retirement

Electric Travels: Highs and Lows

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments
EV Charging in Spain

The night before we left home for our two-month roadtrip from Ireland to Morocco in our  completely-electric van, I had a dream -more a nightmare – that camels were towing us through the desert because we had run out of charge. Thankfully that didn’t happen…..although at one stage in Central Morocco, it was looking like a very real possibility. But we survived – both us and the van arrived back home, delighted and exhilarated by our travels.

This final post is a brief summary and some trip highlights. We left home on the first of October, sailing with Brittany Ferries boat from Rosslare to Bilbao in Spain – the thirty-hour journey was a wonderfully relaxing way to transition into holiday mode.  We meandered through central Spain to Algeciras in Andalusia, (charging as we went along without issue) where another ferry (only one hour this time) took us across the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco. Having spent a little over three weeks in Morocco, we returned to Spain and made our way slowly back to Bilbao to return home on December 2.

Our highlights were numerous in both countries so….. here’s just a few in no particular order.

Haro is a small town in the Rioja Region where, in early October, the air was heavy with the tang of fermenting grapes and the hum of tractors pulling heaped trailer-loads to the wineries. The buildings were made of a mellow-yellow stone that seemed to glow in the late afternoon….but that could be just the effect of the wine-tasting. Sipping wine in a two-hundred year old cellar, surrounded by wooden casks which were slowly seeping alcohol into the dim air, was a memorable way to enjoy a tipple…. even if it was barely midday. Most wineries opened at 10am and closed by early afternoon.  This activity also meant that most visitors were never entirely sober. We thoroughly enjoyed ‘The Haro Haze,’  that fuzzy, slightly inebriated state, but after three days, we had to leave or we might have stayed forever.

Haro, Rioja Region

The Caminita del Rey is a trek along narrow walkways, that are pinned along the steep walls of a spectacular gorge in the Malaga region. This was a dramatic walk with stunning views…..and not as scary as the photos might indicate as new reinforced walkways have replaced the original rickety ones. The actual portion of the hike along the gorge is quite short, about 3.5 kms with a couple of kilometres at either end to make up about eight kilometres in total. Its popular and requires prior online booking.

 Caminita del Rey, Malaga Region

Salamanca. In a country which is choc-o-block with stunning towns,  we were truly dazzled by the scale and mesmerising beauty of the main plaza in the small city of Salamanca. No wonder it is regarded as the most magnificent plaza in all of Spain.  Visitors and locals alike burst into spontaneous applause at dusk when the lights were turned on, enhancing its beauty even more.

Merida, the capital of western Spain’s Extremadura region was founded by the Romans in the 1st century B.C. It’s a little ramshackle but its Roman origins were evident in the arches, aqueducts and amphitheatre.  Many of the ancient structures were incorporated into modern living – cars drove on paved roads under ancient arches and people strolled over the old Roman Bridge which linked the old town with the new. A friendly place.

Merida, Spain

Walking Tour in Tangiers A walking tour of the medina and souk in the old town gave us a flavour of this fascinating city, a place where mosques became churches before changing back again, where being the ‘Gateway to the Mediterranean’ was both a blessing and a curse, a pawn and a prize to be coveted and fought over down the centuries. It was also a place that welcomed artists – Sir John Lavery lived here, so did Tennessee Williams and Jack Kerouac.

Tangiers, Morocco

Riad Andalous was hidden away in the medina of the old imperial city of Meknes. Finding it was difficult – we walked  in baffling circles through stalls selling shoes, scarfs and all kinds of food until a couple of young boys led us through a maze of dirty alleys. When we climbed the stairs to enter Riad Andalous, we entered an oasis of calm with tapestries on the walls, ornate ceilings, rug-strewn floors and a sunny rooftop terrace. It even had a little resident tortoise, who slowly followed the sun around the terrace. The price per night for a comfortable ensuite room including a huge breakfast was €28. The only downside was that we were within hearing distant of five different mosques (which weren’t synchronised)  so the early morning call to prayer overlapped and lasted a long time.

Meknes Morocco

Asilah Campsite Charging  In a dusty campsite in Asilah, a windy town on the Atlantic coast, we plugged the van into a socket with the blessing of the campsite owner who was saying Inshallah.  Lo and behold, the charging light turned green and the Buzz slow-charged all night until it reached 100% by mid- morning the following day. We didn’t know if it was because of the blessing or the lack of safety features and circuit breakers but we were relieved.  Unfortunately it was the only time we managed to charge using a granny cable in Morocco.

The Wonder of Fez.  The old medina in Fez was a place where little had changed in centuries.  There was the clamour of commence and the rumble of wooden carts being pushed along the narrow ‘streets,’ a maze of over nine-thousand paths and which was reputed to be the largest pedestrianized area in the world. There was the banging of hammers on metal, the soft whoosh of looms, the silent concentration of calligraphy, the slosh of dyeing fabrics and much more. The scent of rosewater and orange blossom mixed with the smell of raw meat, fish, spices and fresh baking. It was like stepping back in time, we ate warm flatbreads directly from the ovens in a family bakery, tasted honey cakes from an old recipe and visited the tannery at the edge of the medina (see lowlights).

Cats Everywhere, If you have a fondness for cats, you will love Morocco. Did you know that a group of cats is called a clowder? Well, Morocco is definitely ‘clowdered.’ There is a cultural communal reverence for felines, with people leaving out food and water for them. The most basic shop had large displays of tinned cat food.

Morocco – where it’s a cats’ life.

Mint Tea and Other Beverages.  I grew to love the mint tea in Morocco, which was just as well as alcohol was difficult to obtain and expensive. In Tetouan, a city in Northern Morocco,  we couldn’t find the alcohol section in the Carrefour Supermarket. We wandered around and eventually spotted an unmarked grey door on the side of the building. That couldn’t be it, could it? It looked more like a back entrance to some kind of warehouse. We peeked in. The light was dim, the air was stuffy but the interior was teeming with men (it was all men except for the women at the tills). There was the sound of bottles clinking and cans rolling against each other in baskets. The whole enterprise felt furtive, shady and clandestine. We were delighted.   

Mint Tea
Shhh….Buying Alcohol

A Blue City. Chefchaouen in Northern Morocco wasn’t looking it’s best under  grey  drizzly skies when we visited but it was still gorgeous. It is famous for its narrow streets with facades painted in different shades of blue.  There are several theories about why the town is painted blue. Some said that the colour blue symbolised the sky and spirituality, that it came from the Sephardic Jews who settled here in the 15th century, others said that blue was a good insect repellent. Whatever the reason, the result is stunning and very photogenic.

The Roads in Morocco were excellent with a smooth surface, better than a lot of roads in Ireland. There was a surprising amount of donkey and pony traffic particularly when we moved inland. There were also lots of speed checks. If there was only one bush in the distance, it was quite likely that a policeman with a speed-gun was lurking behind it, ready to phone on details to his colleague up the road. We were never stopped as we were driving inside the speed limit to conserve our charge but many others weren’t so compliant.

A Slice of Heaven. We found our idea of heaven in a little unpretentious campsite in the Rif mountains, run by a lovely family who baked bread in an outside oven and made the tastiest tagines. There was the babble of a small river, a soft wind in the lemon and avocado trees and the bleating of a few goats. The resident dog befriended us – all it took was a bit of chicken. The days were warm, perfect for hikes, the nights were cool (about 9C), perfect for sleeping. We sat by the river, hiked in the hills, read, did some yoga and watched the morning sun hit the mountain peaks and slowly creep down to warm the valley. This tranquil place put a spell on us, forced us to slow down. It could have been boring….it should have been…but it wasn’t in the slightest. It was our favourite place in Morocco.

The Rif Mountains

Trees in Cadiz, Spain. Cadiz is a place of narrow lanes, wide plazas, beaches, tapas bars with the aroma of frying fish, and always the sound of the sea which was never far away. The waves crashed or lapped (depending on the wind and side) on the reinforcements that kept the whole place from eroding and dissolving into the sea. But what impressed us most were the trees – dramatic Strangler Figs with enormous umbrellas of leaves and trunks as wide as  a city bus.

Sierra Nevada We spent eight days in Niguelas, a small village in the Sierra Nevada, about an half-hour drive outside the city of Granada, staying in a little Airbnb apartment on the edge of the village. After seven weeks of constantly moving through Spain and Morocco and sleeping (mainly) in the van, we wanted to pause and stay in one place. The Buzz spent the time parked under an olive tree. The location of Niguelas was jaw-droppingly beautiful with a huge selection of hikes of various lengths and difficulty. This was a week of super hiking and some morning dog walks with our Airbnb host, Tim and his dogs. There were almond orchards, olive groves, Aleppo Pines bright green against the bare rock and the yellow foliage of the walnut trees and poplars.

A Flow of Creativity.  In Niguelas, Helga, our Airbnb host, ran courses in felting and eco printing and we both opted to try our hand at eco-printing. This involved picking plants and flowers from the huge selection in the garden and using Helga’s techniques to transfer the images to cloth. It was a really enjoyable experience and our results were satisfying and really much better than we would have hoped. The unrolling of the fabric after the steaming process was greeted by lots of ‘wow.’

