Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins

The night before we left home for our nine-week roadtrip from Ireland to Morocco in our all-electric van, I dreamt that camels were towing us through the desert because we had run out of charge. Range anxiety in my dreams…..hopefully not an omen.

Leaving Rosslare

The journey to the ferry port in Rosslare was short and the crossing to Bilbao was smooth.  Taking the ferry was such a comfortable, relaxing way to travel, a slow transitioning to holiday mode. Wi-Fi was only available for a fee and our mobile data only kicked in briefly when we sailed near the tip of England and the French coast with a fleeting flurry of What’s App messages.  We were in a floating cocoon, out of contact with the world.

We were fortunate to sail on Wednesday morning (Oct1), well ahead of Storm Amy. Our original preference was for the Friday crossing but it was full when we tried to book it the previous week, so we opted for the earlier sailing. Sometimes it pays off to be ‘last-minute’ because that Friday evening sailing was cancelled due to the adverse weather conditions.

The thirty-hour journey flew by.  The talk given by the resident on-board conservationist (from the Ocra Charity) about whale identification was really informative and a good initiative on the part of Brittany Ferries.  The breeze on deck was brisk for the whale-watching session, and as the whales refused to turn up, we went down to the bar and marine-watched in comfort through the large windows, accompanied by live music followed by a quiz about French food and drink. It was multiple choice so we guessed most of the answers….. wrongly.   (Sample question: What is Roscoff famous for? Onions apparently.)

There was plenty of other entertainment, Caoimhin did a short course on rope-knots and the whiskey & chocolate tasting in the shop was very popular. There was bingo, more quizzes and dolphins appeared at dusk for a little sunset somersault.

In the cabin, Caoimhin cut my hair, lopped off a couple of inches…. we had been so busy in the run up to our departure that I didn’t have time to visit a hairdresser… and did a good job. Our ensuite cabin was comfortable, the shower was hot and the hum of the engine was so soporific that I slept for ten hours straight, lulled by the gentle swaying motion.

 It was a sunny 25C at 2pm in Bilbao when we emerged from our cocoon. There’s always a bit of tension when driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road in a new place and trying to figure out Google’s instructions. Taking a wrong roundabout turning, we ended up back in the port where the officials looked at our Irish reg, and sighed before raising the barriers to let us loose …again. But soon we were driving south towards Haro and the Rioja region….this destination was only decided on the ferry when looking at the guidebook. We had never heard of Haro but we like wine and we wanted to head south.

Our next task was to figure out EV charging in Spain before we reached the ‘range anxiety’ stage. Our maps indicated that EV charging stations were plentiful. Although we had 50% in the tank, we stopped at an Iberdrola charging area before any topping-up became critical. Our Buzz was the only vehicle charging at a whole bank of chargers, all fast chargers with a couple of  ultra-fast. It was possible to get instructions in English and pay by  bankcard. It was relatively expensive at 0.70 a Kw, more than we have paid at public chargers in Ireland but at least we know that charging is easy, at least with Iberdrola.

No Queues

Haro proved to be a good choice. It was a town with the tang of fermenting grapes in the air and the hum of tractors pulling trailer-loads of grapes to the wineries; the building were old and made of a golden-yellow stone that glowed in the late afternoon….and the wine was cheap (starting from less than €2 a glass). A perfect combination.

The bodegas opened at 10am, or before, for wine-tasting and closed in the early-afternoon. Sipping wine in a two hundred year old cellar, surrounded by hundreds of wooden casks which were slowly seeping alcohol into the dim air, was a wonderful way to enjoy a tipple even if it was barely midday.  This activity also meant that most of the visitors to this gorgeous little town were never entirely sober. Early morning walks along by the Rio Ebro and through the vineyards went some way to clearing our heads. The mornings were cool – about 10C- but by midday it was a gorgeous sunny 26C until the evenings required a light jacket.

