head up the hill a little bit.Ainaz and I met up the next morning at the Camping Tiber campground in Prima Porta. We had a lot to catch up on. We've been hanging out the last few days taking care of packing up the bikes and checking out some parts of Rome we missed the first time through. As our return flight date grows nearer we are both feeling apprehensive about what is to come for us back in Canada. Seven months is a long time to be away. Seven months is a long time to be living in a tent. One starts to forget how it is to perform in conventional society. Example: at the hostel in Florence one night I found myself sitting outside on a garden bench cracking open a can of tuna to mix with my canned beans and peas...in the rain. I had an out of body experience, looked at myself and realized that NOBODY does this! Everybody else is sitting inside eating spagetti bolognese at the hostel cafeteria.I'll adjust I suppose. It may just take some time. In the meantime I'll leave you with a quote from Hemingway:'Why not let up on the bitchery just a little, Margot'No wait, wrong quote...here we go:'Already there was something mysterious and homelike. Nick was happy as he crawled inside the tent. He had not been unhappy all day. This was different though. Now things were done. There had been this to do. Now it was done. It had been a hard trip. He was very tired. That was done. He had made his camp. He was settled. Nothing could touch him. It was a good place to camp. He was there, in the good place. He was in his home where he had made it. Now he was hungry.'
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1221923760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1221923760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1221923760/tpod.html Sun, 28 Sep 2008 02:55:59 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Avignon, Provence, France

So after blowing my time and money budget in so many ways during my stay in Andalusia, I was anxious to get back into cycling mode and start stealth camping again. I caught a train north to a town called Xativa, about a day south of Valencia. From here I bombed it up to and through Barcelona and along the stretch dubbed 'La Costa Brava'.The Costa Brava was an absolutely spectacular stretch. It is the rocky coastline of the East Pyranees which separate Spain from France. Challenging riding...up and over headlands and down into canyons but man, was it worth it. This stretch is a cyclists wet dream. Sinuous coastal highway wrapping around rocky promontories, pine forest, mountainous backdrop, picture perfect Spanish towns tucked into tight canyons and magnificent sea vistas.I met an interesting fellow cycle tourist on this stretch. I passed by him walking his bike into town and wondered what his deal was. He caught up with me as I sat drinking a coke outside the gas station. We struck up a conversation. He's towing a massive wooden homemade trailor behind him. Says he only does 20 km a day because he has to walk it all. I ask him if his bike is broken. He says no, it works fine, but he has to walk otherwise his goat can't keep up. He's headed to France. With his goat. Why France?, I ask. Why not? He says. Why the goat? I ask. He looks at me like I'm stupid. I change the subject.Once into France the terrain soon became much more tame. A little too tame. One learns a lot about oneself on a trip like this. Of late, I've learned this: I'm not a beach guy. I like the idea of the beach but I can't bring myself to enjoy it. I don't like packing an extra five pounds of sand in my gear. I don't like headwinds. I don't like sitting around doing nothing, which is pretty much what one does on the beach. I'm like a meth addict. I always have to be doing something, and lately that something has been given'r on my bike. So I had a look at the map and decided to head on up into the hills to a place called 'Le Grand Canyon du Verdon'. With a name like that, it's gotta be cool, right? Leaving the coast was the best thing I could have done. People aren't as friendly on the coast as they are in the mountains. The towns are dirtier. The traffic is worse and the tourists drive you mad. Up in the mountains everyone says hello to each other. The storekeep at the small alimentaire will give you a complimentary pain de chocolat because she knows she won't sell it this late in the day. Furthermore, wild camping opportunities up in the mountains are always good, and often are perfect 10 locations (note the Lac St. Croix lookout spot!).The grand canyon was nothing short of grand. It is tighter than the American Grand Canyon, and thus not as breathtaking I suppose, but has a more intimate feel. The road goes right up through the canyon and along the canyon walls. You really get a feel for the enormity of the chert and limestone walls. Road grades were even half decent as for much of the stretch you are travelling right along the river.I did have to go over 3 mountain passes that day, mind you. Of course on the third, at the end of the day, I got caught in torrential rain which turned to thick fog as I descended into the picture perfect French town of Greolieres. On the descent, I knew I was on the edge of something steep but couldn't quite see how steep. Maybe that was a good thing.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222272360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222272360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222272360/tpod.html Fri, 26 Sep 2008 06:39:56 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Pisa, Tuscany, Italy

