EUROPEAN TOUR 2007

  Albufeira, Portugal
Sunday, July 15, 2007

TRIP REPORT 5th JUNE TO 25th JUNE 2007

Portugal - England - France - Spain

Entirely by public transport including a few taxis here and there!

Everything went according to plan. The only notable delays I encountered were on the train between Port Bou and Barcelona, the bus between Seville and Ayamonte and the 208/209 local bus between Tonbridge and Golden Green in Kent.

There were two main purposes for these journeys. I live in Portugal (Albufeira) but journey back to my former home area (Tonbridge, Kent, UK) three or four times a year to catch up with friends, drink far too much ale and in this instance go to the annual cricket week at Tunbridge Wells.

After a week of that, I had to travel down to Argelès-sur-Mer in the Languedoc region of France to check out a mobile home I own half of prior to the new holiday season - we let it out during the peak months of July, August and September.

My original last leg of the trip home was to be have been an Easyjet flight from Girona to Faro on Sunday 24th but this route was cancelled before it even got off the ground! So I looked at various options and decided that a quick look at Seville was in order, as there are regular flights from Barcelona. The train journey is unfortunately rather convoluted and not possible within the other limitations I was working with.

I haven't counted how many thousands of miles, maybe it was not that many, but I hope that I can demonstrate that not having a car ( I don't drive and don't even have a licence) is not a barrier to getting out and about.

My webspace is at http://thomasallen.spaces.live.com

I also have a not-for-profit website at www.algarvebus.info which provides public transport information for the Algarve region of Portugal, where I live.

Log of Journeys 5th June to 25th June 2007

Please visit my webspace (address above) see the actual journey log.

Portugal - England Booked a 0930 pickup from a local transfer outfit; van arrived a few minutes early and I was on my way at 0925. Trouble-free journey to the airport and arrived just after 1000am. Using on-line check-in the previous day allows an extra hour in bed and as I am not a morning person I thank BA for making this possible!

No problems at check-in but the usual tears at security as many people were being told they couldn't take that valuable bottle of wine etc in their hand luggage. Do people not read? Air travel is an undignified necessary evil; if only Portugal was plugged into the European high-speed railway network! But this won't be for ten years or more, so we must endure the ever-increasing restrictions. I cannot help but wonder if the airlines are not in league with the international authorities, by forcing people to spend longer in the airport than on the actual aircraft. Funny that the first thing you see at Gatwick is an over-priced drinks machine!
Drink lots of water during your flight we are told, yet you cannot take it on board unless you purchase vastly-overpriced bottles air-side or worse, even more over-priced bottles on the aircraft. At least BA (GB Airways) still give you a free sandwich and a tiny drink.

The flight was on time, schedule padding means an 'early' arrival is always possible.

Flying over Portugal you notice it is brown and arid everywhere, with those curious green circles where the booms spread out watering the land. Passed directly over the city of Evora, all on its own in a great big empty plain. What a contract between the arrow-straight Roman roads and the modern twists and turns.

Crossing into (over) the Asturias district of Spain there was still snow down at the bottoms of the deep valleys and on the north-facing slopes. The area looks untouched. I was not surprised to read once that this area is thought by many anthropologists to have been one of the last areas of Neanderthal populations. Someone I am sure has also written that the impenetrable Basque language is a direct descendent of Neanderthal speech!

Thick cloud all the way across the Bay of Biscay, which only lightened as we crossed the Cherbourg coast. We took a slightly unusual route into Gatwick and the clouds parted to allow a good view of Windsor Castle!

The aircraft actually taxied to a stand somewhere near the terminal, rather than the ones GB Airways usually use, where you have to cross up and over the new bridge, which gives me vertigo!

Luggage handling was efficient (yes, really) and I was out of reclaim, bag in hand, just under half an hour from the time we touched down. Time for a drink (yes, gasping!) before making my way over to the South Terminal and Gatwick Airport Station. I wasn't in a mad rush as my bus from Tonbridge out to the wilds of Golden Green was not until 1655.

Gatwick Airport is a busy, busy station but the ticket machines were all working OK, my card worked and down to the platform for the train to Redhill, about ten minutes up the line and then the train to Tonbridge. It costs £8 and takes 45 minutes for a direct train and around an hour if a change of train is involved. With two trains an hour for much of the day, no problem.