Haro holds an annual festival in late June, Batalla de Vino (Battle of the Wine) where the attendees dress in white tunics and throw thousands of litres of wine at each other, staining their clothes red. A clock in the main plaza was already counting down the days and minutes to next year’s event.

Haro owes its wine success to a plague (phylloxera) in France which ruined the French vineyards in 1863. French wine producers set up storehouse in La Rioja and began to produce Riojan wine with their own techniques which the locals adopted and adapted. Never an ill wind and all that…

As we stayed in a campsite by the river (€28 a night with electricity), Caoimhin had high hopes that we might be able to slow-charge the van onsite using a ‘granny cable.’ When that wasn’t compatible, we dispensed with electricity, and the nightly charge dropped to €21. The campsite was very social and we met several Irish people who were having an unplanned extra week in Spain due to the ferry cancellations and disruptions.

After three days, we felt that we should depart Haro for our livers’ sake. The ‘Haro Effect,’  that continuous hazy, slightly inebriated state, was becoming too seductive so we packed up, with some regret.

Heading south in the direction of Burgos,  the weather turned cool and cloudy with even a slight hint of rain. We drove by bare fields, shorn of corn and bleached white from the sun and fields of blackened sunflowers, withering on the stalk with drooping heads. The climate in Burgos, like most of central Spain, has been described as ‘nine months of winter and three months of hell(summer).’ It was sunny when we arrived with a stiff easterly breeze keeping the temperature a chilly 13 degrees although the streets were full with lots of people going around in medieval costume. The Cathedral was jaw-dropping, a Gothic Treasure where the concept of ‘Less is More’ was never considered, every available surface was crammed with ornate carvings. After charging in Burgos (Zunder Chargers@ €0.58/kW) and wandering around the Sunday market, we pushed on to Lerma, a pretty town, with a castle, convents and a big Plaza Mayor. We parked in a picnic area on the outskirts of town and settled for the night.

The cold woke us. The temperature had dipped to 1.5 degrees which was unexpected and the coldest it’s been so far. By 9am the following morning, the sun was shining but temperatures were still hovering about 2 degrees. We moved on, before we had to invest in blankets and woolly jumpers.

We are now in Salamanca, staying in a cheap guesthouse (Hispanica Hostal €38 a night) in a basic ensuite- room but it is clean, light-filled, central with free parking. The Plaza Mayor in Salamanca is considered the most beautiful in all of Spain and we believe that claim, having been in the Plaza last night when the lights came to spontaneous clapping. The plaza which was already gorgeous became even more magical when lit up and with a full moon rising over the splendid architecture.

Thanks for Reading

Hasta Luego

Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins

Japan: Chasing the Dream (aka Running from the Rain)

We are in the terminal building standing in a queue to buy tickets  for the ferry to Beppu in Kyushu when several phones, including Caoimhin’s, start making strange sounds simultaneously. It’s an emergency alert but it doesn’t say what for …more information coming is the ominous text.  The noise echoes around the high ceilings of the building.  People glance at their phones but nobody seems too bothered and the queue shuffles on as if such alerts are frequent.  It’s a reminder that we are in a country where natural disasters are common with a history of typhoons, tsunamis,  volcanic eruptions and earthquakes.

Ferries run several times a day between the two islands (Shikoku and Kyushu). We hadn’t booked a ticket but there wasn’t any problem about buying a fare on the day. The cost for two passengers and the van was €100 for the three hour crossing. There was more alarming phones on the ferry but again nobody took any notice. The ferry was quiet and extremely comfortable…. so comfortable that we were disappointed to arrive early.

Kyushu seemed green and mountainous and a lot like Shikoku with perhaps a little more rice cultivation. It has been a bad year for rice due to the unseasonably high temperatures. Most of the rice cultivation is on small holdings managed by elderly farmers. The average age of an agricultural worker in Japan is 69 years old. Most older people in Japan continue working. At the launderette where we were doing our weekly wash (we pack very lightly), the manager was a sprightly eighty something year old. He was a very chatty man, eager to give us tips about all the places we should visit in the locality. Unfortunately we missed a lot of it as Google Translate couldn’t keep up with him, he talked both too much and too fast for Google.