Parador Argomaniz Although we are usually fans of ‘cheap and cheerful,’ we are not adverse to a bit of luxury especially in unique buildings. Paradores in Spain are state-owned luxury hotels, in restored historical buildings, such as palaces, convents, monasteries and castles.  It’s like stepping back into the past but with modern comforts and the hotel profits go to the buildings upkeep. Our last two nights were spent in Parador de Argomaniz which was about an hour south of Bilbao. The building dated back to 1712 and was once a convent, before being converted into a palace, and during the Peninsular Wars was used as a headquarters for French Troops. It even had EV charging points.  If you have never stayed in a parador, I urge you to look them up and give yourself a real treat.

Lowlights

Getting into Morocco. We nearly didn’t get into Morocco. We forgot to bring the documents for the Buzz and only realized this when we were in the border queue. We phoned our wonderful neighbours at home who ran over to our house, photographed our van documents(the Vehicle Registration Document Form) and Whatsapp’ed them to us.   The border officialsweren’t happy -they needed paper documents, it wasn’t the right document, we wouldn’t be allowed in. Eventually a senior official was called, an older man, slightly stooped but mild mannered. He agreed to give us a waiver and signed a piece of paper, necessary to enter Morocco with the van. Four and a half hours after disembarking from the ferry, we were in Morocco….by the skin of our teeth.

EV Charging in Morocco. Charging the Buzz was an issue in Morocco. Chargers were scarce – a charging map told us that there were forty-one chargers in the whole country, distances were large -Morocco is more than six times the size of Ireland. After getting into Morocco, the first chargers that showed up on our map were Fast Volt, the chargers were in a gleaming forecourt and looked impressive. We were hopeful. The instructions, in French, required us to download the Fast Volt App as charging was only available through the app (and not directly using a bank card). No problem, we thought, until we attempted to download the app and kept  getting the message ‘Unable to download as app not available in your region.’ Catch 22. The Fast Volt were great chargers but we were unable to use them. Meaning that the number of available chargers decreased significantly.

EV Charging in Morocco.

Looking for a Campsite in the Desert Turning inland from the Atlantic Coast in Morocco, the journey was breathtaking with undulating and twisty roads. The countryside was a palette of browns with the occasional green scrub, villages like mirages clung to hillsides and everywhere there were goats, mainly jet-black, like shadows. We were in search of a farm campsite on Google maps which sounded like a place we might be able to charge the Buzz, plug it into a socket…..if there was a socket assuming that was even electricity. The trouble was that we couldn’t find the campsite. We left the tarmac road and followed dusty tracks…. to nowhere. Eventually we turned around and tried to retrace our tyre marks back to the ‘main’ road which was not an easy feat.

You have Arrived????😮

Azrou, a Berber town surrounded by cedar and pine forests with many walking trails and home to troupes of Barbour monkeys in the woods, should have been a highlight but it is here in the lowlights.  It was exactly the type of tranquil place we liked BUT we had a big problem, we couldn’t charge the Buzz, We tried several sockets, the campsite manager, Khalid,  allowed us to plug into the kitchen, he called a mechanic friend, brought us to a garage but the Buzz wasn’t buzzing.

 According to various (unreliable) maps, we thought there were chargers in Fez, which we had intended visiting, or Meknes, which we had never heard of before. Fez was 89kms but Meknes was closer at 65kms but we had a mere 59 kms in the tank.  Would either of them have chargers that worked……even if we got there? Our only hope was altitude – we were in the Middle Atlas mountains so it should be all downhill to either destination.  We decided on Meknes and drove slowly….Khalid gave us his phone number in case we got stuck and said that he would come and rescue us. We made it to Meknes, gaining kilometres on the downhill but it was SO stressful……however the relief was also huge when we managed to plug into a charger (albeit a slow one) in Meknes which was free, like all the chargers we used in Morocco.

An Unforgettable Smell in Fez.  At the door leading into the Fez tannery, a small man with a face like wrinkled leather pressed a few mint leaves into my palm and gestured that I should hold it to my nose. It didn’t help much – a whole mint bush wouldn’t have disguised the pervasive pungent smell that hung in the air, the smell of blood and chemicals although the tanning was done using old natural methods, many unchanged for a thousand years. The ammonia needed in the process was supplied by pigeon poop, gathered from the town’s buildings and from pigeon fanciers and the red dye came from pomegranate seeds. The recently eaten honey cakes were leaping into my throat as I looked down at a ‘clothes line’ of drying skins, a mixture of goat, cow and camel  and the much-photographed ‘honeycomb’ vats of coloured liquid used in the dying process. The work was intense, the noise unrelenting, the conditions brutal…….and the smell was gut-wrenching.

The Tannery, Fez

Despite the difficulty with EV charging, we were charmed by gorgeous Morocco and Moroccans who are probably the most helpful people in the world. Our trip was curtailed somewhat in Morocco by the quest for chargers. This kept us in cities more than we would have liked but on the plus side, we visited Meknes and Rif Mountains which we probably wouldn’t have if charging hadn’t been an issue.

We learned a lot and could have made things a little easier if we had done some research…..although our usual ‘modus operandi’ is to ’wing it.’ We discovered that there are adaptor cable kits (aka Portable EV Charging Station) available to buy online which might have allowed us to charge from a household socket in places like Morocco by some regulation of current/voltage. (Much of our disappointment, our granny cable didn’t work with an adapter plug) This new adaptor kit has gone on our Christmas wish-list  so hopefully in the future there will be no stopping us.

EV charging in Spain was easier than in Ireland with numerous chargers and suppliers. Most could be paid for with a bank card but with a higher tariff – prices were usually cheaper through the relevant app but pricing also depended on the type and speed of the charger. We found Electromaps to be very useful and the most accurate app for finding all chargers and by adding your bank card details to this app, it was possible to pay directly through this app for most chargers in Spain.

Thanks for reading and coming along on our journey.

Wishing you and yours a happy, healthy Christmas x

Our Journey, through Spain and Morocco

Central Morocco

Electric Travels: Highs and Lows

Electric Travels: A Pause (paws) in Spain.

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , 1 Comment
Caoimhin and Dora, Sierra Nevada

Most days, the air was crisp and clear…except when the locals burnt their mounds of tree clipping , wafting plumes of smoke into the air. The sky was a blinding blue and we were surrounded by a craggy silhouette of mountains in almost every direction. In the distance was the glittering white of the first snows, which had fallen the day before we arrived.

We spent eight days in Niguelas, a small village in the Sierra Nevada, about an half-hour drive outside the city of Granada, staying in a little Airbnb apartment on the edge of the village which we had booked two days in advance. After seven weeks of constantly moving through Spain and Morocco on this trip and sleeping (mainly) in the van, we wanted to pause and stay in one place. The Buzz spent the time parked under an olive tree.

We couldn’t have picked a better spot. Our apartment (Aguas calmas) was warm and cosy, with views of the trees and mountains. It was set in a shady garden with a lovely pool, which would have been perfect in warmer weather.  The location of Niguelas was jaw-droppingly beautiful with a huge selection of hikes of various lengths and difficulty, many directly from our door. Some were marked  but  a hiking app like All Trails was helpful to keep us on track. This was a week of super hiking and some morning dog walks with our Airbnb host, Tim and his dogs, a Spanish Mastiff called Leona, who had liver disease, a nervous rescue lab called Dora and  a neighbour’s dog who liked to come along for the company.

There were almond orchards, olive groves, Aleppo Pines bright green against the bare rock and the yellow foliage of the walnut trees and poplars. Niguelas is also on the GR7, the famous long distance hiking and cycling route which runs all the way from Tarifa, near Gibraltar, through Spain and France to Andorra.

Our days were bright and sunny, with cold nights (sometimes as low as 1C) but there was torrential  rain on our second evening, which flowed down the paved surfaces of the narrow streets like a river. We sloshed around in the dusk looking in vain for an open café or bar but all five of them seemed to be closed….probably because of the weather… but opening hours were ‘flexible’. The village streets were winding and so narrow that many of the walls on the tight corners showed evidence of close encounters with vehicles. Tim told us that some guests arrived shaking and traumatised after the ordeal of driving through the village…. but not Caoimhin.

Despite the one evening of rain, water is rare and very precious here. The area can go months without a drop falling. In the mountains were ancient aquifer systems, which used a network of channels and pipes to divert snowmelt and rainfall, ensuring a water supply for downstream communities during dry months. Some of these originated in Arab times and are considered the oldest managed water recharge system in Europe.

Helga, our Airbnb host, runs felting and eco printing courses so we both opted to try our hand at eco-printing. This involved picking plants and flowers from the huge selection in the garden and using Helga’s techniques to transfer the images to cloth. It was a really enjoyable experience and our results were satisfying and really much better than we would have hoped. The unrolling of the fabric after the steaming process was greeted by lots of ‘wow.’ It is certainly something that we will try at home.

Being Creative with Helga

High above the village with a cross, silhouetted against the blue sky. Apparently the village women used to climb up to it on their knees, as a form of penance. We climbed up – not on our knees – and it was a pretty strenuous climb on rough stony surfaces. This is an area that has known conflict and poverty down the ages. It was a key battleground in the Spanish civil war with many atrocities committed against the civilian populations and summary executions in the mountains.