I had no sooner got to Tonbridge than I literally bumped into an acquaintance, who asked after my welfare! Time then to go to the bank and get some English beer tokens and then coffee before the 1655 bus. But it was late; very late in percentage terms! 1710 before it arrived and the delay was entirely due to traffic congestion. If you haven't been to Tonbridge I cannot advise driving through or even near it at any time between about 730am and 730pm on weekdays or on Saturdays and Sundays during shopping hours. What are all these people doing?

Anyway the bus came along and fifteen minutes later I was deposited at the bus stop not fifty yards from my friends house. Greetings and all that.

The I went round to the pub - which is all of seventy-five yards away - and of course met the usual suspects. Ray the landlord was in heavy complain mode owing to the new anti-smoking laws that were coming into force. Compulsory cigarette stubbers outside doors and big signs proclaiming 'NO SMOKING' as if no-one will be aware that smoking will be banned in all enclosed public places except prisons and the Palace of Westminster. That law came into force on 1st July and I am sure a ceremonial last fag or two was smoked. I don't smoke by the way. I will see for myself in September (next visit) how this has affected the social life of the village.

Golden Green is, we think, officially a hamlet as it has neither church nor school. It's about a mile from the village of Hadlow and four miles or so from the nearest large town, Tonbridge. The pub is the Bell Inn

The Bell

and it dates in part back to the 15th century, but has been modified rather a lot. It is one a dying breed, a real village pub where farmworkers and postmen mingle on equal terms with the city types from down the road.

The nearby town of Tonbridge is an ancient community. Shortly after the Conquest, the Normans built a castle to protect the strategic crossing over the River Medway. That was in 1068 but the area was populated long before then. The castle is mostly now in ruins, having been destroyed in the English Civil War around 1648. It is now the seat of the local council and the lawn is used for concerts and fairs.

To the north about 30 miles (about 48km), over a couple of ridges, is London. To the south up the hill were the dark, sinister forests of the Weald. The river runs west to east and was a the main communication route before the roads were improved in the 18th century and before the coming of the railway in 1850.

Tonbridge is now almost a suburb of London; I was a member of the commuting horde for around 30 years. During peak hour twelve long trains head north to the city each carrying a full load. Tonbridge has several secondary (high) schools, so every morning during term-time those same trains disgorge thousands of students from a wide catchment area.

Stretching away from the castle towards the west are the Sportsgrounds, an area of flat land by the river. Here are played football, cricket and Rugby. There's also tennis courts and a children's playground. It's because of the geography but Tonbridge is possibly unique in having such a large area of open space right next to the town centre.

Off to the cricket The next day dawned bright and cold. One of the curses of Tunbridge Wells Cricket Week is that, despite what the weather may have been the week before and irrespective of the forecast, it always rains! Anyway, Wednesday morning was just cold. Out for bus just before 8am to give me time in Tonbridge for essential supplies (Greene King IPA in cans this time) plus some stuff for lunch. I realised by now that it was actually quite cold and the sun had gone behind clouds. Desperate dash into Burton's for a sweater which (heavens be praised) I bought for £7 in their sale. Horrible style and worse colour but it served its purpose.

Then some coffee and toast before the 1001 train to Tunbridge Wells. Kent v Yorkshire was the game, first days play in a 4 day match in the County Championship. The train rolled in and was fairly well populated by middle-aged men carrying bags - a sure sign of cricket watchers! A few in suits as well - hospitality tents are one of the features of cricket weeks at the 'out-grounds' as they are called. Basically an excuse for large groups of men to eat and drink far too much at someone else's expense while 'watching' some sporting event. Disgusting, mind you I have enjoyed some such events in the past!

The Neville Ground in Tunbridge Wells is one of those time-warp places where little has changed over probably 100 years. The pavilion certainly hasn't. A good crowd had gathered and a very enjoyable day's play ensued. Several old friends were met. One thing you do tend to overhear are tales of recent demises "Old Fred's gorn then..."

Went to see friends in Tonbridge on the way back, have dinner and watch the England game v Estonia. They would be staying at my place while I gallivant around Europe. Ate and drank far too much and summoned a taxi back to Golden Green. Hideous expense (£10 for 4.5 miles but the last bus is at 1850!)

