With the light fading I lingered just long enough to gain photographic evidence(for some reason, perhaps due to a change in mobile operators on crossing the borders, the GPS on my mobile phone tracker had stopped running) and then I headed back down to the campsite ,back through a bit of France  ,and back into Spain again to the awaiting campsite at Queixans. Reassuringly the squeak on turning corners seemed to have disappeared, but time will tell!

Having run out of World Heritage sites this side of the French border, the main purpose of today’s run was to establish a base camp for an assault on Andorra tomorrow .I drove 350km to the East, into northern Catalonia, and turned to the north just before Barcelona. Leaving Zaragoza, I could see the Ebro, beyond the constraints of the city, had burst its banks and spread over a wide area of flood plain.

Despite this inundation the remainder of Aragon, which I crossed,was still dry and dusty, the difference being that the dust today is more of a cream colour compared to yesterday’s orange! But approaching the Catalan border, I began to enter a much greener area, the motorway wending its way through green valleys with pine clad hills. Despite having glimpsed the Pyrenees yesterday, they are invisible for most of the journey: I’m too low down and it’s too hazy. But they appear again as I pass Manresa. I can’t get out of my head that it’s the old address of Chelsea College of Art, Manresa Rd, Chelsea –useless information !! The same thing happened as I was driving past Zamora in Castile: extremely annoyingly each time I saw a sign I couldn’t stop thinking of Bobby (Bobby Zamora=plays for QPR)

I was following directions from one of my guides to a known overnight camper stop, in the little town of Ripoll, about 60 km south of Andorra and just at an altitude of 750 metres. It is only a car park ,actually. It's pretty quiet but there are a few cars here and there’s river running past. Its right next to the town police station.-it should be OK,although as it will be my first night not on a campsiteThe only snag is it also turns out to be right next to the rail line over the mountains to Toulouse and I am parked about 10 metres from the track ! The trains seem to come only every hour or so and hopefully I’ll get some sleep but I have visions of that scene from the Blues brothers. As I watch out of my window there is a queue of slow moving traffic coming down the hill into town. Only a few cars are going the other way. I assume it’s the queue of weekend skiers heading home.

After looking round Teruel I joined the aptly named N 23 “Autovia  Mudejar” and sped up towards Zaragoza,140 km to the north. This is a large city(nearly twice the size of Bristol),the capital of Aragon, and has a Moorish history too.

The plains of Aragon look very dusty, rocky, and dry even at this time of year, all over an orangey umber colour, although in some fields there is sign of new growth. The motorway rises over a hill 50km south of Zaragoza, and as I crest the summit at an altitude of 900 metres, I can suddenly see the whole range of the snow topped Pyrenees stretching in front of me from left to right. They must be 150km away.

The town campsite is in the suburbs, amid high rise apartment blocks and new avenues, but it is convenient ,as a bus for the city centre leaves from right outside. What is odd is that in this suburb location there seem to be owners of permanent caravans/cabins. The other thing I notice is the BBQ house: there was one at the campsite last night, an open room with a row of several big fireplace in which campers seem to light huge fires with big logs, which they get from somewhere, and then there is much smell of burnt flesh.

One of the things I had planned to see was the Aljaferia palace, supposedly the most important Moorish building remaining outside Andalucía (of which the crème de la crème there of course is the Alhambra).The Aljaferia  is now a part of a larger complex housing the Aragonese parliament. There is a limited amount of it left, nothing up to the overpowering standard of the Alhambra, but there is still much to recommend it, not least the fact  that its free.
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One of two large cathedrals in Zaragoza, 'Our Lady of the Pillar' was built in the 17th century , but from a distance looks surprisingly Islamic (i.e. like mosques in Istambul, I thought)






There is some concern on the local news on the TV in a bar, where I had lunch, about the high water level in the river, with some flooding, caused by sudden snow melt in the mountains.

The Roman City was called Caesaraugusta, and the Moors changed that to Saragusta, hence today’s Zaragoza *       (*apparently !)

The city was also the home to the artist Goya, but I was unfortunately unable to fit in a visit to the Goya museum.

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Not needing any breakfast after my day of gluttony the day before, I made an early start. I had set myself a journey of 400 km, to reach Albarracin. This is a small ancient Moorish hill town glorying in the title of "city". I came across it reported in some guides as “probably the most beautiful city in Spain” .I’m not sure who started this idea, but it wasn’t Carlsberg, I think. But as I was roughly in my general intended direction I felt I had to put it to the test, particularly as the nearby lower lying city of Tereul is listed by Unesco World Heritage as having a particular concentration of Mudejar Architecture,a fusion of Christian and Moorish artistic traditions in the twelfth century, and I could also visit that.