Maybe some of this unease lingers still among the dramatic landscape. In one of the village gardens, hanging from a tree by a noose was a baby doll (the ones that look like a human baby). It was very disturbing sight and had been hanging there for a year. Tim also told us of the local rivalries and neighbourly disputes, of outlaws living in luxurious houses and of a retired priest who set up a refuge for alcoholics, high in the mountains, away from temptation at 2000m……although some ‘escaped’ and made it to the village bars.

But sitting outside in the November sunshine, inhaling crisp mountain air and eating delicious tapas (that come free with a drink), all these simmering rivalries and tensions were completely invisible to us. We sipped our drinks and thought about how lucky we were, as we waited to attend a dramatization of some of Lorca’s work in the village casa de cultura.

Till next time

Thanks for reading

Stunning Sierra Nevada

Electric Travels: A Pause (paws) in Spain.

Electric Travels: Onwards to Morocco

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

When I left you last, we were waiting to enter the Picasso Museum in Malaga. Picasso was truly a genius, could turn his hand at anything from pottery to sculpture to iron works and was constantly working. I love his quote ‘Everyone knows that art is not truth. Art is a lie that allows us to realize the truth. Definitely worth a visit.

Malaga, birthplace of Picasso

Malaga was gorgeous but too crowded and hectic for us so we continued along the Costa del Sol, past the high-rise holiday complexes to the western side of Marbella where we found a lovely campsite with good facilities, Gregorio Beach Camper Park , about a hundred meters from a quiet beach. The Wi-Fi was strong enough to upload photos and blog and it was cheaper, at €21 a night, than our hellish stay in the hills above Malaga the night before. We have never visited the Costa del Sol before but the beaches were not what we expected- no fine golden sand,  just long stretches of dun-beige but the sun shone and the October temperatures were a comfortable 24C, Ireland has far better beaches…..but maybe not the sun.  Spain was fabulous but Morocco was calling so we drove towards Algeciras, a port town with lots of ferries across the Strait of Gibraltar.

Costa del Sol

We tried to charge (Cepsa Chargers) in a garage forecourt near a Chino Shop where we bought camping gas canisters but the chargers were powered down and covered in dust. Then on to Ionity chargers down the road. Sun blazed on the screens making them opaque and impossible to read. Sweat dribbled off us and I searched for my umbrella to provide some shade and maybe make the instructions on the charger screen legible.  Although €40 was taken from Caoimhin’s bank card to validate it, we couldn’t get them to work. We next stopped along the road at a casino which had two Tesla chargers…these might have worked but they were only slow chargers so we pushed on and stopped at an Iberdrola charger outside a hotel on the outskirts of Algeciras. The Buzz charged to 100% here without issue and….best of all,  the charging seemed to be free (the cost hasn’t been deducted from my bank card…yet)

‘Free’ Charging, Algeciras, Spain

While we were charging, we booked the ferry to Morocco for the following morning. It was a little bit disquieting that the first time we had any charging issue in Spain (which has loads of EV chargers was the day before going to Morocco which has very few (41 chargers in the whole country according to one source and Morocco is about ten times larger than Ireland). Would our travels there be severely curtailed?

We could have sailed  from Algeciras–Tangier (Morocco) but Algeciras–Ceuta was cheaper and sounded interesting. Ceuta is not part of Morocco but is a Spanish coastal city on the African continent. A one-way ticket for two passengers and the van cost €183.

Then we checked into a hotel as there weren’t any campsites nearby– really splashing out at €60 a night. We read our guidebook on Morocco, feeling excited, until we made the disturbing discovery that we had forgotten to bring the Van Registration Documents with us! This hadn’t been a problem in Europe but it would likely be a real issue leaving Europe

We were early. The woman in the ferry queue  in front of us wore a black burka and a beggar wandered down the row of cars with outstretched hand. The Med glittered in the morning light, although cloud obscured the Rock of Gibraltar  The African continent was tantalizingly close, …a mere 17 kms to Ceuta across the Strait.

The Journey so far …..and a View of the Rock

There was a brief custom check in Algeciras port, just a cursory look in the back seats and in the booth, for everyone except for  us. We were waved onto the ferry with a smile. I guess the rationale was that nobody in such a neon-coloured van could possibly be smuggling anything. The crossing was smooth and shorter than expected, about an hour. The time difference gained us an hour so we arrived in Ceuta, at the same time we had left Algeciras.  It felt as if we had departed Spain, crossed the water, only to arrive back in Spain. The city has been ruled by Spanish princes, Moroccan sultans and Portuguese kings down the centuries. Now it is surrounded by high-security barricades to prevent smuggling and illegal immigration to Europe.

Corralled in Ceuta….border waiting

Ceuta was a handsome town with Spanish architecture, plazas, old city walls and sunshine, we didn’t stop, anxious to get to the border (La Frontera) and discover our fate. An official demanded to see our ‘ticket,’ we didn’t know what he meant but he directed us back into town and uphill to a huge parking lot, where cars wishing to cross into Morocco were corralled before being released in rows to prevent border congestion…..in theory at least. While waiting, we phoned our great neighbours, who hurried over to our house, photographed our van documents (thanks Donal and Anita) and Whatsapp’ed them to us.  After an hour of waiting in the carpark, we approached the border a second time to join snail-like queues of cars, vans and motorbikes.  A further two hours went by before we were at the top of the queue. Our passports were stamped without issue, we were welcomed to Morocco and proceeded to the vehicle window. Like all the vans (no exceptions for the Buzz this time), we were asked to drive to one side where it was searched and then we were asked for the van registration form …and the trouble really began. They needed paper documents, it wasn’t the right document, we wouldn’t be allowed in.

Alternative itineraries were dancing around my head, if we had to return to Spain, we could wander around Southern Portugal….it would be very disappointing but not a calamity. Eventually a senior official was called, an older man, slightly stooped but mild mannered. He agreed to give us a waiver and signed a piece of paper, necessary to enter Morocco. Four and a half hours after disembarking from the ferry, we were in Morocco….by the skin of our teeth.

A row of white taxis hovered around the border gates,  a couple of dogs barked and ran uphill after the van, while several head-scarfed women sold fruit, laid out on the ground on colourful blankets. We kept going, wanting to get away from the border as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the e-sim we purchased from Revolut for Morocco activated, so we had mobile data on our phones without the hassle of haggling for a physical sim.

The road surface was excellent and the scenery was ruggedly beautiful with brightly painted, flat-roofed houses with mountains casting light and shadows. Although we were fully charged, we wanted to check out the Moroccan EV chargers, just to see if charging would be an issue so we headed in the direction of Tangier. The drive from Ceuta to Tangier was spectacular with the backdrop of the Rif mountains with small towns and some beautiful white-sandy beaches.

Can you spot the goats?

The first chargers that showed up on our map were Fast Volt, the chargers were in a gleaming forecourt and looked impressive. We were hopeful. The instructions, in French, required us to download the Fast Volt App as charging was only available through the app (and not directly using a bank card). No problem, we thought, until we attempted to download the app and kept  getting the message ‘Unable to download as app not available in your region.’ Catch 22. The next chargers on our map were part of a Casino Hotel and their use (behind a manned barrier) was for hotel guests only and we were refused entry  Tangier seemed a modern city with palm lined boulevards, a wide esplanade along the sea-front and buildings on the steep slopes, a city of hills and hollows.

We headed to a Google campsite, Miramonte Camping, in need of a lie-down after the stress of the day and were welcomed by Said, in perfect English The campsite in a hilly location was really a resort complex with three swimming pools and stunning views of the Med. We feared it might be way above our budget but it was about €19,50 a night, which, although expensive for Morocco ,was excellent value for us.

Camping Miramonte, Tangier

A walking tour of the medina and souk in the old town gave us a flavour of the city, a place where mosques became churches before changing back again, where being the ‘Gateway to the Mediterranean’ was both a blessing and a curse, a pawn and a prize, a strategic position to be coveted and fought over down the centuries.

Tangier, Morocco

The sleepy back alleys were full of cats, all seemingly related, except for one tabby who blended so perfectly with the black and white tiled step.

Cats, cats, everywhere

We lingered at our luxury campsite for a couple of days. We still haven’t managed to charge the van……but as we have almost 400kms in the tank, we can always drive 200kms and then return if all else fails.

‘Till next time. Thanks for your company

Merci d’avoir lu

Electric Travels: Onwards to Morocco

Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , , 5 Comments

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.

Burgos

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

Salamanca

Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins

Campervanning in North Mayo: A Scenic Adventure

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

It was a week to remember, a week in late August, spent campervanning around Mayo, a week of spectacular walking on stunning coastal paths, pristine white-sand beaches, lonely bogs and remote mountains and even a pilgrimage route, Tóchar Phádraig,  an ancient druidic path to reach Croagh Patrick.

We started at Portocloy Beach on the far North-West Mayo Coast in a Gaeltacht area. If ever the phrase ‘off the beaten track’ was appropriate, it was here. We watched a lone gull, the only sign of life, gliding and swooping over the calm harbour waters.  There were no crowds, cafes, shops or bars, just a picture-perfect beach, isolated by miles of blanket bog and nestled deep into a natural harbour, Carrowteige Cove, a safe haven for swimming or snorkelling and a little pier for fishing boats. There were temporary toilets in place for the summer months which was good news for us as we were sleeping in the van (the ID Buzz).