Thursday and Friday were much the same, an early start, a bit warmer and a decent day of cricket. Friday was the only time we lost any play at the cricket owing to the weather; it had rained prodigiously during the night and parts of the outfield were rather wet. Back to Tonbridge on Friday as I had arranged to stay at my friend's place in a sort of house swap - my social calendar required me to present myself that night at a local public house to converse with friends based in town. This was accomplished with due suffering the following morning.

Back to Tunbridge Wells for the final days play. Kent managed to avoid defeat (the game was declared a draw) after Yorkshire's mammoth first innings total of 551 forced Kent to follow-on. At least our batting in the second innings was an improvement on the first and Yorkshire could not get the wickets they needed.
After all that excess I decided a quiet night watching TV was required especially as the Sunday game was a vitally important 40-over clash with Hampshire and one Shane Warne.

Off to Tunbridge Wells once again with hordes. Us sensible people had bought our tickets in advance from the County Cricket club's excellent on-line service. They closed the gates on 6,500 people; the capacity. It was packed! Everyone (except Albert) was there. Beer tents and bars did a furious trade. But the thing about cricket weeks is that families and groups bring picnics and vast coolers of wine, beer and champagne. The whole day had the air of a garden party, the sun was shining and the cricket was good.

Until the final half hour or so. Kent had batted direly in response to Hampshire's low total of 220 and with eight wickets down still needed 85 to win. We were pleased to see excellent batting from the lower orders, to which Shame Warne reacted by using delaying tactics between every ball of about the last six or overs. The wrath of the crowd was great and some very un-cricket like expressions were to be heard. In the event Kent didn't quite make it and lost by two runs. We all went down the pub, the Compasses in Grove Hill Road, Tunbridge Wells for some nice ale before the short train ride home.

Did a bit of work cleaning up my friends computer before heading back to Golden Green and taking the dog out for an afternoon walk - finished back at the pub of course. The dog's name is Guinness and he belongs to my friends. Here he is -

Guiness the Dog

Stupid animal.

The next day we went for a walk across the fields to Hadlow, so I could buy a newspaper and post some letters. There is a large field and it was full of very large cows. Would he go anywhere near them? No, so a half-mile detour was needed.

Back to the cricket Wednesday was the last day of the cricket week. Kent needed to win this game to advance in the 40 over competition. Another nice sunny day and a good crowd for a Wednesday but we got hammered! Some horrible bowling allowed Gloucestershire to get 275 in their 40 overs then some equally horrible batting saw Kent collapse to 235 all out!

So it was back to Golden Green for some mugs of ale.

Thursday some more duty with the stupid animal, then some shopping and stuff before some more final mugs of ale with the chaps in the Bell.

Off to France Destination - Argelès-sur-Mer, a resort to the south of Perpignan where I own half share in a mobile home. It was time to go down and clean up before the letting season. Unfortunately my business partner and UK host has been unwell and was unable to travel, so the clean up job was mine!

I had originally wanted to travel by train, a relatively painless journey by local train to Ashford, Eurostar to Paris or Lille then TGV to Perpignan. But all the three morning trains out of Ashford were fully booked when I went into the reservations system! I had the choice perhaps of going up to Stansted and flying Ryanair to Perpignan but starting the day with a cross-London journey and then entrusting myself to Ryanair's whims and fancies didn't appeal to me. I hit upon the idea of breaking my journey at Montpellier, stopping one night and then taking the train for the two hour journey to Argelès on Saturday.

No problem - BA has a flight Gatwick - Montpellier at a civilised hour, really good price so that's what I did. I'm not very adventurous when it comes to hotels (and a bit of a meanie) so booked a room in the Hotel Ibis Montpellier Sud for a mere €39. I know most of the Hotels Ibis are sheds situated in grim industrial estates (see Seville later!) but in this case it was only about a mile from the city centre.
Everything about that journey went according to plan. The sun was out and there were some nice views of rural France as we got down to the centre and south. The aircraft went past Montpellier, out to sea, did a sort of skiddy turn and landed from the south. That little move gave passengers a superb view of the coastline for miles and miles! Montpellier is a baby airport with one luggage belt. The whole process of landing, taxi-ing and luggage reclaim took 17 minutes! That's how travel should be. One slight surprise, to be repeated later, was the presence of armed military in the arrivals area of this tiny provincial airport..