The journey started with a run down towards Madrid on the A1 motorway, up and down passes through hills, still in the snow-capped Guadarramas.Then I swung away towards Guadalajara (sounds as if it should be in Mexico!) where the mountains stopped and were replaced by emerald green fields of young corn, with the spaces so open I could clearly see the tall buildings of Madrid 30 km to the south.

This is the time of year to see the Spanish interior. It is clear that Spain is a huge country with very low population density in the rural areas, and the  wide open spaces and natural beauty rival that of New Zealand in my opinion. Crossing the huge arid spaces of Aragon it is bright sun and a pleasant 18 degrees: it would be unbearable in the summer ,the van even now quickly becomes an oven when parked.

At lunchtime I pulled off the main road(N-211)as I drove through the town of Molina de Aragon.Far above the town on  a dusty hilltop was the sort of Moorish wall that I had expected to find later in Albarracin.I parked up in a sidestreet and got myself some lunch,after wandering a few streets.

There are very few visitors here at present, apart from some  unpleasant visiting groups of uncontrolled Spanish school children who jostle me and try to get me to respond. But once inside I am pretty much on my own to walk through the rooms on display. There are handy information sheets in English explaining each room. Philip II’s austere little bed chamber (half the size of mine at home) has openings on 2 sides, so he could look for spiritual uplift at both the garden and the high altar of the cathedral while in bed! There is more religious art than you could shake a stick at , but high quality; Tintoretto and El Greco spring to mind. The royal mausoleum in the basement was quite creepy: you go down a staircase tunnel lined floor to ceiling in dark marble, to reach a well lit chamber, where on shelves on all sides,6 high ,are the black and gold sarcophagi of a whole series of kings. On my own,I didn’t linger. There also is a lesser mausoleum for about 40 Infante (first son of the king) who didn’t survive to be king,with their tombs packed row on row.The whole place is fascinating,but very austere,plain stone walls and the only decoration being religious art and the portraits of kings.The most interesting room of all  for me is the Hall of Battles,a long hall, the entire wall of which  has a huge,finely detailed, wall painting of Phillip II’s land and sea victories. Complete regiments and fleets are depicted, and this is apparently an important source for historians who study the military equipment and tactics of the age.

 Outside,the surrounding town is very pleasant, lots of nice villas and large houses in streets lined with huge trees, the whole  place a hilltop refuge for the rich from the heat of Madrid,both in Phillip II's day and apparently still the case now.

The Plaza Mayor of this town is a scrappy little place where they are just closing down the market:in the background is the imposing cathedral.

I had another nice 3 course “menu del dia” lunch here in the square in a busy little restaurant,watching the market pack up.

Next I had to finalise my plans to cross Spain to the North East, and a route over the Pyrenees via Andorra. I finally settled on a route skirting Madrid well to the north,designed to avoid having to circumnavigate the Madrid ring roads, and set off,with the snow capped and pine tree clad remnants of the Guadarramas on my right. I decided that I still had time to do the first little bit of the route in the late half of the afternoon ,heading for the little town of Riaza as an overnight stopping off point .According to one of my guides it has a nice campsite("Camping Riaza"). This is just below La Pinella ski field and serves as a lodge resort in the ski season, skiing still open apparently, and people expected for the weekend tomorrow ,although the place is pretty deserted tonight.The  mountain appears to have a good topping of snow still. The campsite is at a moderate altitude, 1200 metres. The scenery is beautiful with the mountain slopes glowing orange in the evening sun with last years oak and beech leaves.The forecast is for another slight frost, but wall to wall sun tomorrow and for the week ahead. Connected to the site electricity I‘m very snug with my heater on. Nevertheless, with a chilly note in the air, enhanced psychologically, no doubt, by the snow covered mountain in the background, I head for the sanctuary of the site restaurant, which is a stone-built lodge-style building  ,with high wooden ceiling, heavy beams, and a huge fire blazing comfortably, with stove pipe reaching up through the roof. There is just one other party of 10 eating who look like school kids with a teacher ,on a ski trip, but they are impeccably behaved, unlike this morning’s rabble,  and a there are also just a couple of guys at the bar.