Parked up at Portacloy Harbour

Portocloy Beach is also the start point for a truly spectacular cliff walk along the sea edge all the way to the extraordinary cliff views of Benwee Head (Binn Bhuí). This walk has a combination of rolling hills, expansive bog views, dramatic cliffs, jaw-dropping ocean and sea stack views, and more sheep than we could count. It is a well-marked trail with black poles and purple arrows, clearly visible on a beautiful cloudless day. The weather was perfect for us, blue skies with a light breeze, perfumed from the heathers, but on gusty days, care would be required because of the trail’s proximity to steep cliffs. We hiked an out and back route (about 13kms) but it is also possible to do the Carrowteige Loop Walk, which covers much of the same trail but is looped.

Rincoe Strand was only a ten-minute drive from Portocloy. It looks out across Broadhaven Bay towards the Mullet peninsula with a sandy beach on either side of a small peninsula. There were far more sheep than humans with the sound of bleating mingling with the lapping waves……until two busloads of Irish language students arrived for a swim in the crystal- clear waters… but peace came ebbing back when they scrambled onto their buses after about an hour, leaving a few campervans and the sheep.  We walked uphill past the walled graveyard to Connolly’s Pub (Teach Conghóile), a cosy place with spectacular sea views where a couple of locals were sipping pints. The whole area had a desolate beauty with hardly a tree or bush…it almost felt like we were on an island with the sea and water in every direction. A local man, who now lives in Wexford, told us with nostalgia of the ‘good times’ growing up here, when children ran wild and free, and fishermen travelled to England to find work during the winter months and boys, as young as thirteen, went to Scotland to pick potatoes, known as the tattie hokers.

Rincoe Beach

After Rincoe, we headed south along the coast, stopping for lunch in Belmullet before continuing to Claggan Island, Mayo’s newest island, having only being officially declared an island in 1991. The tiny island is situated on the northeastern corner of Blacksod Bay, about 12km from Belmullet. It is linked to the mainland by a narrow, sandy causeway that divides Tramore Bay from Blacksod Bay and it is circled by beautiful sandy beaches in every direction you look with some amazing views of Achill and the Mullet Peninsula. It was easy to spot the first-time visitors…they were the ones driving on the rough sandy road while the locals used the beach.

Driving around the roads of North Mayo, we kept seeing signs for Tír Sáile without knowing what it was. By the time it registered that this was a Sculpture Trail, we had passed most of them. Tír Sáile  originated in 1993 when fourteen site-specific sculptures were installed in spectacular locations around the coast (sáile is seawater). One of the sculpture was on Claggan island, titled ‘Acknowledgment’, a 50m long sculpture of stone and earth, a tribute to the anonymous dead, whose memories have been lost in time. 

Claggan Causeway

South  of Claggan Island, there seemed to be an unending supply of more white-sand beaches with the distinctive silhouette of Achill Island on the horizon in the distance.  Doolough Beach was empty apart from a man walking five dogs who told us that whales were spotted in the area the day before. Doohoma Head had a wooden seat with a dreamy Achill view but it was time for us to turn inland towards the mountains.

Doolough Beach

We stopped at the Ballycroy Visitor Centre in Wild Nephin National Park, a modern building full of light and clean lines with knowledgeable, enthusiastic staff and a lovely café. Wild Nephin National Park is huge –  a vast 15,000 hectares of uninhabited and unspoilt wilderness, dominated by the Nephin Beg mountain range and the Owenduff Bog, one of the last intact active blanket bog systems in Western Europe. Martin, who worked in the centre, explained the vision for the future with conservation plans for reforesting the park with native species and  a focus on education.

Just inside the visitor centre was a huge star-studded poster with the caption ‘The darkest skies reveal the brightest stars’ because Nephin has some of the darkest, most pristine night skies in the world and is officially certified as a Gold Tier standard International Dark Sky Park.  The Mayo Dark Sky Park extends across the entire National Park….there was even a viewing platform on the grounds of the visitor centre. The best time for star-gazing is the clear crisp winter months but it is possible on any night for visitors to see with the naked eye thousands of twinkling stars, other planets in our solar system, the Milky Way and even meteor showers…if they are lucky.

On Martin’s advice we headed to the Letterkeen Trailhead, about a forty minute drive, northeast from the centre,  a trip into wilderness and blizzards of midges at dusk. Unfortunately the skies remained cloudy for us that night with only a smattering of stars but the Letterkeen Loop walk the following morning was gorgeous, with different terrain from stony sheep paths, forest trails to sucking boggy paths where we almost lost a boot. Although the air was thick with moisture, it didn’t actually rain. We enjoyed panoramic views of inky-black lakes, brown streams and a feeling of deep isolation and silence. Nephin has been called ‘the loneliest place in the whole country’ because of the absence of human habitation and mobile coverage is patchy. We didn’t meet a single person on the trail although there were a few cars parked at the trailhead, which also had spotless port-a-loos.  

Our next stop was Ballintubber Abbey, founded in 1216 and one of Ireland’s oldest surviving abbeys and the hub of the ‘Irish Camino,’ and one of the five medieval pilgrim paths of Ireland. It is the starting point for Tóchar Phádraig, an ancient pilgrim path that stretches to Crough Patrick.

Tóchar Phádraig predates St. Patrick, originally built about 350AD as a chariot route from Rathcruachan, the seat of the kings and queens of Connacht, to  Cruachan Aille, as Crough Patrick was called in Pre-Christian times, a mountain sacred to our pagan ancestors.

Pilgrims must register in the Abbey before setting out, where they will receive maps, advice and a booklet which gives some information on the many points of interest along the way. We registered on Friday afternoon so that we could get an early start on the 35kms route the following morning as the office opened at 9.30am. The walk can be broken into two parts, the first section to Aghagower with its round tower, and the second section to Crough Patrick but we hoped to complete it in one go.  We were branded on the back of each forearm with a small green cross, evidence that we had registered and paid our dues should any farmer or landowner request proof.

The morning started grey, in a light drizzle, the type of West of Ireland rain that was very wetting but the day cleared after an hour or two. The camino wound its way through open farmland, fields of grazing cattle, sheep and a few horses. We trekked through woodland and forests, stepped over countless stiles with the Tóchar cross sign etched into the stone and tramped along country lanes past hedgerows laden with abundant bounty – blackberries, sloes and haws and moisture drizzled cobwebs.

Spot the Green Crosses?

There were numerous storyboards, highlighting points of interest, a welcome opportunity to stop and read. This was not only a spiritual pilgrimage but also a cultural and historical journey through the ages, a fascinating blend of pagan and Christianity, a place of history and pre-history where every tree, stone and rock had a story to tell – mainly of famine, hardship and betrayal but also of healing and goodness. Sometimes in the silence, all I could hear was the beating of my heart and the sound of my boots on the earth. While the first section was predominantly off-road, the second section was mainly on paved country roads and laneways.

With our damp start and the high wet grass, our feet were wet from the very beginning and we contemplated giving up at the halfway point but we persevered. Crough Patrick loomed out of the landscape, a focal point since ancient times,  and seemed to beckon us forward although for long sections, it didn’t seem like  we  were getting any closer as we plodded along. There were signs saying ‘No complaining’ in several places which we tried to obey.

 Although the trail was well-marked, we managed to lose it several times, back-tracking until we picked it up again. There are several guided walks each year, organised by the Abbey, which would be easier as we wouldn’t have to concentrate on finding the markers ourselves but we were a week too early for the August guided pilgramage. We finished with a sense of achievement…. and exhaustion with shrivelled feet… after a long day of blisters and contemplation.

We barely scratched the surface of what North Mayo has to offer but one thing is certain, we will certainly return if we can.  If stunning scenery, amazing deserted beaches, superb hiking  and starry skies are your thing, then Mayo is definitely the place to go. The locals are an added bonus, probably the friendliest people in the whole country and certainly the most talkative.

We had no problem with the electric van, charging it in Ballina and in Westport.  This van trip was so successful that we are considering going further afield. Might it be possible to drive to Istanbul or Casablanca…..and back?

Thanks for reading

Campervanning in North Mayo: A Scenic Adventure

Mexico: Then and Now

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments
Village of Cuajimoloyas, Sierra Norte @ 3200m

Inhaling clear air, we felt slightly dizzy from the altitude at 3100m and the breathtaking scenery of pine-clad forests. The distant tinkling of bells, worn around the necks of goats and sheep, drifted upwards on a light breeze. We could have been in some Alpine town in Switzerland but this wasn’t Europe, it was the Sierre Norte, a mountain range in the Oaxaca region of Southern Mexico. The idea to visit this remote village was planted in our minds only two days before when we visited Mount Alban, an impressive archaeological site which overlooked the colonial city of  Oaxaca.

Mexico is full of history. There are archeological sites everywhere especially in the southern part of the country in the states of Oaxaca, Chiapas and the Yucatan. Most of these went through the same cycle of growth, decline and abandonment, many  becoming ‘lost’ for centuries.