Unfortunately the airport bus wasn't scheduled to go for another hour so I lashed out €25 on a taxi to Ibis Montpellier Sud.

There was plenty of time left in the day after checking in at the hotel and a shower to walk into the city, take a late lunch/early dinner at a small restaurant (I didn't even know what it was called), take a look at the city and ride the new trams to take the weight off the feet and see some more of the city at the same time. Unfortunately the trams were 'perturbed' owing to a broken down unit so things were a bit to pot timetable-wise.

I chanced upon a bus whose destination was another tram terminus (Jacou) and it took me on a pleasant ride of forty minutes or so through some very affluent looking suburbs, until that is when we hit the suburb of Jacou when the scenery was blighted by a McDonald's Drive-In and all the usual retail shed monstrosities that the French seem to love decorating their towns with.

The tram ride down from Jacou back into town was also quite pleasant; the tram line is single track for the first few mile s and winds its way through countryside, rather like an old-fashioned railway branch line.

Tram on Montpellier Ligne 2

Nice view out of the front window.

Montpellier is a university city and much of the centre is pedestrianised and modern. There are quite a number of things to see and worth another visit I think.

To Argelès-sur-Mer Next morning up bright and early to Montpellier's Gare St Roch for the 1007 train to Argelès-sur-Mer. I couldn't have gone down the previous day even if I had wanted to, as the railways had been on strike on the Friday! Once again. Armed military patrolling the station and I knew I was in France (or some other strange country) as among the passengers waiting were a woman with a large pet rabbit draped over her shoulder and a man with a cat in a pink basket. The rabbit certainly received a lot of attention.

If you like puzzles, I can recommend French railway timetables. Trains are irregular, infrequent and very difficult to work out. Even the much vaunted TGV routes have complex schedules. The local trains are all but impossible to figure out, as the printed timetables (fiches horaires) show almost every tiny variation of running for the validity (ne circule pas le 14 julliet or ne circule pas les vendredis pendant les vacances scolaires but 'susceptible to modification on certain days; inform yourself' without telling you what those days are!) so what looks like a busy timetable actually is really only about six trains a day! And nothing of course after about 8pm and very few trains on Sundays. And a lot of the 'trains' especially in rural areas are in fact buses. All this means careful planning and brushing up on your French - of course the timetables are in French only!

Anyway, moaning apart the train was on time and was decently composed of six cars of ex-main line 'Corail' stock, so was reasonably comfortable and only about half-full at best.

Arrival at Argelès-sur-Mer and a taxi to the mobile home park.

Argelès-sur-Mer

Argeles sur Mer

Argelès-sur-Mer is a resort some have compared with Blackpool - it's very much a holiday town (Argelès Plage) as distinct to Argelès Village which is a mile or so inland. The area majors on campsites and mobile home parks - there must be 50 or 60 in the four miles radius from the village. It's quite busy in June; during July and August it must be seething! The area is more or less flat. The foothills of the Pyrenees are in the background and Spain is only about half an hour away. The Mediterranean was a bit grey and whipped by a rather stiff breeze - more of that later. Still, they said that a fortnight before there had been a storm with winds of 120km/hour.

Saturday afternoon was taken up by a trip to the nearby Carrefour and some time with mop and bucket - the ants had got in during the summer and left the evidence. But that wasn't too bad and after cleaning and washing for a few hours time to crash out with a bottle of wine sitting outside in the evening sun. Could be worse I thought!

Sunday was time to finish the cleaning then wander down to the station to sort out train ticket for the trip to Barcelona, the first leg of my homeward bound journey. (These tickets are sold on line but the SNCF booking system kept crashing.) But there is an alternative to the two mile walk! The local council sensibly provides a network of tourist 'trains' linking all the campsites with the village and beaches. For a mere €2.30 I could have a little ride. I have always thought these things a bit naff but there are no other buses in the area and I am sure many people find them useful as they operate until midnight.