It seems sad to have to leave Portugal so soon,but this trip's schedule must be kept on the rails.I joined the Portuguese motorway that I battled so hard with my sat nav to avoid yesterday.There are no toll booths on Portuguese motorways,you buy tickets in advance or sign up online,like the London congestion charge.Not every section of motorway is tolled, but I was taking no chances,not being bothered to set up an account for the sake of a few miles.After further research I realised that I was safe and from here on this road there were no tolls before the border.On reaching the Spanish border the motorway abruptly stops,to change to a single lane road going through small towns.Perhaps the Spanish have got it right ,though, for I seem to be about the only vehicle on it this morning.

Not only the road changes but the scenery.Seemingly immediately on crossing the border the craggy hills  stop and the wide open gently rolling spaces of Castile & Leon begin.

Soon I reach the dual carriageway and the 240 km to Avila fly by.I think I went for 20km without seeing a single vehicle on my side of the carriageway.Where are they all? Maybe they can't afford fuel,but at 85 pence per litre I doubt that can be the reason.

I recall that Cervantes lived in this region when he wrote " Don Quixote" :the windmills have all gone now but he would recognise the scene ,for I can see  huge windfarms on every horizon.He would have to tilt at those instead.

Talking of satnavs,I am getting exasperated by "Serena",my satnav voice whose attempts to pronounce the foreign streets and towns is incomprehensible, something like Stephen Hawking trying to learn Swahili.I think I will have to change to "Kate" ,who doesn't bother with the street names.

Avila is famous for its walls,which have world heritage status.They are amazing, and about half of the circuit can be walked.Actually there's not a whole lot else in the town,which is quite small, although pleasant.I found a place for lunch, which encouragingly had some local families eating, and one course of the meal  was "patatas revolcanas",apparently a local speciality .This is a spicy mash of potato and beans,topped with pork crackling. Feeling pretty full after this foray into the rather stodgy tasting menu I then walked lunch off with a walk along the walls.

I was parked up at the recommended camper stop in town,the coach park just below the walls at the back of the Police station.When I arrived the was one coach parked in this vast area,and a Dutch campervan.There was a freezing wind,even though it was a bright sunny day.All that was missing was the tumble weed.Another campervan arrived,took one look and left.When I returned from the walls the Dutch people had also cleared off.The crew looked at this for a while,then said "this sucks".A snap decision was made to head onwards the 79km to El Escorial,where there is a proper site "Camping El Escorial". This I had been  intending to use the next night after visiting the royal monastery and palace but it seemed the right choice to bring it forwards in the itinerary.On leaving Avila ,immediately there was ridge of mountains to cross.It's funny,but the road map and the satnav give no warning of these changes in terrain,which come unexpectedly.This looks bleakly beautiful,reminiscent of the highlands of Scotland.The summit is at 1450 metres,but there is no snow,although I can see it in the distance on higher mountains.Dropping down from the hills on the other side  I am amazed by a sudden view of El Escorial,a little town dwarfed by the absolutely massive structure of the palace. On reaching the town the satnav takes me through the gate and across the main courtyard,a little surprising but apparently allowed.

A couple of km down the road,at the campsite itself,the lack of security in the Avila carpark is put into perspective by the double barrier and the uniformed security man who drives ahead of me to deposit me next to the only other camper in the resort,which inexplicably seems abandoned,though hooked up to the electricity.However here are all facilities.I get laundry done,which is needed as after a week some items of apparel were getting a bit rancid. And I'll visit the palace in the morning.

Today I took the scenic route north through the border country towards the far north-east of Portugal ,to Braganca. This took me through The Tras os Montes e Alto Douro (upper Douro)province.The area in itself is a Unesco world heritage site,because of the human landscaping, with steep hills terraced with vines, often just one row per terrace. This is  a hilly, rocky landscape, but scattered among the among the vines on the terraces the almond blossom is out.

The route took me over the Valeira dam, a huge hydro scheme on the upper  Douro, built in 1976.Now they  currently seem to be building phase two higher up the river, which I also passed. As I approached Braganca, I could see snow dotting the higher hills beyond, which mark the northern border of Portugal.

The anglicised name Braganza is known in England by association with Catherine of Braganza ,who married Charles II ,thus forming the long running alliance with Portugal,and whose dowry included that poisoned chalice,Tangier,which became a sort of Afghanistan for the English army in the late 17th century(but that’s another story).

Actually the noble(later royal) family of Braganca just take their name from this dukedom,but had territory all over Portugal.

An uneventful 250 km motorway journey the length of Castile,on the A62 “Autovia de Castilla”, brought me to Salamanca,the historic university town,whose yellow stone buildings remind me so much of Oxford.Except that the Plaza Mayor also carries off a pretty good resemblance to Its namesake in Madrid.

Plaza mayor

                




                  Funereal campsite     " Camping Regio"