Our first stop in Kyushu was Beppu, a town known for its many onsens (thermal baths). It’s a very seismically active area which explains the many baths.  The nearby region of Oita has had nine earthquakes, greater than magnitude seven, since 1900. Beppu is built on a flat plane  hemmed in on three sides with mountains. As we approached on a grey, humid 30 degrees afternoon,  the plumes of steam rising from the many hot springs and the clouds descending down the mountains intermingled to give an eerie darkness. Maybe it was that our minds were filled with those emergency alerts (that everyone ignored) but we  felt a sense of foreboding. It became darker and huge, fat drops of rain splattered the van.

We tried to stay in an RV park in the centre of Beppu but it was closed so we tried a campsite in the hills buts that was boarded up. Our third option was a campsite high above the town in a nature reserve near a lake,. This was open and the rain stopped.  Although there were loos, there weren’t any showers and it was prohibited to swim in the lake. Lake Shidaka is supposed to have been made from the accumulated tears of the broken hearted. Nevertheless it was a serene plane where swans floated by and the trees were beautiful. There were only 5 campers/tents in the huge park. There was some damage from a typhoon that had swept through a few months before.

A Lake made from Tears
Don’t get TOO Close

 In desperate need of a shower and some Wi-Fi, we searched for a guesthouse in Beppu and found J.Hoppers in the centre of town with parking,  Japanese futon beds,  our own ensuite bathroom  for less than €40 a night. It was fantastic, comfortable and reasonably priced. The luxury of having our own bathroom cannot be underestimated. The owner spoke English with great recommendations for onsens and restaurants. There was also a common area for chatting with other guests, a couple who were cycling to Bhutan, a Kuwaiti guy who described Kuwait as a ‘dreamless sleep’ where people have nothing to do and more money than is good for anyone. If you ever find yourself in Beppu, I’d recommend you stay at Hoppers.

The Hells of Beppu is a series of seven bubbling pools of water and mud with various colours from deep turquoise to flaming red. They are dotted at separate locations around the town. The pools are strictly for viewing and not for bathing (unless you have a wish to be scalded) although there were footbaths at many of the sites to soak your feet.  It was probably the most touristy thing that we have done and our first exposure of coachloads of Japanese tourists. The noise, the crowds, the bell-ringing of the tour guide was totally overwhelming especially as the day was hot and the parks were steamy. It truly was ‘hell’.

After our enjoyable stay in Beppu, we headed down the east coast of Kyushu on non-toll roads but even these were very good. There were numerous tunnels cut through the mountains. Sometimes we there were only a couple of hundred metres from the end of one tunnel and the beginning of the next. It was about 20 degrees, a drop of 10 degrees in a couple of days. There were deserted beaches and closed campsites where we parked for the night anyway.

The Nichinan Coast on the eastern side of Kyushu is regarded as one of the most beautiful coastal drives in Japan with many offshore islands, strange rock formation and thundering surf. Down the coast, we visited a shrine for couples, a place that was very popular as a wedding venue. It was quite busy with both the hopeful, the grateful and the desperate.

We pulled in for the night at a scenic spot along the coast overlooking the Pacific. It was sunny and blustery but it began to rain during the night and it didn’t stop. Hours later, we were marooned in the van, there was water leaking in the window onto one of our pillows. The carpark was almost a lake and a trip to the loo was a major expedition. It rains a lot in Japan (evident from the trees and green moss) but the area we were in was regarded as the wettest in the country. We sat in the van, checking weather forecasts and wondering where to go. Although we hadn’t seen the most impressive part of the stunning coast, we decided to abandon that plan. The lure of tropical islands was strong. We investigated ferries and flights to Okinawa and other islands in the East China Sea as rain hammered against the van. We made some coffee which streamed the windows even more and decided to head to Kagoshima Ferry Terminal and investigate ferries to any island. After driving on flooded roads when we feared the van would stall or a river might burst its banks, we diverted to the tolled roads. Hang the expense!