We wondered what happened to the people who built these fabulous monuments as we strolled around the sunbaked ruins of the Zapotec capital at Mount Alban. These were built on the Hill of the Jaguar, a mountaintop that was deliberately flattened to create room for the vast site which kept unfolding and becoming more impressive as we walked.  The temple complexes, the enormous Gran Plaza, the mysterious carvings and the extraordinary astronomical observatory told of great wealth, prestige and domination over a huge area but it was abandoned in about 800AD after about 1300 years of occupation.

Mount Alban, Oaxaca

The Zapotec people hadn’t completely disappeared. The descendants of those who built the metropolis of Mount Alban were living in mountain villages, less than a two hour drive from Oaxaca and so we decided to visit.  Travelling into the cloud-forested mountains of the Sierra Norte on a bright sunny morning, we reached the high altitude pueblo of Cuajimoloyas (I still have difficulty pronouncing it) where we were supposed to pick up a guide for a hike in the mountains.

 ‘You have arrived’ said Goggle. Looking around, we got that sinking feeling. We were outside a boarded up house with no sign of a guide or anyone else and no phone signal to make contact with anyone. The village was larger than expected, sprawling up a hillside with well-kept houses, trimmed verges, flowers and virtually no rubbish . We drove in circles until we spotted an elderly man, leaning on a walking stick who pointed his stick towards the office of  Expediciones Sierra Norte, an eco-tourism company which is entirely Zapotec owned and operated. A smiling Andres, a thirty year old who has lived in the village all his life,  was sitting on a bench outside the office, not in the least perturbed by our late arrival.

Arrangements for our 2 day hike were made in Oaxaca in the city-centre office of Expediciones Sierra Norte, housed in a shady colonial building. The office was manned by four young women, all charming but there was little bargaining in terms of price. When we discovered that having an English speaking guide doubled the cost of the two day/ one night trip from roughly €230 to over €400, Caoimhin joked with Janet, who was an English speaking guide that he wanted her job. She protested, saying that she didn’t earn that much but only received a amall portion. There weren’t any English speaking guides available anyway for the days we wanted,  so we opted for a Spanish -speaking guide.

To our surprise Andres greeted us in English and welcomed us to the village but we soon discovered that that was almost the extent of his English. The village was remote but certainly not primitive. The toilet block opposite the Expediciones Office was new and had a  turnstile to get it that required a five peso coin.

Paying for a Pee at 3200m

Our hike started in the village of Llanes Grande famous for its flowers, especially an abundance of Red Hot Poker flowers. Andres picked up enormous sandwiches stuffed with cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers and black bean paste at one of the little comedors (restaurants) in the village for a picnic on the way. At the beginning we strolled on a soft carpet of pine needles through forests of towering pines, bordered by huge agave plants. Cattle grazed in open meadows  and a couple of lakes were full of flickering  trout. Andres stopped to explain the medicinal and culinary uses of many of the plants.

Lianes Grande
La Cuvee de La Iglesia

Climbing down into a steep gorge, we were dwarfed by walls of rock until we reached the cave known as the La Cuvee de la Iglesia, a mystical place of legends and phantom horses. Andres led us onwards to Cuajimoloyas where Senora Marlen plied us with so much food that we could hardly walk. We devoured fresh vegetable soup, quesadillas (cheese sandwiches), plates of fried potatoes, chilli mushrooms, green beans, frigoles, and tortillas  garnished with limes, sliced avocados and picante sauces. The kitchen was lovely with a range of saucepans that were so colourful, I had kitchen utensil envy.

Brightly coloured pans on a wood  burner stove
A feast of food

We bumped into Janet, the women from the office in Oaxaca, who lived in the village and discovered that Andres, our guide, was her husband. She persuaded him to guide us knowing that he had a few words of English. She invited us into her home and told us a bit more about the eco tourism company, Expediciones Sierra Norte. It began when eight remote Zapotec villages, (collectively called the Pueblos Mancomunados), came together to protect their land against developers and to provide themselves with a living from ecotourism. All profits are divided between the eight villages who decide individually how the money is spent. The idea of ‘service’ (unpaid voluntary work) is paramount to the success of the operation. One member of each family must do ‘service’, which may involve cleaning, painting or being the rotating president, chairperson and secretary which each of the individual villages have. There are rules and a code of practice and quarterly meetings  

Janet and her nephew

The village was a lesson on the power of community or what people can do when they come together. The villages, although remote were more prosperous than many others that we have seen in Mexico. There was an air of industry and friendliness and a palpable sense of pulling together.

The idea of community cooperation was not new to the Zapotec in the region. They had set up a logging company years before when developers were sniffing around the forests. It was moderately profitable but the eco-tourism venture has been spectacularly successful. Nowadays, they do not cut down trees but only use the dead wood or whatever falls naturally in the storms. We probed Janet, trying to get her to tell us stories of greed, jealousy and disharmony but she insisted that all was well and that everybody abided by the rules which benefited the whole community.

Our cabin for the night was a surprise, It was on the hill overlooking the town and exceeded our expectations with a fireplace, a comfortable  double bed and some bunk beds. Sitting outside in the late afternoon, with sounds of goats and dogs barking floating up from the village below us, it was incredibly peaceful. A retired couple from New York were staying in the cabin next to us and were also really taken by the sense of community in the area.

Our Cabin
View from our Cabin

It got cold in the mountains when the sun went down, dipping to almost zero. The cabin, though comfortable, was not well insulated. There were huge gaps under and over the door and  the sides of the windows. After dinner one of the locals came in with an armful of timber logs and lit a huge wood fire in the fireplace using only a natural firelighter to start it (a piece of Colima bark). It was one of those fires where your front was roasting but your back was freezing but at least the bed was piled high with blankets.

Sunset over the Village
A Welcome Wood Fire

Our second day’s hike was the stunning Canon del Coyote which was even more spectacular than the day before, involving a hike through caves and a scramble up on sheer rock to a mirador (a lookout point) with breathtaking views. We listened to an assortment of birds in the forest,  hummingbirds, jays and warblers and at the lower levels passed steep fields of sheep and lambs.

The sensible thing to do after our hike would have been to return to Oaxaca city and use a relatively major roads through the valleys to get over the Sierra Juarez mountain range.  Of course we didn’t do that. Instead we drove deeper into the mountains, winding our way on dirt roads in remote countryside. A stunning and grueling drive in equal measure, the dirt roads for the first hour passed through gorgeous villages. In one puebla,  two of the most enormous turkeys I have ever seen, gobbled at the side of the road while in another an old woman with long plaited hair and no teeth gave us a cheery wave. For the most part, there was little traffic of any kind.  We stopped at a Mirador to admire the view of  the fluffy clouds laid out  beneath us.

We weren’t quite so enamored when we were driving down through them a short while later. Visibility reduced to almost zero and  the world became a thick opaque  grey.  It was almost impossible to distinguish road from verge on the twisty road. Thankfully the surface was reasonable and there wasn’t a lot of traffic. The mist and fog lightened every so often to reveal gigantic ferns and thick moss covered trees and we were fooled into believing that we almost down, only for it to thicken again and plunge us into grey again. It took almost an hour of white-knuckle crawling, but eventually we were below the clouds although we were still in the mountains and the temperatures rose.

After all that excitement and tension, we needed a place to stay.  The town of San Juan Bautiste Valle National sounded like a bit of a mouthful but it was relatively close. It wasn’t the sort of place that had anything on Booking.com but it looked big enough on a map to have some hotels. Stopping for an ice cream and a look around, we found a friendly town, very friendly. Lots of men looked like they had been working hard all week in the fields, hadn’t had a shower in a long time and had been on a bender for a least two days. Two guys staggered out of the shop after shaking our hands, carrying bags of clinking cans. One got into a battered pick-up and the other ambled unsteadily to a motorbike. Both drove off, still waving to us. We decided to push on.

 A little outside the town, we spotted a sign for Hotel Hniu Li, pointing down a little track off the highway. It looked good, a double story buildings with a breezy balcony on the edge of a field of maize with a few banana trees in front. There was no reception area but an old woman called to us from the doorway of a little shop on the corner. She told us that the room was 500pesos for the night( less than 25 euros), cash, with no signing registers or checking of passport. The room was small bit adequate, spotlessly clean but the bathroom was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, like something out of an upmarket spa, almost as big as the bedroom with polished stone walls and lashings of high-pressure hot water,   It was perfect……just what we needed. A dog called Lala befriended us and the woman in the shop who sold beer but didn’t have any cold ones, put two in the freezer for us.

Cheers

Thanks for reading.

Mexico: Then and Now

Japan: Highs and Lows

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments
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Now that we are back home from our six-week trip in a campervan around fascinating Japan, it’s  time to reflect on our experience. We flew into and out of Osaka and in between travelled a circuitous route in South Western Japan  through the large islands of Sikoku and Kyushu, often changing course because of the weather. Japan is about five and a half times the size of Ireland but feels much bigger, stretching from within touching distance of Russia in the extreme north to islands in the East China Sea that almost nudge Taiwan.

I’ve included a dozen highlights but I could easily have included a dozen more. So here we go…..