Hey, I'm in Pisa. Seeing the leaning tower was great. It is such a weird feeling to see all of these 'postcard' sights in person. It's like you're living in a photograph. I was truly disappointed, however, to discover that the tower description sign has absolutely nothing about the geotechnics. All they talk about are the 3 construction phases and all of the work done to repair and prevent the weathering of the facade. What kind of BS is that? It is the LEANING tower because of the ground condions. That is why people come to see it! Not for the facade! I know they have done a lot of repair work on the ground so as to keep the tower upright but still leaning (wouldn't want to straighten it out and thus lose its tourist draw), but there was no word of it. I think the Italians don't like to admit that one of their own made a mistake. From reading the tower writeup, one would conclude that it was the architect's original intention to have the tower lean that way.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222265940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222265940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1222265940/tpod.html Fri, 26 Sep 2008 06:24:44 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Granada, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands

The Andalusian Triangle! Wow. This province of Spain is a vacation unto itself. Andalusia has it all: wonderful cities, breathtaking mountains, amazing beaches and one hell of a lot of olive trees.The triangle I refer to is the trio of major cities in the region. Sevilla, Cordoba and Granada. Here you can wander the maze of cobbled roads in Santa Cruz, Sevilla, the tight alleyways of the Cordoban Jewish quarter, and see the last remnants of the Moorishish empire at La Mezquita in Cordoba and the Alhambra in Granada.So all that was pretty cool, but here are the highlights: Met an interesting British chap and his lady on my second night in Sevilla. Benjamin (not his real name) was an ex drug runner. He used to pack Morocco's finest from Gib all the way up to Jolly Ol' back in his younger days. Not your typical drug smuggler tho, at least not typical North American car or truck drug smuggler. Get this, he packed it in his belly and took the plane. Ben said he could stuff a kilo and a half down his gullet before checking in for his flight. He knew all the tricks too. I asked if he used Saran Wrap to seal the hash. Negative. Cellophane shows up in the urine. You dip it in bees wax, stupid. Ha! Live and learn. He even had a buddy named The Suitcase (suprisingly, that IS his real name) who could shove 2 and a half kees into his belly before departure. Layovers must have been hell.Met a cool Slovenian guy named Jona in Cordoba. Jona is a tour guide for a British travel company and consequently speaks perfect English, which unfortunately is still a necessary trait in potential friends for this pathetic single tongued north american. Jona also speaks Italian, Croatian, German, of course Slovenian, as well as his own blend of Italian/Spanish which he calls Spitalian. It consists of speaking Italian to the Spaniards, peppered with whatever Spanish words or phrases he can think of at the time. Despite his impressive language proficiency I was still able to teach him a thing or two about Spanish on our night out in Cordoba...'Hey! Hey Rob! How do you say 'asshole' in Spanish?!?'Jona was going to rent a car in Granada and we planned to meet up after I ride my ass down there. 9,562,548,763 olive trees later I was in Granada. We picked up the car, piled a couple of girls in and hit the road. The wrong road. We headed up into the Sierra Nevadas, as planned, but we took the dead end highway. Signs passed us by every half hour or so...Elevation 1500 m, 2000 m, 2500 m...then we hit the military stop. No vehicles past this point. Back to Granada. Found the right highway. Back into the Sierra Nevadas.The highway skirts ridges and stops in at all sorts of cool little mountain towns. The big thing in this part of Spain is the cured ham. Shops have rows of salted pig legs hanging from the roof. Man, I just wanted to take a big ol' bite out of them but they are really pricey. I've talked about this stuff before...it is so good. I think I called it pork sashimi. It's the closest you can get to taking a bite out of a live pig. Delicious.So out of the Nevadas and down into the dryest region in the continent. This is where they filmed a bunch of the old westerns. They've still got all the old movie prop towns set up for the tourists. Tumbleweed blows by on the roads in front of wood slat buildings and teepees.Ok, enough tourist BS. Now we're off to the Cabo de Gata. Apparently it's the least touristed beach in the region. We got there as the sun was near setting, took a quick dip, well, Shell (Perth) and I did but the Slovenian and the American wussed out. We dropped off Ginger, the American, at the train station as she was off to be a nanny in Madrid. The three of us, Jona, Shell and myself, then loaded up on groceries and wooden palettes and hit the beach to find camp.Camp we found. Sort of. In amongst the garbage and plastic bottles we made a fire pit and got a good blazer going with the treated wood palettes. Threw in a couple of veggie packs, some bratwurst, uncorked a bottle of Cabernet and there you have it: an unforgetable night.Jona had neglected to bring anything to sleep with, so he borrowed Shell's wet towel to lie on. It wasn't quite doing it for him so he tore the trunk lining out of the rent-a-car, lay on that and used the wet towel for a blanket. At least his feet were warm. After all this, he still ended up sleeping in the car. Jona my friend, when you come to Canada I will teach you how to camp. Well, I'll cut this one off here. I'm retro-blogging right now and have a lot to catch up on!R