The woman in the ferry terminal office had the patience of a saint as we changed our minds about what we wanted to do, There was no availability for the overnight ferry that evening for a van, mainly because the army were travelling with lots of jeeps and trucks. We decided to go as foot passengers but then changed our mind again when we heard the price of parking the van at the ferry terminal. When we found out the price to travel with the van, we almost called the whole thing off.  I’m sure that the woman was inwardly cursing us but she was so helpful, as we debated, dithered and communicated with her by Google Translate.  Eventually we came to a decision. We would travel the following day with the van and we would return in eight days. There was some discount for getting a return fare. So we left Kagoshima in the rain but thankfully there was little wind and sailed four hundred kilometres overnight on the East China Sea.

After a night on hard mats in the third class quarters, the ferry arrived in the early morning to a sleeping Amami Island. We parked near the sea, boiled some water on the stove for tea and coffee and waited for the island to wake it while we admired the dawn tranquillity . There was more birdsong than we had heard up to now and the loudest cicadas that we have ever heard.

Mainly there were green, forested hills, rising behind small fishing villages nestled on the shore. With the topography of steep hills coming down to meet the sea, we saw that it was a constant battle to prevent the land sliding into the sea from mudslides and the sea overtaking the land, a constant pull and tug. Driving around the island we witnessed first hand the hills reinforced with concrete and the sea barriers, both requiring constant maintenance.

The Amami islands are halfway between mainland Japan and Okinawa island group and not that far from Taiwan.  Amami Oshima, the main island, is sparsely populated, smaller and less touristy than its more well known neighbour, Okinawa. It has a similar climate, warm with plentiful rain and a unique culture with worship of many gods of mountain, sea and forest. Many rituals take place around a lunar calendar and are overseen by an elder female.

We soon found out how plentiful that rain could be. Although our first day on the island was warm and sunny (about 29C), it began to rain that night and didn’t stop at all for about thirty six hours. The rain wasn’t like rain at home, it  was warm but still drenching and it caused more leaky windows. The deluge gave us an opportunity to visit museums, an aquarium and the wildlife conservation centre. Conservation and nature is an important part of Amami with its unique eco-systems of mangroves, forests, seashore and pristine waters. It is a World Heritage Natural Site. There are rare species of plants and animals, unique to the island. Sea turtles come ashore and lay their eggs on many of the beaches between May and July. There were so many butterflies that sometimes it was almost like a blizzard. There are huge efforts in progress to eradicate the mongoose which was  introduced to help reduce the number of snakes and rats.  The problem was that the mongoose ignored the snakes and rats who were sleeping during the day and found easier prey in the rare species of rabbit and woodcock which have both become endangered as a result.  Everywhere we go, there are warnings about the snakes, particularly vipers. So far, we haven’t seen any…..fingers crossed, it stays that way.

Last night we are parked up by Yadori beach, an idyllic spot on the edge on the forest. The temperature in the soft darkness was about 25C, there was a light breeze and we were enjoying some wine (which is surprisingly cheap in Japan).  A man in a jeep stopped beside us to warn us about the danger of snakes in the region(all by Google Translate). That put a little damper on our evening, I even dreamt of snakes slithering in the van window that we had to keep open for some ventilation and I’m not even squeamish about snakes….usually.

We are so glad that we made the decision to bring the van to the island. It allows us the freedom to travel around as the bus service is not extensive. Amami is an island made for camper vanning with so many beautiful places to park, often with toilets, showers and picnic tables. At the southern end of the island we were spoilt for choice, parking beside gorgeous beaches with crystal clear water where we snorkelled  with colourful, flickering fish. Truly a paradise when the sun shines……except for the snakes.