Climbing a Holy Mountain .Japan is a mountainous, heavily-forested country with many sacred mountains but for us, the most special was Mt Hiko in Kyushu, a place where hundreds of years ago, white-clothed monks trained in strenuous physical activity, believing that this was the path to enlightenment. We hiked past countless, moss-shrouded shrines towards misty summits on a glorious Autumn day with the leaves dressed in their burgundy and golden finery. This was truly a spiritual experience especially as we seemed to be the only two people on the mountain. On the way, we also paid homage of the resilience of  Onisugi, a huge cedar tree estimated to be around 1,200 years old.

Hell on Earth. Nagasaki could be in the category of lowlights but it belongs here in the highlights. We spent two days here, the first with torrential rain which felt like it might never stop and the second with skies so blue, it almost hurt our eyes.  This was almost a metaphor for Nagasaki, a beautiful city which exuded a firm belief in hope and brighter days after tragedy. Visiting the Atomic Bomb Museum was harrowing, so harrowing that I don’t think our minds were able to comprehend the immensity of it all. I will just copy here an inscription on a bridge near the centre of devastation.

At 11,02am on August 9, 1945, an atomic bomb exploded in the skies over Matsuyama. The stream, Shimonakawa, flowing through the eastern part of the neighbourhood, was soon filled with the corpses of victims who died groping for a drink of water, or mortally burned and wounded, collapsed and perished there. A survivor who witnessed the scene the following day described it as follows. ‘I crossed the half destroyed Maysayama Bridge over Shimonakawa. There were so many corpses under it that they formed a dam in the stream. It was like a vision of the Apocalypse, a living hell on earth. Not a speck of cloud tainted the sky above, but the earth below was a panorama of carnage and destruction.’

Peace Park in the Rain
Sunshine in the Peace Park

Getting high on Mount Ishizuchi Mount Ishizuchi, the highest mountain in South Western Japan, was an entirely different experience to our Mt Hiko hike. We trekked on a blue-skied Sunday, it was the Sports Day public holiday weekend which promoted an active lifestyle and we weren’t alone. The climb started on gradual paths that became steeper, much steeper.  In some nearly- vertical sections, steel chains were embedded into the rock as an aid to haul ourselves up. It was exhausting but fun, surrounded by many friendly Japanese.

Stairway to Heaven We visited the charming little town of  Kotohira, famous for its proximity to the Shinto shrine, Konpira-san, which is dedicated to sea-farers. In a country of islands, this is a very popular shrine, nestling in the forests of Mt Zozu above the town and requiring a climb  of a whooping 1340 steps.   Arriving in the early morning, there was an air of serenity, broken only by the clattering on each step of a man wearing wooden clogs.  Little birds chirped and landed on our outstretched hands looking for seeds. We passed a stable of beautiful white horses which were considered so divine that they could only  be ridden by the gods.  

Tea and Shade We were charmed with a visit to  Ritsurin Gardens in Takamatsu with it’s beautiful teahouse of bamboo, screens and cushions. The windows framed the outside view like serene paintings and we drank tea to the gentle sound of flowing water from the small waterfall outside. In the coolness of the teahouse, we began to appreciate the Japanese fascination with light, shade and symmetry and to understand the philosophy that ‘less is more’

Island Hopping by Bike  The Shimanami Cycleway is an island hopping adventure by bike, traversing several islands in the inland Seto Sea which are linked by magnificent bridges. The 75kms route joins the town of Imbari in Shikoku Island with the town of Onomiche in Honshu. Cycling along the Kurushima Bridge which has a span of almost 5 Kms was a memorable experience.  Ships passed in the turbulent  waters beneath us while traffic whizzed by on the bridge. There were sublime views in every direction of mountains, islands, sea and the bridge itself.  

Glorious Beaches of Amami Amami Oshima is the largest of the Amami Island Group, a sub- tropical, nature-lovers’ paradise in the East China Sea, halfway between Okinawa and mainland Japan. Camping by the white-sand beaches here was truly wonderful, topped only by swimming in the clear turquoise water with lots of colourful, flickering fish.

Food, Glorious Food– the food in Japan was a pleasure, a delight and a taste sensation. We had so many gorgeous meals from simple bowls of noodle soup to trays of tempura with a multitude of side garnishes. Good quality ingredients coupled with attention to detail made it special. The Japanese were very proud and fond of their ice-cream which was delicious. However, we were served raw cabbage and soy sauce to go with own beer 😁. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds but it may be an acquired taste.

Relaxing Baths Onsens are public thermal baths, which are part of daily life in Japan, a place to cleanse and destress, to socialise and relax. The idea of stripping off and sharing a bath with naked strangers was an intimidating prospect at the beginning but we grew to love our immersions and appreciated their therapeutic power. Our favourite onsen was high in the hills outside Nagasaki with an outside section and gorgeous views over the city. It was so relaxing lying up to my chin in hot water, fanned by a cool breeze, watching leaves drifting down from the trees and trying to process all that we had seen in that lovely, vibrant city which has witnessed so much sorrow. (no cameras allowed inside the onsens for obvious reasons)

Path of Philosophy….Kyoto, the ancient city of history and dreams, was full of national treasures, World Heritage Sites, countless shrines and temples ….. and visitors, lots and lots of visitors. We shuffled along in crowds at most of the attractions except one. The Path of Philosophy in the Northern Higashiyama neighbourhood was tranquil and meditative. The path meanders along by a canal carrying murmuring water from Biwa Lake with the occasional family of paddling ducks and temples peeking through the foliage that borders the path. It’s very popular in spring when the overhanging cherry trees are in blossom but for us, it was blissfully quiet on a chilly November morning. Along the way, we chatted with a lovely Australian couple who enquired if they were actually on the path….none of us knew for sure where the path began or ended but maybe that was the true philosophical question.

Temple in the Clouds  All over Shikoku, we saw pilgrims on the Pilgrimage Trail of the 88 Buddhist Temples. This is a long route, over twelve hundred kilometres, which circumnavigates the entire island of Shikoku. Most pilgrims do it in sections but we met a few who were devoting six to eight weeks to completing the entire pilgrimage in one go. Many had sore feet as the majority of the route is on hard road surfaces. Although we didn’t do the pilgrim’s trail, we visited several of the temples. Our favourite was Unpen-ji, the highest of the 88 temples and often called The Temple in the Clouds. Hundreds of life-sized statues of Buddha’s disciplines lined the walkways among the cedars. It’s said that if you look hard enough, you will find your likeness among them. Although I searched and searched, I couldn’t find mine

Making Connections  ……No matter where you go in the world there are always connections to home. We visited the Lafcadio Hearn Museum in the city of Kumamoto. In the mid 1800’s having an Irish father and a Greek mother,  Lafcadio spent many boyhood summers in Tramore, Co Waterford just a few miles from our home. The gorgeous Lafcadio Japanese Gardens in Tramore were established in his memory.  He was enthralled by Japan, setting up home there and he is still reversed in his adopted country because of his writings and translations.

We met another man from Tramore, who has also made Japan his home, making fine craft beer in the beautiful Kamiyama area. We can certainly vouch for the quality of his produce. Manus and his Japanese wife, Sayaka, welcomed us, introduced us to some locals and gave us lots of tips, particularly about the etiquette of using the onsens. Strip completely, wash thoroughly before soaking in a bath, no splashing, no swimming, hair tied up, no tattoos.

Lafcadio with wife and son
Manus at Kamiyama Brewery, Kamiyama

LOWS

Dramatic Weather –We endured several bouts of torrential rain for days on end each time although it wasn’t the rainy season. Japan is green and gets a lot of rain but this level of rainfall in October and November was unusual. We had numerous phone alerts warning of typhoons, mudslides and flooding.

Packaging The amount of plastic packaging on everything but particularly on food items made us weep. Carrots were individually wrapped in plastic. I know that in Ireland we are guilty of using too much plastic as well but this was a totally different level. All food bought in a convenience store/supermarket/restaurant came with a wet wipe wrapped in plastic and some disposable chopsticks and that’s just for starters.

Disposing of Garbage….The contradiction is that the streets are super-clean with rarely even a scrap of paper on the ground and all this without a trash bin in sight.  Getting rid of our rubbish was certainly an issue until we started discarding it in pieces. When we shopped in supermarkets, we disposed of excess packaging before we left the shop. Convenience stores (konbinnis) had some segregated bins (meant for items bought in the shops) which we used. Motorway stops also had some segregated bins.

Campervan Sulks…. Our van wouldn’t start when we were in the queue to board the ferry to leave Amami. The rain was torrential and we didn’t even know how to open the bonnet. After trying several times, we were getting desperate. One last try and the engine turned over and we got on the overnight ferry. We didn’t have any more trouble.

Parking in Kyoto…..Mainly we availed of free wild camping in scenic spots in the countryside but  in the cities we parked in city centre carparks which usually cost about €5 to €10 for overnight parking. In Kyoto, we misread the tariff board , and  discovered that we could easily have stayed in a nice hotel for the price of the parking charges😲

Encounters of a Small Kind Japan is an extremely hygienic place with a huge emphasis on cleanliness , partial to the liberal use of disinfectants and  wearing face masks. Neither of us had any issue with tummy upsets or health concerns. One morning, I woke up in the van feeling like I had a brick over my partially closed left eye. I expected Caoimhin to say it didn’t look too bad but his reaction was one of horror. It took two days to subside. I’m still not sure what caused the spectacular inflammatory reaction but suspect a mosquito.

