Migration to www.daisythebus.com

This blog is generating more interest than expected...

So I've migrated all content to a dedicated website - www.daisythebus.com - and will be posting all future content exclusively there.

Thanks for reading, and here's to many future adventures for Daisy the Bus!!

An alternative Spanish beach holiday

We arrived at midday on market day and the town was buzzing. The children were instructed to stay close and the dog was kept on a short leash. But almost immediately – and with impressive coordination – the kids simultaneously declared that they all urgently needed the toilet. What parent hasn’t been here before?

A quick, failed, search for public toilets meant that a snap decision was made: we would take an early lunch at the next restaurant we passed, so that we could use their toilets with a clean conscience. To my horror the next restaurant was the fanciest in town, where even a few plates of tapas would have bust our meagre budget. However, I needn’t have worried; my wallet was saved by the restaurant manager, who took one look at us – two adults with rucksacks, four scruffy kids and a sheepdog – and proclaimed that they were fully booked. But then she took pity on us, and let the kids use the restaurant’s toilets anyway.

With the kids relieved, we bought a huge selection of amazing savoury and sweet Asturian pastries from a bakery just down the street and found an empty bench in the fishing port. And there we picnicked overlooking the colourful fishing boats, feeling rather chuffed at the way life just works itself out sometimes.

Not a bad place for lunch!

To Luarca - on foot

After spending a couple of weeks in bone-dry Portugal the cooler and more humid air of the Spanish Costa Verde (“green coast”), was a refreshing change for us. Our base, the excellent Camping Playa de Taurán, was exactly the sort of the campsite that we dream of finding; small, well-managed, plenty of things to keep the kids occupied and – best of all – spectacularly located on a rocky headland overlooking the wild Atlantic Ocean. From it, a steep path led down to a semi-stony beach in a sheltered bay, perfect for the kids to go sea swimming and create strange sand creatures directly from their imaginations.

Morning scene, Playa de Taurán

Sand creation (one of many)

Today we had decided to walk into Luarca, a seaside town only a few kilometres away. Many parents believe that young kids don’t enjoy hikes, but we find that the slow pace of a day out on foot is perfect for young, curious minds*. Kids are brilliant at finding unusual and interesting things along the way, and today’s “treasures” included the largest caterpillar we had ever seen, several unusual stones, and a dead hedgehog (squashed) and rat (intact) lying mysteriously side-by-side.  Whilst the kids discussed increasingly imaginative theories on how the hedgehog and rat met their ends, I was simply admiring the surroundings. I loved the Asturian gardens and waysides, all very natural with "weeds" amongst the vegetables and runaway pumpkins sending their stems and tendrils onto the road itself. In the villages, we could hear muffled conversations through open kitchen windows and could see hórreos (granaries) teetering on columns of rocks near farm buildings; mostly very old and very dilapidated, these emblematic buildings of north-west Spain and Portugal have been built over centuries to protect the grain from the abundance of ground-dwelling rodents… and they are undoubtedly very attractive to foreign eyes.

Child #2 with a "hórreo"

As we ate our lunch by the quay in Luarca, I felt a confusion of the senses; everything was so familiar here, yet somehow wonderfully misplaced. The sound of the seagulls, the colourful fishing port being wiped clean after another day's catch, shouts of excitement from children on distant amusement rides, the smell of the sea on the cool breeze; I could have been in any Irish or Scottish seaside town. (Once I even thought that I could hear the tinkly tunes of an ice cream van, but perhaps that was just an hallucination…?)

But then... look again. There are elderly men sat in the shade watching the world go by, high narrow buildings backing into cafe-filled squares, people talking animatedly on street corners, cars parked chaotically and – later in our hike – bikini-clad sun worshippers lounging on silvery sands; I could have been in any Portuguese or Italian seaside town either. In short, Luarca gave us the mesmerising, exhilarating feeling of exploring somewhere so familiar, yet so different.

On our way to the Playa de Salinas

Playa de Salinas

After our lunch we continued our walk, out past the port breakwater, skirting a small beach almost completely covered by the high tide, and onwards towards our real goal of the day – the Playa de Salinas. Here we encountered a familiar problem: Spain is a rather difficult place to visit with a dog. We have problems finding campsites who tolerate our lovable border collie, and man’s “best friend” is banned from most beaches in summer as well.  Nevertheless, the smiling waitress at the beach bar at the Playa de Salinas spontaneously offered me a bowl of water for Oonagh, which seemed a particularly kind gesture given the large and numerous "No perro" signs scattered around the beach.

