From Bilbao to Pisa.....they'll be more

Do you know what Mum would of loved so much about this journey of hers so far? The amazing colours, sights, smells, tastes and sounds? The breath taking views from the highest of the mountains? The density of the deep greens stretching up the mountains of Andorra past the neon nightime shopping explosion? The freshness of the legumes and fruits for sale at the road side next to the fields in which they are grown? The fields of sunflowers with heads turned in unison to the sun, truly fields of gold? The clear night skies lit up by a multitude of stars with not a street lamp in miles to diffuse the natural light of the moon and stars? The sound of the cicada's so loud that you could swear you have a puncture, the lapping of a lake, or the break of the waves on the shore lulling you to sleep then joining the sun as its breaking light warms you awake? The sight of flamingos living in the wild as you come around a bend towards a distant beach?




I'd say yes, who wouldn't? But then i'd say what she'd of loved the most is the way she'd spend her days looking at the brightest smiles, the biggest surprised faces, those looks of not believing what they are seeing, the road workers who applaud as you cruise by at a colossal 16mph, engine singing high in second chugging up the mountain, unable to pull away from the clapping and laughing. There is nowhere seemingly that you can go in these parts of Europe where Mums bus doesn't brighten their day. I've seen it break people from kissing, young children tug at the arms of parents and grandparents alike and vice versa to point and look. Those walking and driving to and from work that suddenly feel the need to wave, smile, cheer, to stop in the middle of the zebra crossings and take pictures, cars flashing lights, beeping horns, no worries signs hailing from windows a plenty. There is not a day goes by when someone doesn't want to talk, ask questions, have their picture taken with the bus, shake hands, express and show happiness and joy. I often find myself reflecting on how much this would of positively helped Mum, and how happy it would of made her seeing and being the reason for bringing people such pleasure every single day.



You may think i'm over blowing somewhat and this can't be, but let me give you an example. As I left Andorra and started my way through Encamp towards the border crossing into France and the Pyrenees I was overtaken by a motorcyclist, thumb waving high in the air and beeping his horn. Unable to beep back and laughing whilst shaking my head a bit to much as I thought possibly I had left such behaviour behind in Spain, I waved back as he past. Rounding a long incline I looked up ahead to see the road pushing further up the mountain, and the motorcyclist parked at the side of the road. Bustling about with his tank bag to pull out a camera as I approached, at which point he started taking pictures. Unable not to laugh I waved and carried on chugging up the incline and towards the border control, where a smile, a bonjour and a few euros produced a leaflet and a trip through to the third country in twenty four hours. France and the test of the Pyrenees lay ahead.On the start of the descent that snaked ahead looking for all like a loose coiled spring, I saw a pull in ahead and duly stopped to take some pictures of the small amounts of snow still capping the mountain opposite me. It was then that the bmw riding motorcyclist came thumping around the corner, beeping and waving again as he went past. I don't suppose I really knew it was one and the same until a moment later the thumping was coming back towards me. He pulled in, stopped, took his helmet off to reveal this great big grin and then in a superman esque manner undid his jacket and pulled it back to reveal............well, i'll let you take a look for yourself....(click on the picture to enlarge as I discovered)

It turned out that his Father had had a bay window camper himself when he was a boy growing up in Stuttgart. That he had always wanted one himself but had never had the time and opportunity, and how he was truly amazed that morning to have stirred himself out of Andorra on his return leg to Stuttgart to find a very similar to the camper he has such fond memories of as a boy to be chugging along in front of him. We exchanged cigarettes, chatted, laughed, took pictures, the questions seemingly as long lasting as the smile on his face.



Mum loved to make people happy, and she is, every step of the way.



Oh, and to those that may think i'm being a touch pretentious, i'll say this. Open your eyes and your ears then tell me what you see and you hear. Alternatively, try the opticians, get a hearing aid, or shut yourself in a dark room for at least 24 hours...... ;)







So far the journey has taken me through the home of the Catalans, the ruggedly beautiful terrain of the Basque country. Andorra, quite a strange small anomaly of a country, the gateway to the beauty of every green of the Pyrenees along the dancing roads of the mountain passes. The bridges and castle of Bezier. The deep reds of the hill sides and cliffs of the coastal Cote D'Azur. The national park of Camargue leading to the totally unexpected sight of flamingos living wild in their natural habit. The pomp of Cap de Ferrat, St Tropez and Monte Carlo, the wild beach night life of Cannes, the roads of the F1 track in Monaco, beaches for breakfast with the invitation of a morning swim in an array of blues, golden sands (which of course should be held down safely with shrink wrap or the likes) to the pure white pebbles of the Marina de Pisa. The history of Bayonne et Provence with its overview of the Chaines des Alpilies, the thoroughfare of vineyard after vineyard. Through to the streets of Italy via Menton, on through Imperia, rising and falling along the coast to the bustle of mindless no rules apply driving in the hectic Genoa. Down into La Spezia, and then up and up and up along the heights of the SS1, a pass ridden impossibly by those of the Giro d'Italia. Cruising down through Forte dei Mare, the seaside towns of the Italian holiday makers, and onwards to the quirky nature of Pisa.



I'd like to thank Inge and Iker for their hospitality in Algorta, the talking, the beach, the walks, the town party in Samplona, the introduction to kalimotxo (red wine and coca cola) don't knock it until you have tried it. Not sure if it is a way of using up the wine not good enough to drink on it's own, a way to sweeten and refreshen red wine into something easily drunk, or just a good and cheap way to get drunk. I'll leave that for you to decide.....Whilst with Inge and Iker I was reminded of how cancer is always somewhere, with Inges' friend Ignacion losing her Father the night before I left.



So, for now, i'll stop writing and allow the pictures to do the talking whilst I head up to Gatwick to return to Pisa and start again.