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1220527080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1220527080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1220527080/tpod.html Thu, 04 Sep 2008 08:13:18 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Seville, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands

I've got a confession to make. I've broken my new camera already. Actually, I broke it back in Salmanca. I thought I'd take in an afternoon matinee at the El Tormes mall (saw the new Adam Sandler flick, Zohan. It was in Spanish, but I figured Mr. Sandler's antics could transcend any language barriers there may be). I was attempting to fit a 1 L bottle of chocolate milk and an asian cracker snack pack into an already full backpack. It was a tight squeeze but it all fit. Unfortunately I ended up turning my camera's LCD screen into a CD screen. It still works, I just can't see what it is I'm taking a picture of. Consequently, the quality of photos may have been diminished of late and from here on in.It was great riding from Lisboa. The first day was flat and rather uneventful. By the second day I was back into beautiful interior Portugal. I camped literally on the Spanish border the second night. I set the tent on an old, disused service road between the two countries. It's funny, the Spanish side is a national park but is nothing more than scrub brush and electric towers. The Portugal side is beautiful pine forest, but has no official designation as a park. The trees stop at the service road. Portugal was a great country. Beautiful scenery and beautiful people. No where else did I get so much support from motorists. There is one sore spot I have for the country, however. The dogs. Portuguese dogs are a special breed. Well, not technically a breed, as they come in all shapes, sizes and colours, and look just like other dogs, but more of a collective mentality. I have never seen such raw hatred in a dog's eyes. Dogs of other nationalities would bark and set out on chase, but with the exception of the Italian mutt that bit Ainaz I always felt that it was more for sport or an action performed out of boredom. With Portuguese dogs I get the distinct feeling that they have set out after me with the sole intention of homicide and full dismemberment, not necessarily in that order. Thankfully, most are chained up or behind fences. When you see one with his jaws locked around a wrought iron gate, snarling and frothing at the mouth, it is not difficult to surmise that serving you a painful death is first and foremost on his mind.Further on into Spain I got into mountain country. Not mountains like Canada mountains, these are old and worn but present difficult riding conditions nonetheless. Especially when it's pushing 40 degrees out. Beautiful country. Rounded mountains, arroyos secos, bedrock outcrops, olive trees, sinuous railways, dilapidated stone mountain houses, and the like. Very peaceful out on the frontier. Cloudless starry nights and quiet to the point that you get that faint ringing in your ears.So here I am in Sevilla! I've been here for two nights and will stay tonight before getting back on the road. My excuse for the extended stay is that I'm looking for bike parts and a good mechanic, but really I just love this town! This is the Spain I was looking forward to. Palm trees, lively atmosphere, city gardens and a maze of streets. Sevilla is one tough town to navigate in. There are reference points, like the river and the cathedral, the problem is you can never see them. Once you delve into the labyrinth of streets in los barrios Santa Cruz and el Centro there is no getting out. All you can see is the cobblestone road and the peeling paint and intricate masonry of the adjacent buildings. I'm usually half decent at finding my way around towns, something of a sixth sense, but man did I ever get lost in Sevilla the other night.I've spent the last week contemplating a dip into northern Africa. Thought I might take in Morocco and Algeria then catch the boat back to Marseille. The catch is it would mean missing the Spanish beaches and powerhouse travel towns like Cordoba, Granada and Barcelona. I was convinced I would do it anyway, but after a little more thought and some research it just looks like too big of an undertaking at this point in the trip. Jake is not riding so smooth, and frankly, neither am I. I think we'll stick around on this continent for a while longer. Sorry to disappoint you, mom. I know how badly you wanted me to go to Africa.All is well in this part of the world. Hope all of you can say the same.Robin
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219855080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219855080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219855080/tpod.html Tue, 02 Sep 2008 10:22:21 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Lisbon, Estremadura, Portugal