So along came the little 'train' and off I went. A bit bumpy but got there. Time at the station to drag my schoolboy (and that was many years ago) French out of retirement. Pas de problème; ticket obtained and a ride to Barcelona for €25 secured. Took the rest of the afternoon to explore the village area on foot before heading back on the little train again.

Monday I hired a bike and sped off around the area. Trouble is there are few cycle-paths and the roads are very busy. It did get slightly hairy once or twice. I did explore the beach. Once. The sand is coarse and rather grey. The wind was still quite strong so when sitting down to read the paper the effect was rather like that of sitting in a sand-blaster. Didn't take me long to abandon that idea.

Evenings were spent updating website pages (offline) no distractions, no TV, no Internet - the campsite did have a wireless service but it was not working properly and was also very expensive at €8 an hour. Just the radio (Radio Nostalgie) and some airport trash paperbacks to enjoy.

Perpignan A day out to Perpignan. Once again, armed soldiers on the station. Do the French know something we don't? It was a bit like going to say Ipswich or Exeter to be greeted by military might - or three men with automatic weapons. Perpignan is an old city, with the due ration of castles and palaces. It is becoming decidedly Catalan, not so much so as Barcelona but the Catalan flag is everywhere. Street names are still in French first then Catalan (in Barca the street names are only in Catalan which is not much help if your street map has the names in Spanish) as of course the French are very particular about the official use of their language. Ever been to Alsace? Almost everyone speaks German but where every notice and sign is only in French. There are of course recent historical reasons for this!

Anyway, back to Perpignan. I visited the Palace of the Kings of Mallorca. 

Perpignan - Palace of the Kings of Mallorca

In the early middle ages the Kings of Mallorca ruled over what is today Catalonia (and Mallorca as well of course) and built the customary number of castles and palaces to demonstrate their power. As one does. King James (1243) called himself King of Aragon, Mallorca and Valencia, Count of Barcelona, Urgell and Lord of Montpellier. Nice little domain that would be today. The palace is a rather austere structure now, but would have been magnificent looming over the wooden houses of the city. It's behind the walls of a much later Vauban fort and was used for military purposes until quite recently. Nowadays it is well preserved and part is used for conferences and presentations. The Great Hall is the size of an indoor football pitch. But there is no old furniture which somehow you expect to see, to show how the place would have looked in its heyday.

I knew some odd things about Salvador Dali, but not this "Following a visit in 1963, the Catalan surrealist artist declared the city's railway station the centre of the Universe, saying that he always got his best ideas sitting in the waiting room. He followed that up some years later by declaring that the Iberian Peninsula rotated precisely at Perpignan station 132 million years ago." (Thanks Wikipedia)

What is currently going on at Perpignan Railway Station is the construction of a new Gare TGV next to the present structure. This station will be the end point of the line supposedly under construction between Barcelona and the European High Speed network. There is some construction evident in Spain but I read that there is still debate about the exact route the line will take in France. There is also the small matter of building a tunnel under the mountains. Perpignan does have TGV trains to Paris already. Work is scheduled to last until 2009 so maybe...

But that will mean the end for the classic border stations of Port Bou and Cerbère.

Perpignan also has an immigrant quarter (which I found by accident) consisting of old barracks and munitions works converted into apartments.

Old military quarter, Perpignan

We might consider this 'ghettoisation' but no-one else wants to live in the inner-city, so at least there's some life in the place. I have to admit it was a little bit disconcerting being the only European face around for those few blocks.

Back in the city centre, they were getting ready for 'Music Day' - it was June 21st, mid-summers day and in every street corner and square swarms of blokes in black t-shirts were setting up and testing sound systems ready for the evening. Imagine that in England - no. There would be endless complaints about the noise, the local council health and safety Gestapo would be all over the place and not a note would be heard. I couldn't stay more's the pity.

Back to the station for the 1702 to Argelès. A TGV had arrived a few minutes earlier and a large crowd awaited the local train. It was supposed to be a three car train (which would have been bad enough) but only a little two car unit showed up. It took the mob several minutes to squeeze their way on board and they were packed in like sardines. Still, it was bearable for the sixteen minutes run and about half got off at Argelès anyway. That's another thing about French railway operations on rural lines; you never know what you are going to get!