On Amami Island, we were warned about the viper snakes everywhere we went…..by the locals and by the many warning signs. Thankfully we never saw one or heard a slithering sound of one.

So many things surprised us about Japan from practical things like the abundance of public toilets and the people of all ages who use bicycles as a means of getting around to the greenness of the countryside and the enormous number of trees. Most people profess to have no religion but mark key life events with Shinto rituals and visits to Buddhist temples. The people are polite and reserved but welcoming and love to laugh, especially the women, and we gave them plenty of opportunity for amusement.

We covered less than a third of the country, we didn’t go anywhere near the big-ticket tourist items like Tokyo or Mt Fuji and barely scratched the surface of the places we did visit. We came anyway, changed in some indefinable way, fascinated by the blend of traditional and modern, mesmerised by the natural beauty of the country and perplexed by the contradictions. Japan still remains an enigma. We may have to return for a deeper dive, to breathe in the mystery of this fascinating country.

Japan: Highs and Lows

Japan: Holy Mountains and Glorious Gorges

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , , , 5 Comments

Sandan Gorge, Japan

Our visit to Fukuoka didn’t start well. The traffic was horrendous as we made our way into the city from Nagasaki. Fukuoka is the largest city in Kyushu (one of the main four islands in Japan) and is one of Japan’s ten most populated cities…and it certainly felt like it when we were there.  With its closeness to the Asian mainland (closer to Seoul than to Tokyo), Fukuoka has been an important harbor city for many centuries and was chosen by the Mongol invasion forces as their landing point in the 13th century. It is often called a ‘mini’ Tokyo, it even has a smaller version of Tokyo Tower and as we don’t plan on visiting Tokyo, Fukuoka seemed like a good option.

We thought that we might treat ourselves to a hotel but the reasonably-priced hotels/guesthouses were booked out so we resorted to searching for a parking spot close to public loos. In the city centre, we found a possible spot that met our criteria (proximity to toilets) but it was just off the main road with roaring traffic so our search continued. Google directed us to another parking area which involved a heart-stopping lurch across four lanes of traffic into a tiny alleyway. With the van almost touching the sides of the buildings, we prayed that it was one-way system and hoped we wouldn’t encounter anything coming in the opposite direction.  Thankfully, we found ourselves in a little oasis with some free parking spots, quiet but still in the heart of things. There was a little park nearby with public toilets, festival stalls selling food and local produce and best of all, a jazz band playing on a small stage. At one tent, a woman beckoned us over to give us some vouchers (a thousand yen each (about €6)) which could be redeemed  at any of the stalls….a welcoming gesture for foreign visitors. We sent a German man who was cycling around Asia in her direction so that he could get his ‘welcome vouchers.’  The sun was shining, the music was good and we relaxed with some seaweed dumplings and a cold craft-beer. The beer was in plastic glasses…..but hey, you can’t have everything.

Later we wandered around a crowded Chinatown, and marveled at the long queues outside many of the restaurants and the patience of the Japanese who formed orderly queues, keeping a little distance from each other.  Christmas also came early to Fukuoka with coloured decorations, dancing Santas and flashing lights festooning  the bridges, streets and shopping malls. Christmas is not a public holiday in Japan and less than 1% of the population are Christian but the commercial aspect of the season is enthusiastically embraced. Christmas Eve is regarded as the most romantic night of the year, a bit like our Valentines Day when couples are out and about, love is in the air and not having a date if you’re young requires staying at home to avoid embarrassment.

 Away from the queues and crowds, we found a cellar bar with subdued lighting, soft music where we were the only patrons, the other extreme and not really what we wanted. The bartender gave us soft, hot towels to wipe our hands as soon as we sat down. This wasn’t totally unusual as even the most shabby of establishments hand out wet wipes wrapped in plastic to clean your hands.  Bowls of spicy nuts in dainty porcelain bowls appeared on the table (no raw cabbage and soy sauce in this establishment to munch with your drinks). We should have known that we would pay dearly for such luxuries.  When the cover charge,  was added to our bill (we didn’t even realize that there was a cover charge) our two drinks (one each) cost significantly more than we had paid for dinner! Thank goodness we didn’t opt for a second round.

Our quiet oasis turned noisy during the night with garbage trucks collecting trash, vans parking and then moving off, filled with workmen dismantling the festival stalls in the park. In the morning, we went bleary-eyed in search of coffee/tea only to find more orderly queues stretching down the street outside all the open cafes. Although we normally avoid places like Starbucks, this time we were thankful to sit down with coffee and cinnamon buns without any tiresome queueing and avail of their  strong  Wi-Fi where I was able to upload the last blog post with photos. Maybe we should take lessons in patience from the Japanese who queue patiently, mainly in silence, without any visible sign of irritation.

The mountains were calling us and  we felt a strong urge to get out of the city and into the countryside but there was something we had to do before we left. Fukuoka has a reputation for making the best ramen (a noodle soup) in the entire country so we couldn’t leave without sampling some.  There are several traditional recipes but the one that is most prized involves boiling pig bones for hours, maybe days, until the marrow leaks out and becomes a thick cream which is then used as a base for the soup. The ramen was served in big bowls and eating it should be accompanied by loud slurping to show appreciation.  Bibs are provided to protect clothes from the inevitable splashes. Reading the descriptions of the pork-bone soup made me feel queasy so I didn’t ‘pig out’ but opted for a tomato based ramen with seafood which also used a traditional recipe. It was delicious but I have my suspicions that a pig was involved somewhere along the process.

About a hour and a half’s drive outside Fukuoka is a  mountain where over 400 years ago,  white-clothed monks, practitioners of an ancient ascetic religion called Shugendo, chose sacred mountains until they reached their ultimate goal of enlightenment. We were eager to follow in their footsteps and hike the holy mountain to see what  enlightenment and spiritual power it might bestow upon us.

The winding mountain roads coiled through pottery villages with tables of ceramics set up under flame-coloured maple trees and smoke rose from the many kilns. Even before we reached  Mt Hiko, we were enveloped by a sense pf peace mixed with exhaustion from lack of sleep from the night before. We parked by a stream next to toilets at the base of the sacred mountain with nobody else around, cooked up a dinner of potatoes and mushrooms ( the quality and variety of both in the supermarkets was amazing) and watched the stars come out one by one until the sky overhead  was a star- studded canopy, more beautiful that all the twinkling city lights.

The following morning dawned cool and bright as we began hiking past moss-shrouded shrines with birdsong  and the higher peaks still draped in drifting mist.  Maybe it was because we had read the history of the mountain and were open to its power but right from the beginning we felt that we were in a special place. The hiking trails were well-marked with lots of looped walks and decisions to be made about whether to continue, to turn back or to walk in circles. Maybe this was the essence of true enlightenment, that all paths are correct, you just make a decision and accept it.  Mt Hiko really consisted of three peaks and as we neared the first peak there were signs in Japanese that the path was closed and a barrier was pulled halfway across.  It was easy to bypass the obstacle so we continued regardless, we could always plead ignorance if challenged.  As we ascended we heard hammering and saw that there was construction work going on at the summit where the existing shrine was being enlarged. We kept our heads down and skirted around the building works and headed for the adjacent peak with stunning views of the surrounding mountains, dressed in their glorious autumn foliage, vivid hues of red, gold and purple. If the first section was beautiful and easier than expected, the next section was more challenging but truly ‘wow’. There were chains embedded in the rocks in places but they were more as an aid for climbing rather than strictly necessary. We diverted to see an incredible ancient cedar tree named Onisugi, reputed to  be  1200 years old. This was truly a special day, a hike that was good for the soul and we were physically tired but spiritually refreshed after a six hour round trip…..although true enlightenment may require some further strenuous activity.

It was time to leave the large island of Kyushu and head over another long, impressive bridge to Honshu, the second largest and most populated of the Japanese islands. We arrived at dusk at the small town of Hagi and parked up on the north side of town beside a small beach. We didn’t realize how beautiful the spot was until dawn when an early morning trip to the toilet revealed islands, distant mountains, a calm sea and boats moored in a little harbour. But then you’ve guessed it….it began to rain and this time the rain was cool and drizzly.  It was about 12 degrees, the coldest we’ve had in Japan apart from when we were high in the mountains. Hagi is also famous for ceramics which are mainly in delicate pastel shades.

We were in need of a laundromat so while our clothes were whirling in the washing machines, we wandered around town with its wide streets and many traditional buildings, a place little changed from the time of the Samurai. We stumbled across a shop selling clothing for a reasonable price so prompted by the chilly wind, we bought a warm jacket each. We didn’t know it then but the cosiness of the jackets were going to be very welcome in the coming days with a  further dip in temperature. In the meantime we drank tea in a coffee house and eat home-made cake made from locally- grown figs and mandarin oranges, probably the most delicious cake we have eaten on our travels.