Okay, okay. Here is the written part. I was having altogether WAY too much fun in Lisboa to take the time to write an entry. What a town! My god. Lisboa has everything. Castles, sinuous streets, cathedrals, viewpoints, Arabic quarter, river, and one killer nightlife (much like Rio de Janiero...go figure). So first off, let me catch up on a bit from Salamanca, my last major destination. It was a long, hot day riding into Salmanca. I was ready for some comforts. Instead I got terrible directions and heavy city centre traffic. I was not pleased. So when a antiquated sedan cut me off attempting to make a right turn, but instead got stopped dead by heavy pedestrian traffic, I lost my cool and gave his trunk a solid WHACK! He was not pleased. Behind me I heard screeching tires. Buddy pulls up alongside me, gets out and starts into a maniacal rant. Wife gets out of the back seat, following hombre's lead. Only then did I notice the car was packed full with kids. This was the Real Muchachos reprise. I was in no mood to take this caballero's crap. He was in the wrong, so I fired back at him. Wild gestures on both my part and his entire family's. I honestly thought the wife was going to take a run at me. The little girl in the back seat, no BS, was smacking a tire iron against her palm! She couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old! Anyway, light turned green and they took off. At the next light I got some support from a passing motorist, commenting that Salamanca drivers can be 'loco'. No shite.At the campground in Salmanca I stayed with a massive crew of Englishmen. They were doing a charity car rally to Portugal. The catch was that the car your team drove couldn't be worth more than 250 Pounds! Jolly good fun, I tell 'ye. Campground full of riotous Britons playing bumper cars with their beaters. Many were intrigued to hear of my trip. 'What would possess you to do such a thing!?!' Coincidentally, I would meet up with 4 of these lads later in Lisboa, their terminous. Turns out we checked into the same hostel.The road to Lisboa through Portugal was nothing short of spectacular. I was back in vegetation country! North central spain is so arid and desolate. Hardly a tree or bush to be seen. Once into Portugal this changed. All of a sudden their were rocky river valleys, green vegetation and trees! Trees man! I can wild camp again! I had great luck finding stealth spots on the way to the big city. Interior Portugal is fabulous cycling country. Unfortunately, Portugal has that nasty habit, as did Sicily, of perching their towns on the tops of hills. Not fun at the end of a very long day (179 km from Salamanca to Guarda, Portugal), well after nightfall when one is looking for a campground. I followed the camping signs up and up to the city centre, only to be dropped down the other side. No dice, I thought. I'm not going down there. So I set my tent on a bushy ridge by the road. That was my re-initiation to stealth camping after a poor and pricey showing in Spain.Portugal has incredible morning fog. Thick as any I've ever seen. It usually burns off soon after the sun comes up, but one morning it stuck around until nearly noon. It's a blessing, I tell you, as the only place hotter than Spain is Portugal!Tonnes of support honks and waves here, starting in western Spain making my way to the border. Truckers are especially friendly. I've had ballads of honks from convoys of trucks, and full bodied waves (torsos out the window!) from other passing motorists!Tough to tear myself away from Lisboa. The only consolation is that my next stop is Sevilla, Spain! The pulsing heart of the Spanish south. Onward and (unfortunately) upward! R
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219401660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219401660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rbruce/1/1219401660/tpod.html Fri, 22 Aug 2008 18:33:42 -0400 EuroTrip 2008

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Salamanca, Castile-León, Spain and Canary Islands

Ainaz´ New Blog: www.travelpod.com/members/ainazOh man, where to begin?! So much has happened in the last week. Jake has been battling some severe medical ailments, I've met some great folks, had some of the most challenging riding on this trip thus far and have persevered through the hottest weather I have experienced to date.So the ride over the Pyranees was apparently too much for Jake. My bottom bracket (connects the two cranks) finally was worn to the point of replacement. The clicking sound I was hearing previously had progressed into a severe wobble (it was like riding with rubber cranks) and a distressing snapping and grinding sound was now emanating from Jake's netheregions.I will spare you the full details of Jake's medical treatment, as it is a very long story having visited 8 mechanics in 4 different towns, but will share our experience with the first. I took him to the doctor's office in Pamplona. Despite being a Saturday sandwiched between a holiday Friday and a Sunday, the office was open. As it would turn out, this was a stroke of BAD luck. I showed up at the bike shop at 10am. The mechanic was busy with another customer, so I waited. By 11am he was ready to see us. I removed my bags and put Jake on the stand. He assessed the problem: worn bottom bracket. A regular Sherlock Holmes we have here. Between chatting with his friends and answering the phone, by noon he had removed the screws to my bottom bracket. By 1pm he had informed me that he could not find the tool to remove the piece, and therefore could not fix the problem. He could, however, repair the problem with my front brakes. A broken adjuster spring and a new cable, nothing more I informed him. By 2pm he informed me that my brake lever/shifter was broken. Fine. Just replace it. By 3pm he had replaced it with a used Shimano Sora component, a significant downgrade in both quality and aesthetics. No matter, as long as it is functional. He promptly informed me that while