Finished my stay with a nice long bike ride along the coast to St Cyprien and beyond. Most of these 'Plages' are I am afraid pretty featureless, being purpose built holiday resorts on the seaward side of what would have been marshes and swamps in former times. The old Roman Road (the Via Domitia now the D114 in that area) shows the extent of urban occupation before this century.

Off to Seville My researches had shown that to take the train Argelès - Barcelona - Seville would have been a marathon and I did want to see something of Seville and get back home in a reasonable time. I found out that Vueling (pronounced Welling) Airlines flew several times a day between Barcelona and Seville and that I could leave Argelès in the morning (early admittedly) and get to Seville mid-afternoon. That allowed me to consider a day and a half for a quick look round to see if I would like to come back.

This meant an early start - grappling with the SNCF timetable showed an 0746 and 0800 from Argeles down to Port Bou to connect with the 0952 for Barcelona. Around an hour's wait but at least the cafeteria at Portbou is spacious and welcoming, compared to the grim set up at Cerbere on the French side.

My cab to the station showed up a little early and the 0746 came to view. It's the tail end of an overnight run from Metz or somewhere up north and smells of feet. There were plenty of seats so on I got. No-one came to check my ticket (unlike all the other trains I have ever been in France!) and half an hour later we were through the tunnel and into Spain.

The track gauge of Spanish lines is wider than the rest of Europe (so is Portugal) so French trains have two dedicated platforms. There was a bloke trying to check passports but he gave up and went inside. The next train (the one I was supposed to be on) arrived and the place was busy. A lot of people opted to wait for the 1022 local train to Barcelona. This takes a bit longer than the express but costs less than €10, ie half the price. I'll net they are glad they did and you will read why in a minute.

I had some coffee and a sandwich, then spent some time watching the operations in the freight yard. It's here where freight wagons have their wheelsets changed from French to Spanish gauge or vice-versa. Through the tunnel some of the tracks are inset so that both French and Spanish equipment can pass through the tunnel bores. Much shunting and making up of trains with an orange French shunter busy shuffling assorted types of wagon around. Vandalism was very much in evidence!

Vandalised locomotive at Port Bou

It was time for the 0952 express to Barcelona. This arrives into Spain and goes through the wheelchanging procedure just outside the station. A Spanish locomotive then backs onto the train and draws it into the platform. That's where things started to go wrong! We could see the railmen obviously having difficulty getting the loco onto the train. Eventually it pulled up the 100 yards or so into the platform and on we got. Still a lot of activity but eventually we got away at 1008, some 16 minutes late. The trains are TALGO tilting trains, low slung but comfortable. Two trains sets each make one return journey between Barcelona and Montpellier, with one each way going al the way to or from Cartagena in southern Spain.

Off we went into the Spanish countryside. The run didn't seem as fast as the time I made the same journey last year and this was made worse by an extended stop at the first station. Then more slow running until we picked up towards Barcelona. I wasn't worried - yet- as my flight was at 1500 and the train was due in at 1146. As we neared Barcelona, the new construction for the Spanish side of the new high speed line was evident.

The outskirts of Barcelona are definitely some of the worst I have seen anywhere, an endless sequence of graffiti covered stations (mainly political, home rule for Catalunya and so on), dreary modern industrial estates and older, derelict factories. Then you arrive at the tunnel that takes the railway lines under the city to the Sants station, which is underground in the city centre. It was stop-start all the way through.

There had been no announcements as to the cause of the delay.

Eventually we arrived in Sants at 1233. No problem, I can nip up to the suburban platforms and get the train to the airport in plenty of time. Bought ticket (€2.50) and turned round to see a large notice in Catalan and Spanish announcing that train service to the airport was suspended owing to an 'incident'. I know that from my commuting days in the UK that in railwayspeak an 'incident' is either a suicide or a train crash and latterly bombs going off of course, so I began to be a little concerned. Still I found a railway person and in a mixture of English, French and Spanish (which I don't speak) I found out that buses had been laid on to cover the suspended section of route.

A long line of buses and coaches was outside the station. A bit of a problem at first, as the driver miscounted and the last five of us had to get off (no standing passengers allowed) and retrieve our bags from the hold. But the next one was ready and I arrived at the airport at 1330 in plenty of time. And I needn't have bought a ticket as no-one checked them.