Traditional House, Hagi
Coffee House, Hagi

Our breaths blew clouds in the cold morning air as we parked at the starting point for the Sandan Gorge, A small man, muffled in a thick coat, was sitting outside the information booth.  He got up on our approach, leaned heavily on a cane, and pointed to a map giving us the bad news that the recent heavy rains had caused landslides and several parts of  the Gorge were closed because of the risks of more rockfalls and mudslides. He told us that he was a guide but he was out of action because of a bad fall a few months previously, that his favourite country was Alaska and that he had once stopped a grizzly bear in his tracks  with his stare. He gave us an example of the ‘stare’ which also involved barring his teeth. Since then, everyone in the village called him Big Bear.

Although our hike was shorter than envisaged it was still worthwhile, true forest-bathing where a  tree lined stony path hugged the side of the ravine before descending to cross the green river on a swaying rope bridge. A short ferry ride gave us an appreciation from the water. Our boatman didn’t quite know what to make of Caoimhin who was singing ‘Don’t pay the ferryman until he gets you to the other side.’

But our journey goes onwards, towards historic Kyoto, the city of dreams and the most visited city in all of Japan. Have we left the best until last? Time will tell.

Thanks for reading

Until next time

Japan: Holy Mountains and Glorious Gorges

Japan: War and Peace

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , 5 Comments
Peace Park, Nagasaki

In my last post, I said that we were hoping to leave Amami Island, a small island in the East China Sea a few days early because there was a risk of a typhoon coming in our direction. The bad news was that we couldn’t change the ferry return date because of lack of availability for the campervan  and the good news was that the typhoon changed direction and headed in a more southerly path towards Taiwan and North Korea. The tail of the hurricane still lashed Amami with rain  so we booked into a really comfortable hotel -The Wa,  enjoyed some pampering and sampled a few of  the many restaurants in Naxe, the main town on the island.

We have become fans of Japanese food although we had rarely eaten it before coming here. However a word of caution to vegetarians –  a strict vegetarian would probably starve as even the miso soup has a meat base and tofu floats alongside slivers of pork or beef.  So we opt for as little meat as possible but even the meat dishes aren’t very ‘meaty’ and there’s usually lots of fresh vegetables.  Google Translate lets us down at times when we are looking at menus.  We thought that we were ordering the local dish of the Amami Islands (Keihan) which is chicken and rice but we got noodle soup with pork. The presentation and the attention to detail is truly magnificent, with a multitude of side dishes and garnishes.  There is such a high standard even in the cheapest places. Eating out is a real pleasure and much more affordable than at home ( we eat local as much as we can)A huge bowl of ramen is about €4 -€5, dinner main course is about €10 to €12 and lunch is cheaper. Some things take a little getting used to. When we ordered two beers, they were accompanied by a bowl of raw cabbage which should be dipped in a couple of varieties of soy cabbage and eaten with chopsticks….surprisingly nice. We haven’t even seen a knife and fork anywhere in Japan yet.

If we are out in the middle nowhere in the van, we cook simple one pot meals ourselves so we also frequent the supermarkets and the little convenience stores known as Konbinni which are everywhere. They are amazing places, usually manned by very friendly staff. They have ATMs, toilets , free WiFi and sell everything from toiletries to Pot Noodles. You can buy all your meals here with a huge selections of  high quality, ready-meals with microwaves to heat them up, a counter with stools or a few tables to sit at. There’s coffee, cold drinks and a selection of magazines and comics. They are open late, often 24 hours a day, and are really an extension of the Japanese home which are often shoe-box size especially on the cities. Apparently some Japanese apartments (and student bed-sits) don’t even have a kitchen.

Last  Wednesday evening, we were sitting in the van in the ferry queue to get off Amami Island. It was dark  but it was also warm -about 25degrees- and very humid. The rain was torrential. Caoimhin tried to turn on the engine to clear the windscreen and turn on the wipers. Nothing happened. There was an ominous creaking sound (a bit like a hoarse corncrake) but nothing more. After several panicky tries with no luck, Caoimhin got out to see if we could get help. I was frantically thumbing  through the Japanese van manual to find a graphic representation of  out how to open the bonnet(words weren’t any help😲). Meanwhile Caoimhin was out in the rain, holding his useless umbrella which the wind had turned inside out. One of the attendants, an elderly man, came over to us and  Caoimhin tried to start it again. The same creaking sound. The man nodded and walked away without a word. We sat there, still not knowing how to open the bonnet. Then one last try……and the engine turned over. A few minutes later, the row of cars started to move to board the ferry with the usual shouting, whistle-blowing and reversing up ramps. The ferry we embarked had come from Okinawa and again there were lots of Japanese army vehicles and personnel onboard but there were also hundreds of schoolchildren travelling to the mainland of Japan for school sports events The US still have a big army base in Okinawa, which was under American control from the end of World War 2 until the 1970’s.

The crossing was rough, much more turbulent than our outward journey. At times there was such loud banging that it sounded as if vehicles were sliding around the car deck. After a few hours, it became calmer but we were more than delighted to see land and disembark in Kagoshima.

No matter where you go, there are always connections with home. Our next stop was Kumamoto, a town where Lafcadio Hearn lived for a few years with his Japanese wife and children. Lafcadio was a writer with an Irish father and a Greek mother and spent many summers in Tramore as a boy. The beautiful  Lafcadio Japanese Gardens in Tramore were established in his memory.  Lafcadio is very much revered in Japan for his writings and his house in Kumamoto has been turned into a museum. There was a small entrance fee and the attendant was very friendly (although he didn’t speak English) giving us some postcards as presents.

As we drive into the mountains out of Kumamoto, we can see the hazy peninsula of Nagasaki across the Araike Sea. Along the way, there are small farms and little villages by the shore, both traditional and modern houses, roadside shires and cemeteries. It’s mandarin season  and most houses have a persimmon tree outside with it’s ripening  orange fruit decorating the branches like balls on a Christmas tree. The land becomes flatter with rice and beans, tractors and enormous greenhouses.

Caoimhin has been talking about the wonders of Japanese steel since we arrived in Japan so on our drive to Nagasaki,  we divert to visit a small family-run  business who have been making hand-forged knives for centuries. The knives with their glinting blades and carved handles are truly a work of art.

Careful now!!!!!!!!

Nagasaki is a beautiful city with gentle hills on three sides and a long narrow bay to the sea. It was the only harbour port in Japan where contact and trade with foreigners was allowed during Japan’s self-imposed, two-hundred year isolation. There’s a gorgeous old stone bridge, built in 1634  that has survived all the trials and tribulations of time including the dropping of the atomic bomb. ‘Mothers’were posing on the bridge with their Lovots ( baby robots) when we visited yesterday.

Images of Daily Life in Nagasaki

It’s almost impossible to imagine the horror of that day in 1945. The photographs and descriptions in the Atomic Bomb Museum are so  harrowing  that’s it’s difficult to process it all.  The  terrible plight of the survivors, their awful thirst and the grim legacy that they carried afterwards is beyond words. A prison near the hypocentre vaporized leaving only the foundations of the building. Several schools were left with just a wall standing, ceramic roof tiles more than a kilometre away, boiled and bubbled when exposed to the heat flash. 73,884 people died instantly and a similar number were injured. Despite everything Nagasaki has risen like a phoenix from the ashes and the emphasis is firmly on peace and friendship so that nothing like it can ever be allowed to happen.

The Nagasaki Peace Park is filled with statues, commemorative plaques and remains of the bomb drop. There are sculptures from various countries around the world pledging friendship and solidarity. Many of the sculptures depict mothers and children emphasising that we must protect not only present generations but also the coming generations so that all the peoples of the world can live in harmony.

The weather was extremely wet in Nagasaki for our first day.  Western and central Japan has recorded their largest-ever 24-hour rainfall for November. After the devastating floods in Spain, it was a bit disconcerting to be sleeping in the van while rain bucketed down as if it would never stop. (Most of the photos are from our second sunny day 🌞)

A Saturday morning visit to an onsen (thermal baths) was just what we needed after our very rainy (and windy) night in the van, parked in the corner of a carpark. The onsen was high in the hills above Nagasaki and had an outside section with gorgeous views of the city. We have become so accustomed to onsens at this stage (and walking around in the nip) that it’s difficult to believe how awkward and intimidating we found the whole process a few weeks ago. It was so relaxing lying up to my chin in hot water, fanned by a cool breeze and watching leaves drifting down from the trees and thinking about all we have seen in this lovely vibrant city which has seen so much sorrow.

The storm system gradually moved away and the sun came out on Saturday afternoon…..stunning blue skies after all the rain, almost like the motto of this city, ….a belief in hope and brighter days. Our phones are calling for people to be on high alert for landslides and flooding, while also being careful of lightning, tornadoes and violent winds through late Saturday.😲😲. But we are loving the clear blue skies, the sunshine and the ’weather forecast is good for the coming week.

Until next time…thanks for reading x

Nagasaki

Let there be peace.
The Centre of Devastation ( marked by a black plaque with concentric circles radiating from it).
So peaceful now

Japan: War and Peace

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

Marie Noonan, , , , , , , , , 5 Comments

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.

Snakes Alive😲😲

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)