the braking system seemed to be working, the shifter wasn't. I asked him how long he had been working at the bike shop. Five years. Five years wasted, I should have told him.Searching his bicycle catacomb in the back room, he emerged with a lever system looking like he pulled it from his grandmother's bike. Meanwhile, I had been busying myself with the 'broken' lever, and with the exception of an easily replacible fitting it seemed to be functioning fine. I told him so. He claimed it was still broken, but could not explain or demonstrate how. I got the feeling I was being ripped off.Rather than turn my bike into some kind of Frankenstein machine with pieces from his jalopies in the back, I told him that I cannot purchase that lever system and I will be happy just to take my bike and go. This guy clearly had no idea what he was doing. Unforunately, my handlebars were now just bare aluminum on the left hand side. I grabbed my 'broken' shifter, shoved it in my bags and made a hasty retreat. He may have screwed me over and caused me to forfeit a day poking around Pamplona, but he got his too - an entire day with no pay.Seven mechanics, four cities, a forced layover day (Sunday, waiting for the shops to open on Monday) and two forced half days later I found a mechanic who could fix the bottom bracket. My god, what an ordeal.  Lucky mechanic number 8 (those Chinese may be on to something)! I was so happy to get my bracket fixed I didn't even mention the missing front brakes. Suprisingly, neither did any of the other seven mechanics.Okay, enough about that. On to the good stuff - the people.I met a great Irish lad, David, in Estella on my layover day. He wasn't doing the Camino but was just driving around France and Spain to clear his head for a while. We had an instant connection. It was eerie. We were almost like the same person, in the same place, going through the same things and both very far from home. He had me rolling in laughter half the time I was talking to him. Turns out we were staying at the same campground. He told me a story about the night he checked in. I will try to do it some justice here, but please understand that his expressions, gestures and accent are what really made the story priceless. The Real Muchachos    by David O'LoughlinAfter a long day of driving, David pulled into the crowded Lizarra campground in Estella, Spain. Anxious to get some shut eye, he began setting up his tent in amongst the hordes of tents and campers. The campground is absolutely chock a block full with vacationing Spanish families. A rude lady in the adjacent camper gave him a dirty look, and motioned for him to slide his tent over. To where? The place is packed! So he continues on, ignoring the lady.That evening, under the cover of darkness, a dark van pulls in next to him. This is no minivan. We're talking a full sized commercial panel van. He swears they were gypsies. A vanload full of 'em. The kids hop out and get to work setting up the tent. In no time they have erected a semi-permanent structure between him and the lady in the adjacent camper. Five kids, hammering pegs and setting cross beams, shouting and yelling between each other while 'madre' is shouting and yelling directions to the kids. Meanwhile, 'padre' is in the cab with the Spanish tunes absolutely cranked to the max. This was the real deal, claimed David, ´the real Spanish fucking Muchachos, straight from the hills.´Me thinks that now, David was looking pretty good as a neighbour to the lady in the camper.Man, so much more to say but this is getting long.Short version:Decided to give up the Camino de Santiago in Burgos and head south. I'm now in Salamanca, and am formulating plans to hit up Portugal. Two reasons for deserting the Camino:1) Jake really isn't cut out for this trail, especially with all my gear and my broken rack. The other people doing the trail with bikes all have primo mountain bikes with suspension and are carrying next to nothing. If I did continue, I'd have to take the highway route (still a designated Camino route). This doesn't appeal to me. It is a busy highway with lots of trucks. Besides, if you're not taking the trail, then, well, you're not really doing the trail, are you?2) I would like to get into Portugal and down to Gibraltar. Santiago is way up there. Gibraltar is way down there. Cutting SW now would save me some valuable time.More highlights:Met a couple of Fernandos on the trail after one paricularly nasty ascent and descent through the Oca Mountains. They invited me to their buddies place for a much welcomed beer on a scorching hot afternoon of a 120 km day, mostly off road and with a lot of pushing! Fernando number one then escorted me into Burgos, to the two bike shops, and then on to the gates of the campground. What a guy!Got pulled over by la Policia for riding on the autovia (autostrada) once again! Long story, but it is Spain's own fault for double designating the highway. I thought it was a normal highway. And besides, technically there were no signs saying that bikes were prohibited. The cops were total assholes, forcing me to hop over a flimsy wire fence onto the adjacent gravel farming road, when only 50 m from an exit. This was a feat more dangerous than riding on the Autovia itself. Mass confusion ensued, trying to find my way along the maze of farming roads and tertiary highways.Salmanca is a beautiful city. I'm taking a laundry day/bike repair day. What a place to do it! Sorry for rattling on for so long. I hope you managed to wade through my ramblings and get a laugh or two.Until Portugal, Robin.