Bus dropped me off almost opposite Terminal B and after a dice with death crossing the busy road I was inside. Found the Vueling check in desks easy enough and nearby was a rather sad and neglected self-service check-in machine. All I had to do was key in my confirmation number and that was that. Incidentally when you book with Vueling you choose your own seat. Not bad for €49.

A nice Airbus A320 sat ready and left only about half full. There was a bit of a delay actually getting airborne but again schedule padding allowed an almost on-time arrival in Seville. We were actually in the air for 1 hour and 15 minutes. The Spanish countryside was hot and brown.

Seville was just hot! Excellent arrival at the airport, just 22 minutes from touchdown to leaving baggage reclaim.

Taxi needed to hotel (another IBIS shed) but I have the feeling I was done. "Only one price Seville, only one price, 29 Euro wherever you go..." a bit like the market place. I wasn't in the mood to argue, as I had been up since 6am and I knew the hotel was 'this' side of town and only about 5 miles away and not in the centre, another two miles or so. There is a bus from the airport but the company website makes it clear that passengers with large suitcases eg me would not be allowed on board. Pity, it was only €2 and stopped almost outside.

This IBIS is on the east side of the city in an industrial estate and was almost twice the price of the Montpellier IBIS. I swear the rooms were the same. Here's a thing I have never seen before - they had a scanner to read the barcode stuff on your passport when checking in. A nice pretty form was printed and filed away with my reservation details.

Saturday night stayed in and watched the football - Spanish Cup Final Sevilla v Getafe. Freddie Kanoute, well-known Spurs and West Ham reject scored after ten minutes. See below.

Seville It was a good job I had checked out the buses on the TUSSAM website before I left as there are no timetables on the bus-stops. A bit like Portugal really. At least I knew there was a bus stop about 100 yards away and more or less what time a bus was supposed to come along - it was a Sunday and only every half hour compared to every ten minutes on other days.

Seville is a large sprawl of a city and I didn't have a map yet. Only €1 on the bus for the two miles or so into the centre. The tourist office was closed. No Map. Eventually I chanced upon a kiosk at the Santa Justa railway station, where a miserable woman allowed me to take one.

Then it was off to the Plaza de Armas bus terminal to sort out the bus to Ayamonte for Monday morning. I decided against the very early direct bus to Albufeira and didn't fancy waiting all day until the later one. The route would be bus to Ayamonte, then the ferry to Vila Real de Santo Antonio then either bus or train to Albufeira via Faro. The terminal was very busy despite it being a Sunday morning and I was glad to get my ticket sorted out, as it even busier on the Monday. The mysterious sum of €10.61 got me a ticket for the 2 hour ride to Ayamonte.

I spent the early part of the day just walking around. Almost everywhere was closed; Spanish people don't get up before noon on Sunday it seems. It was getting hotter and hotter! One of those digital signs said 38C at 1pm. By 2 o'clock I dived into a bar - an Oirish bar as it turned out but the customers were all Spanish, apart from one bloke reading the Sunday Times and me. Still, the beer was good and the food good also so time was spent there watching the Gaelic Football on TV (strange game, where you get points for missing the goal) and reading the Sunday Times when it was finished with.

Seville struck me as living a bit off the tourists with prices to match in some departments. €4 a pint!!

I think I would go back but in November maybe! Steaming hot when I came out. I took some photos of the new trams which will shortly come into service on a strange little line from Prado San Sebastian, past the Cathedral to the Plaza Nueva. It's hardly a mile long and is supposed to be the beginnings of a city wide network to compliment the Metro underground that is also under construction. But there are no signs of further construction. The line crosses a largely pedestrianised area not served by buses, so will be at least in the short term a complement to the bus network, ferrying passengers from the Prado San Sebastian terminal into the old city.

The are some pleasant pedestrian shopping streets protected from the sun by high awnings. Small groups of classical musicians were playing in the shade. Quite civilised. Most of the shops were of course closed, it being a Sunday

It was still hot in the late afternoon, so I took the first bus that came along (air-conditioning for €1) and rode out to a city suburb where I imagine tourists don't go. All was quiet, the shops closed and the streets all but deserted. The tall buildings gave some shade so I walked around a little and took another bus back to the city. Luck was in my favour and waiting at the stop when I got back was a number 26 heading back along the Avenida Kansas City (really) and past the IBIS.