And so it was that Oonagh and I were sat in the shade against an old stone wall whilst the kids played contently on a beautiful Costa Verde beach below us. The smell of salt and wild mint was hanging in the air; a lizard scuttled invisibly behind me; Joëlle gave the girls improvised massages using sun-warmed stones on the beach; contentment reigned.

View over the Playa de Salinas, with Luarca in the background

As evening approached we left the beach and followed a narrow path winding up the hill in the direction of our campsite. As we gained altitude, the sound of the sea became increasingly muffled by the dripping hedgerows of brambles, ferns and honeysuckle towering above and around us. If the kids were becoming tired, they didn’t show it. The girls picked a large bunch of wild mint as we walked, and the first thing we did back at our tent was to put the kettle on. Then we kicked off our hiking boots and enjoyed the freshest cup of mint tea imaginable, deliciously happy with our day out at the Spanish seaside.

Almost back!

Daisy the bus visited the Costa Verde in early August 2016.

© 2016 Jonathan Orr

* OK, ok… we admit:  long hikes can be rather stressful if you have young children in tow... We had a "kangaroo" with us, just in case our 3-year old kicked up a fuss. :o)

New-found freedom and sunburnt feet: A day at Baleal beach

There is a curious meteorological phenomenon in central Portugal during the summer. Whilst the inland regions can regularly swelter in temperatures over 40°C(!) the Atlantic coast remains miraculously cool. For instance, the temperatures in our base town of Pernes were consistently 10°-15°C higher than in Peniche, a coastal resort less than one hour away. The novelty of air warmer than my blood had worn off – it was time for a trip to the beach.

But first, a small confession: I struggle enormously with the traditional southern European idea of beach life. Being brought up in Ireland, a beach - to me - means the wind in my face as I contemplate an empty expanse of silver sand; it means rock pools brimming with crabs, shrimps and small fish; it means a roaring sea accessible only to the most foolhardy. In short, my beach is a place of solitude, freedom and introspection, a place where I can feel humble and awed by nature’s grandest show. Crowds, beach bars, restricted bathing areas and instantaneous sunburn are notable absentees from my personal Top 10 Attractive Features of Beaches.

Child #1 and I find freedom on my kind of beach (in this case in Donegal, Ireland)

Child #2 on another prime example of my kind of beach: near Mallaig, Scotland

For these reasons, my arrival at a packed Baleal beach, Peniche on a July afternoon filled me with a particular sort of despair, a feeling strangely akin to being asked to dance at a particularly boisterous wedding (fellow introverts will understand me here). As the others changed into their swimwear and gathered buckets and spades, I wanted to scream, to run away, to hide in a deserted olive grove somewhere. But, deep down, I knew the kids would love it and so I took a deep breath and offered to carry the towels.

I was right; the kids did love it. What I didn't expect was… I ended up loving it too.

Child #3 becomes a mermaid!

There is no denying that Baleal is a lovely spot. Two gently sloping beaches with white-crested waves crashing down on fine golden sand, rather improbably intersected by a causeway leading to a pretty whitewashed village (Baleal itself). We chose the southern beach and soon, despite the crowds, found an isolated spot from where we could sit and watch the kids play. And play, and play. Child #4, who can probably never remember being on a beach without a thermal fleece and a raincoat, was particularly exhilarated and ran for hours in a celebration of his new-found freedom. Meanwhile the girls wallowed in shallow pools of sun-warmed water and Child #1 braved the crashing waves... and even found some beloved rock pools for me (alas, no crabs).

Child #4, our beach explorer

As the kids played happily, I couldn't help but observe the beach life around me. Elderly couples strolled hand-in-hand with the surf lapping at their feet; parents relaxed and sunbathed as their kids played around them; attractive young things in neoprene were mastering the waves with their surfboards; I heard Portuguese, English, French, German and Dutch, and I saw every skin colour and type imaginable. All walks of life were represented on Baleal beach, and it was a beautiful thing to behold.

The next thing we knew it was past seven o'clock and we realised that we had been there for over four hours. With salt on our skin and sand between our toes (and, in my case, badly sunburnt feet) we returned to Daisy the bus, content. Even me.

Daisy the bus visited Peniche in late July 2016. She was very lucky to find a parking spot.