But there’s a typhoon coming and it is predicted to be a strong one. We are going to try and change our ferry tickets so that we can leave a day early…..just in case

Till next time….hope your Bank Holiday weekend is going well

From a sunny, blue-skied Amami,

Mata Ne (またね)

Kayaking among the Mangroves, Amami Island

Japan: Chasing the Dream (aka Running from the Rain)

Tory Island – Timeless and Tantalising❤️

Tory Ferry at Magheroarty

On a sunny July Sunday, we parked our van in Magheroarty in North West Donegal and walked down the pier to the small passenger ferry to take us to Tory Island, the most remote inhabited island off the Irish coast.  We were laden down with bags, mainly of rattling provisions (i.e. wine😀) for our three night/four day stay on the island. Although we had read online that there was a shop on Tory, it was recommended to bring as much as possible with us.  As we walked to the boat, Caoimhin kicked his sandal vigorously to release a pebble lodged under his foot – a little too forcefully because the sandal sailed into the air and landed in the water where it bobbed with the seaweed 😮. He ran down the pier steps to where a small  boat was moored, grabbed a hook and managed….eventually… to fish his footwear out of the water just before the ferry departed.

After that excitement, the boat journey was uneventful. We had booked our ferry tickets online the previous week for the 1pm crossing but we could have bought them at the little office on the pier. There was plenty of space on the boat, the inside seating area was virtually empty, most people opting to sit or stand at the railing outside on the deck. The boatman told us that the first sailing in the morning from the Margheroarty pier and the last sailing in the evening from the island were the busy ones as most visitors were day trippers.  

The  fourteen and a half kilometer journey took forty five minutes and luckily for us, the wind was light and the sea was glass-smooth, not always the case.  There was a time in the 1970s when the island was completely cut off for eight long weeks due to continuous storms and tumultuous seas. Some islanders left after that harsh winter to set up home on the mainland, only the hardiest and most resilient can survive out on the very edge of the world.

 The Donegal coast was still visible when we disembarked on the island but the mainland felt faraway, as if we had arrived in a remote timeless place. A couple of men were mending fishing nets in the harbor under the shadow of a Tau Cross,  a large ‘T’  shaped structure made of a single slab of mica slate and a form of crucifix  associated with early  Greek Church.  As mica slate is not  found on the island, the cross must have been made elsewhere and brought to the Island sometime during the 12th century. Over the years it has become a symbol of indestructibility and it is the custom to pray to it for protection before heading out to sea.

Silhouetted against the blue sky and visible from the harbor was the round tower, all that remains of the monastery founded by St Colmcille in the 6th century. It was evident that a variety of visitors have been coming to Tory since the earliest times, saints and scholars, pirates and adventurers, artists and fishermen. Although we now regard the offshore islands as very isolated places, in an earlier era when transport was by sea, they were actually the centers of commerce and learning where goods and ideas were traded and it was the mainland that was a forbidding densely-forested, barely penetrable place.

Our Airbnb was a stone’s throw from the slipway where the ferry docked in Baile Thiar (West Town), which was convenient for hauling our heavy bag of clinking luggage.  Our large bedroom window looked out both over the sea and the walled graveyard, nice juxtaposition of life and death. Four of us stayed in the rented house and the other five stayed in the Tory Island Hotel (Óstán Thoraí) which was two minutes’ walk away and overlooked both the pier and a sandy beach.

This was the first visit to the island for all nine in our group and we were really lucky with the weather. Locals told us that we had arrived on the first fine day of the year and the sunshine continued during our visit with spectacular sunsets until our last day when clouds rolled in and there was a spattering of rain.

Tory is a small island, about three kilometers long and a kilometer wide flanked by high sea cliffs at the eastern end (Tor Mor) and a lighthouse at the flatter western end. At the last census (2022) the population was 141 but it has a secondary school with a total of five  pupils. An expected intake of four additional pupils in first year this September will be a big boost.  Baile Thiar where we stayed has the largest center of population with the hotel, church, craft shop and a grocery store which  also doubled as the post office. Most other houses are clustered  in Baile Thoir (East Town)with an occasional house dotted around elsewhere.