I wasn't paying attention when the bus got towards the IBIS and I missed my stop. Problem I found is that the next stop is several hundred yards up the road and the other side of the largest motorway interchange in the world. Was there a way back?

There was no-one to ask - it was around 8pm - but I spotted what looked like a bridge in the distance. Trudge, trudge, trudge down one side of the square as it were, over the second motorway, back up the other side, down the third side until I found the place I should have got off the bus in the first place. I reckon I must have walked a mile just to cross that road!

After all that it was room service which was OK but only just. Reason they sity was so quiet is that the previous day Seville had won the Spanish Cup Final (1-0 thanks to the aforementioned Mr Kanoute) and the whole city was out celebrating Saturday night and then they had their procession in the open top bus on the Sunday morning - which I didn't go to.

Back to Portugal Taxi summoned by hotel (all the IBIS do that and don't charge you, which is nice) and arrived at the Plaza de Armas in good time for the bus. Got slightly concerned when the departure was not listed until 1050! Off down the ramp - the bus was pretty full when we left.

These are long-distance buses, the equivalent to National Express in the UK I suppose. Wasn't very express though, when we hit roadworks on the motorway just outside Seville. A long slow crawl followed for maybe half an hour in single file traffic. I am not sure how long the run should take ( I was told 2 hours); arrival in Ayamonte was 1330 so probably half an hour later than it should have been. I would never have caught the 1340 ferry, so no rush and a gentle stroll (pulling the suitcase on wheels) for 15 minutes or so through the town to the ferry terminal. The 1420 ferry took me across the river and into Portugal where is was 1330 on arrival. The next train wasn't until after 3pm, there was a bus to Faro at 1430. Time then for a quick lunch at a small place just outside the bus station (during which I spilled my beer, sacrilege) then a short walk to the bus.

Portuguese bus schedules are far too optimistic and even on a Sunday we were ten minutes late into Faro. This gave me only five minutes to get a ticket for the Transrapido fast bus to Albufeira. Luckily the queues were nil and I was on my way. Almost every time I go to a bus ticket office window, especially in Faro, the three people in front of me are either buying a ticket to the most obscure place in Portugal, trying to buy a multi-ride ticket and then realising they don't have enough money or trying to make a complaint. Or all three at the same time. There are only two ticket windows open at the best of times, which is why I advise on my website to allow at least ten or fifteen minutes between buses at Faro if you don't have a ticket.

So, off on the Transrapido. This makes a tour of the city before breaking out into open countryside and is allowed only ten minutes to do this. On weekdays this can easily take 20 minutes or longer; I have known it to take half an hour. We were somewhat luckily only ten minutes late once we hit the open road the other side of the Forum Algarve. Bus companies don't seem to use schedule padding to guarantee on-time arrivals, as do railways and airlines. Perhaps they should at least adopt more realistic point-to-point timings.

Arrival in Albufeira's remote bus terminal was nine minutes late, which still allowed an easy connection for the local GIRO bus back to Páteo.

Back home. My friends who had been staying while I was away (I had stayed at their house in Tonbridge) had left me a nice note and a large bottle of Sagres beer in the fridge. Rarely has a nice cold beer been more welcome!

Reality check a little while later; two weeks smelly socks to wash plus two weeks mail to plough through. And about 100 emails. Ho, hum. Makes you wonder why you ever go on holiday in the first place.

Internet makes it possible I've always liked travelling and managed to do quite a bit, mostly in UK, during the course of 34 years on the Civil Service treadmill. But, even ten years ago, would a trip like this have been so easily planned and executed without what we now take for granted at the click of a mouse? Three plane tickets, two hotels, assorted bus and local train connections easily discovered, maps downloaded and printed where required and queries sorted by email. Then onto the local tourist office websites to see what there is to see, what the weather's going to be like etc etc.

OK there are still gaps in information but it's nearly always possible to ask on a travel forum like TripAdvisor, HolidayTruths and I don't doubt many others. I hope you enjoyed these ramblings and the pictures. You might have even found out something useful. If you have any comments or questions, please feel free.
Thomas Allen
July 2007