(c) 2016 Jonathan Orr

Castelo de Almourol - 2005 vs 2016

Eleven years ago we took Child #1 from Luxembourg to Portugal for the first time. He was barely two months old, which in retrospect was probably a bit optimistic for a 5,000km road trip… Suffering terribly from colic and then a virus, our first travel experience with a child was marked by a disastrous restaurant experience in the Dordogne and four unplanned “rest days” in a rented caravan near Biarritz. 

Us, on a beach near Biarritz, a long time ago...

Eventually – late, tired and travel-weary –  we limped into Portugal, where we simply relaxed and caught up with Joëlle's family. One morning I took a break from the traumas of first-time fatherhood to explore the local region… and I had one of the most surreal - and unforgettable - tourist experiences ever. In my diary notes at the time, I wrote the following:

Monday October 3rd, 2005

I had my first real tourist excursion this morning – a trip to the Castelo de Almourol. Despite the fact that signposts for the castle stopped once the motorway became a dirt track, I managed to find it relatively quickly. Obviously nobody else ever does because I was the only tourist there, giving me every opportunity to peacefully admire the handsome ancient castle perched on top of a rocky island in the Rio Tejo.

Using my very best Portuguese (which Joëlle has since informed me was, in fact, Spanish), I ascertained from a nearby construction worker that the castle was open to visitors. I was shepherded towards a huge old man in a tight t-shirt with hooped stripes; he looked to me like a retired pirate (if pirates ever do retire). He gestured towards a small boat and asked me for 75 cents. Since he didn’t have change for a 1EUR coin, I got my boat trip for the cut-price – and pocket-lightening – amount of 67 cents. Bargain! For that, I got half an hour all on my own to find my way through the island’s jungle of cacti and heroically shoulder-charge open the main door to the castle before exploring every nook and cranny of it. It was a magnificent, surreal experience. When my curiosity was satisfied, my pirate and his boat were patiently waiting to return me to the mainland and the dust track / motorway which took me back home to my wife and son. Tourism at its very best!!!

Eleven years and three more children later, it was time to return; a time for eight little feet to tread where two clumsy oversized sandals had gone before. Predictably, a lot has changed in eleven years, but it still was a great family morning excursion.

The Castelo de Almourol in 2005...

... and in 2016

As I mentioned back in 2005, the Castelo de Almourol is a 900-year old castle perched atop an island of granite in the river Tejo. More Game of Thrones brutality than fairy-tale beauty, it makes up for its relatively small size by striking a particularly imposing, dominant pose, in sharp contrast to the peaceful meandering river flowing timelessly around it.

Some changes were apparent immediately upon arrival. The dirt track is now a real road (though hardly a super-highway yet) and the pirate was sadly no longer there. In fact, as we arrived we initially thought - to our horror!! - that a bridge had been built. This would NOT have been good news because the promise of a boat trip was the one thing that motivated the kids into coming (“but we have LOADS of castles in Luxembourg, Daddy…”). Thankfully, we were wrong (it was some sort of pontoon) and very soon a small motor boat came chugging into view from behind the castle in a scene directly from a Tintin story.

Tintin at the Castelo de Almourol?

Despite being early in the tourist day, a small queue of people had already tentatively formed at the quay, and we were lucky to be able to board without waiting longer (the boatman later told us that there is often serious congestion on August afternoons). Inflation and demand meant that the price had more than tripled to €2.50 per person (frankly, this is still not bad when compared to other tourist attractions), but our three youngest kids went free.

On the boat

Arriving on the island, the cacti were (of course) still there and making valiant efforts to reclaim the island as their own. The temperature was rising rapidly, and the kids loved the novelty of playing in the cool shade of cacti and bamboo, two plants which are not exactly abundant in the forests of Luxembourg… We almost forgot that we had a castle to visit, but eventually we made our way up to the main gate (open; no shoulder charge necessary) inside which a small souvenir stall stood as a tentative response to changing times and the castle's new status as an upcoming tourist attraction.

The children’s instinct to play amongst the cacti was probably correct; to be honest there isn't much for kids to see or do in the castle itself, other than the magnificent views and a nerve-wracking walk along the battlements, which the eldest kids enjoyed greatly. Nevertheless, Almourol still stands as a very enjoyable tourist excursion for kids, principally due to its storybook location and the thrill of the boat-only access. But when, inevitably, the big coach tours arrive and the economics for building a bridge finally make sense, Portugal may gain another major tourist attraction, but it will have lost one of its finest tourist experiences, particularly for children.

My advice: bring back the pirate; the kids would love him.

Daisy the bus visited the Castelo de Almourol in early August 2016

(c) 2016 Jonathan Orr