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Pamplona, Navarra, Spain and Canary Islands

Ainaz´ New Blog: www.travelpod.com/members/ainazOla! I'm at a small coin-op internet terminal which doesn't have a USB connection, so unfortunately photos will have to wait until I get to a real internet cafe. Man, Spain is hot! France was generally quite cool, but on this side of the Pyranees everything changed.I broke camp in a light drizzle out of St. Jean Pied de Port in France Friday morning. I tried to wait out the rain but it didn't seem to want to clear up so I donned my rain gear and packed up a wet tent. Then the sun came out...no matter, I was heading up into the mountains. It'll likely be raining up there, I thought, and in any case it will be cold.As it turns out, St. Jean Pied de Port is the 'start' of one of the access legs of El Camino de Santiago, the ancient and famous pilgrimmage path to the city of Santiago in NW Spain. Funny I should fluke upon it this way. We had considered doing the Camino before we left, but figured we probably wouldn't make it this far west/south. Seven kilometres out of town one enters the town of Arneguy on the Spanish border. This is where I first saw the legions of 'Pilgrims' clad in their rain-slickers and Hi-Tec boots marching along the highway.Arneguy is where the ascent into the mountains begins to get tough. It is a gruelling 20 km stretch of uphill and switchbacks to the first of three mountain passes en route to Pamplona. El Puerto de Ibañeta. Elevation 1057 m. Naturally it was raining during the entire climb, and sections of the switchback were quite windy. Being such a grunt, however, I managed to stay warm with just my long sleeved riding shirt. After one particularly cold and windy stretch, I rounded a bend and the summit came into view. ¡Oh, San Salvador! El Puerto de Ibañeta has a tiny church with a gigantic cross next to it. Sidewalls of the church are composed of unimpressive dull coloured glass shards. Sneaking around the front and peering in through two holes in the locked wooden doors one observes an astounding mosaic of colours shedding light on a gruesome hanging Jesus statue, a leaning cross and a couple of small pews. I'll put up the photos as soon as I can!No time to dilly dally though. My body heat was leaving me quickly and it is now time for the descent. Off I went into the blowing rain, shivering and cursing at passing motorists with their heated seats and air conditioning. This downhill section was the most trying portion of the day. I much prefer battling through a rigourous uphill climb than to idly freeze my ass and fingers off while my bike carries me downhill at 40 km/h. I saw lots of 'Pilgrims' along this stretch, strolling along with their thermal socks and store-bought walking sticks, no doubt having tucked into a quaint little Spanish cafe to avoid the worst of the rain.This whole 'Pilgrimage' thing bothers me. It has just become too fashionable. These people aren't walking the Camino as some religious passage, they're doing it to tell their friends that they hiked 'The Camino! Oh, it was soooo wonderful and spiritual.'It seems to me that sacrifice is an integral part of a pilgrimage. It isn't a comfortable stroll in top of the line gear with every amenity at your fingertips and warm, dry, comfortable accomodation every night. I overheard a guy in downtown Pamplona chatting with another fellow about how he 'thinks' he will pack up and get back on the trail tomorrow. Just how long have you been relaxing in Pamplona, buddy? Furthermore, this guy looked as though the only sacrifice he has made on his 'Pilgrimage' is on the order of forgoing sugar with his morning espresso because his 'Refuge' had run out.Not wanting to count myself in on this charade, I have thus far refused to refer to myself as a 'Pilgrim', despite their special privilages. I approached the tourism booth in Pamplona inquiring about cheap accomodation for the night. All of the hostels were booked solid, I was informed, but for 'Pilgrims' like myself (I guess I looked the part) there are special 'Refuges' which can't turn anybody away.'Ummm...well, I'm not exactly a pilgrim''Oh, you're not doing the Camino?''No. Well, yes, this