Tory Island is a paradise for birds and wildlife.  Although it is virtually treeless because of the high winds, there was a myriad of grasses and colorful wildflowers, orchids, heathers and an abundance of biodiversity.  Rabbits scampered in the early morning and evenings, a pair of swans and a raft of ducks swam on the lakes. The human population may be small, but the bird population is huge with large colonies of gulls, terns, pipits and oystercatchers. It is an important breeding ground for corncrakes, from now on I will always associate their distinctive call, so like a creaking door, with Tory.   We could even hear it from our kitchen table and it is a sound which has virtually disappeared from the rest of the country.

Bird Watching on Tory in Sunshine

At the eastern end of the island, we spent a couple of hours watching hundreds of puffins on the grassy slopes beyond a rock called the Wishing Stone. It seemed to be  flight school  for the young  pufflings, it was hilarious watching the aborted take-offs and the crash landings on the cliff.

After exploring the island on foot, we took to the seas and hired a boat for a trip around the island which departed from the harbour at West Town. Our captain was also the only farmer on the island, rearing  sheep at the eastern end of the island.  He was accompanied by his two young grandsons, one who attended the island  primary school and the other in secondary school. The family spoke Irish together but switched seamlessly to lilting English when chatting to us.

                 The sheer cliffs were even more majestic when seen from the water  with an incredible diversity of coastal erosion features – sea stacks and arches, sea caves and blow-holes and very long, isolated spurs of rock jutting out into the ocean.  From a distance, some rocky features seemed manmade but the granite outcrops are natural, formed by differential weathering of  the granite bedrock. Many of these have local ‘rock’ names (Tór Mór, The Big Key, The Anvil, The Wishing Stone, Balors Fort, Balors Prison, and The Cave, among others). Some of the names refer to the mythological Balor of the Mighty Blows – a one-eyed king whose eye was so evil that it had to be kept covered.

The seas were teeming with bobbing puffins and a few guillemots and razorbills. Earlier in the year (May and June), there were sightings of basking sharks patrolling the coastline for plankton but we didn’t see any on our trip. Although it was a calm day, the seas were surprisingly rough with surging sea-spray as we rounded the western end near the lighthouse, a tiny taste of what it might be like in stormy weather.

Tory has many swim spots apart from the beach at the harbour. On the east of the island at Port an Duin, right at the end of the road, two green-watered beaches frame the narrow land bridge leading out to Balor’s Fort . On the north side of the island near the hut where the artist Derek Hill painted, there is gorgeous Portín Ghlaí, which has steps cut into the hillside for easy access. Swimming every day in different spots  was ‘refreshing’, an euphemism for very cold. The water was beautifully clear, perfect for trying to avoid the jelly fish who also seemed to love the sea around the island

From our Airbnb near the harbour, we watched the rhythm of the island, the comings and goings of visitors and locals, the ferry bringing in people and supplies, practically everything has to be brought from the mainland. We watched crates of beer and coca cola, vegetables and washing powder, being winched from the ferry by a small crane and deposited on the pier. There is no fuel on the island, the land has long been denuded of turf  and there was little evidence of any cultivation. Fishing, except for lobster, was no longer a profitable practice as fish are relatively scare because of over-fishing in the past. Apart from the hotel which did good food at lunch and dinner time, there was the Club which served basic pub food all day- we can vouched for the pizzas which were delicious.

The King of Tory, Patsy Dan Rogers passed away in October 2018, after a long-term illness aged 74 and is buried in the churchyard. He was known to greet most ferries to personally welcome visitors to the island and is still  greatly missed

Tory is a timeless place, it feels bigger than it actually is, further away from the mainland than it actually is, steeped in history and mythology, attracting people looking for contemplation and solitude, music and art, wildlife and nature.

Truly…. Tory Island is a special place

 Slán go fóill,  Toraigh

Sunsets and Corncrakes

Tory Island – Timeless and Tantalising❤️