section anyway, but it just happens to be on my route''So you're JUST a tourist?''I suppose.''In that case, there is a campground 6 km up the highway.'And so I lost my chance a staying in a bonefide 'Refuge'. Nevermind, I'm sure I could not handle the conversations that stay would have entailed.At first I had no plans to do the Camino. Then once I found myself on it I thought I'd give it a shot for a couple of days, then head south. Before this thought had left my head I found myself counting out the kilometres to the terminus in Santiago (go figure, the Camino de Santiago actually ends in Santiago! Hey, it surprised ME.)Take care,Robin
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Anglet, Aquitaine, France

Ainaz´ New Blog: www.travelpod.com/members/ainazQuite the piece of coastline they have here, south of Arachon anyways. The northern bit of this peninsula west of Bordeaux wasn't so great for the cycle tourist with its inland highway. As far as I can tell the areq attracts 4 types of people:1. Les Riches - frequent the resorts and resort towns, hitting up the cafes and les boulangeries during their annual two week vacations.2. The Neo-hippies/Surfers - VW and converted camper vans abound here. They cruise the strip (Hwy 101) in 60s California style, smokin da ganj and hitting all the beaches en-route in search of that perfect wave, or perfect dime bag (hippies never buy more than a dime bag at a time).3. The 4x4 Enthusiast - tearing up the sand and pine forest at 1.80 euros per litre.4. The RV Campers - thrive off being penned in zith bratty kids qnd associated famioly members, yappy dogs, melancholy teenagers embarassed to be vacationing with their parents, and retirees driving around apartment blocks on wheels.Seriously, you should see the campgrounds here. They are disgusting. So crowded. Everyday for the past week I've told myself I'll give in tonight and go to a campground. Then I get to the gates. I see the chaos. I see the clientele. I have nothing in common with any of these people. Anyone who would subject themselves to that, let alone enjoy it, I don't want to have anything to do with.Anyway, the coastline has been gorgeous (Tofino meets northern Cali) but it's time to leave. The tourists are really getting to me, not to mention the traffic. Into the hills I go! The Pyranees! Next stop, Pamplona, Spain.
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Paris, Île-de-France, France

Ainaz´ New Blog: www.travelpod.com/members/ainazBonjour from Paris!What a spectacular city. There is magic in the air here. Larger than life statues, cathedrals and roundabouts (les rond-points)! I spent the day cruising around the city, by bike of course. Along the canals, the 'banks' of the Seine, past the Notre Dame and to the Eiffel Tower where I took in a spot of lunch - a fresh baguette from the boulangerie and some smoked bacon. The bacon they have here is incredible. They call it smoked bacon but really it is lightly smoked ham flesh. It's like eating pork sashimi. There was a thick mist in the air, which turned to light rain as soon as I left the boulangerie. Light rain soon turned to rain, then the black clouds moved in. I happened to be as far from my hostel as possible on my 50km circumnavigation of the city. Great. Lightning flashed, the thunder cracked so loudly I was looking around for smoking trees! I started bombing it for home but there was no point. I was soaked through. Rain soon turned to sun, however, and I dried out while I continued my ride. Unfortunate to only spend one day in Paris, but this trip isn't about taking in museums and art galleries. Perhaps when I'm old, like 30, I'll come back and actually see the INSIDE of the Louvre. Besides, with the lineups to go into these places you'd have to come here for a week. One day per major attraction...half of that spent in the lineup.It seems as though Parisians are constantly and silently mocking us tourists. They have this amazing city, just stunning, and as they drive around in their cars while the hordes of tourists walk and gawk they seem to be thinking "Yeah, I know. It's amazing. No big deal, we've got an espresso date to get to."
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