Page 12 w My Little Adventure
Sitting in the house the other day it struck me that although I have travelled far and wide during my lifetime most of the said travel has been “of the comfortable kind”. You know the thing... taxi to the airport... flight to A,B or C ... several meals and drinks later it’s home again. As if by magic whilst I am contemplating... my computer pings “you have a message” it says. The message is from my daughter” Oh no thinks me “a demand for money or at least a cry for help but no! Dad she says... I am going to run in the Brighton marathon to raise money for charity. Her indoors reads the message and says “why don’t you go and surprise her by turning up at the marathon?” Good idea says I ...I will do just that. Now a nice comfortable flight back to Blighty you are thinking... not on your collective Nellie’s dear readers. No at my time of life it’s adventure that calls and adventure it shall be. So, with much trepidation I board the overnight Bilman Bus from Guardamar to Santander. Go on you did not even know such a thing existed did you? Off we go leaving Guardamar in our wake... it’s 7.45pm and my adventure is off and running. We stop at Santa Pola and Alicante and again at Benidorm to pick up passengers. One last stop at Valencia and it’s full speed ahead to Santander. Everything is going Ok considering I am the only non Spaniard on the bus. Some untaken seats mean that I have a whole seat to myself and have at least a little comfort. We stop at 1.30am on a cold frosty night at Monreal del Campo for coffee. The driver says only 25 minutes no longer. I am listening intently hoping my Spanish can cope with what the driver is saying.
View From The Top
Welcome to “Quesada Focus” and to my monthly column “A View From The Top”. Hopefully you will find my rambling readable, maybe even enjoyable. You may agree or you may disagree with my views. I care not. These are my views long held and forged over a life time of work, travel and experience. Now that’s over let’s have a look at what is really winding me up...
A
Quesada Focus
A coffee later I walk out to the car park only to find the bus is missing. Panic is not quite the word for my emotions at this time but imagine my concern... I am all alone in the middle of Spain - Help! Just as I am trying to decide what to do next the bus arrives outside the restaurant and the driver explains that he had to top up the onboard toilet water. All aboard and off we go again into the Spanish night. Trying to sleep on a coach is almost impossible... lots of snoring.... burping and yes farting accompanied the bus as she sped through the night. On arrival at Santander at 9.30am the following morning, the passengers around me seemed grateful to be leaving the bus and my environs.
The next part of my adventure entailed me walking around the Santander seafront wasting time whilst I waited for the Brittany Ferry “Pont Aven” to arrive to whisk me across the Bay of Biscay to Portsmouth. At 12pm she appears on the horizon. She may be just a ferry to you... but to me she is a receptacle full of food and hot water... as by now I am decidedly hungry and a little smellier to say nothing of also being knackered.
On board and sailing... the first order of the day is hot food. Of course being a French ship... there was not a baked bean to be seen... my lunch was “Beouf Provencal” with creamed potatoes. Lovely but tempered by the onboard exchange rate of 1 pound sterling equals 80 cents. Settled down at the bar for a few drinks and watched football on the television - Sky Sports no less. The Captain comes onto the tannoy and announces that rain followed by a “westerly” is in front of us. Oh dear here I am at 11.45pm at night being bounced around by the forces of nature... Tired and wondering why I just did not fly, I fell asleep. In the morning all is bright and sunny. I am awake at 8.30am and after a shower I venture forth to seek out breakfast or Petit Dejeurner as our French cousins call it. Don’t you just love the French... as I enter the restaurant the smell of a good English breakfast fills my heart with joy. I tuck into the full English and life is grand. All over the restaurant however I notice my English cousins have forsaken the good old full English and in the main they are buying bags of what looks like birdseed and nuts. They then pour French goats yogurt over this and spend the next 20 minutes or so nibbling and chewing generally trying to look healthy. As I look around me the restaurant is full of half eaten bowls of health food whilst I am searching for a slice of bread to mop up the remains of my full English.
After breakfast I took a turn around the top deck to get some air into the lungs and started to get excited as the Isle of Wight came into view. It is a lovely sight to behold the white cliffs of the island topped by its English greenness. As it was coming up to midday I decided to visit the French patisserie at the pointed end of the ship. A coffee and a nice cake in front of me as I watch England come into view. The cake is demolished in double quick time but the coffee however is another issue. Why oh why do they serve coffee in those awful high paper mugs with those plastic lids attached. The only access to the coffee is through a tiny slit in the top of the lid. As I struggle with the coffee, I am aware of people watching me... in my embarrassment I take the coffee outside and throw the silly plastic lid away.
I arrive in Portsmouth ... The home of the Royal Navy. The first thing I think is where are all the ships... do we still have a Navy? Never mind, tired and glad to be back I am met by a friend who greets me with the immortal words... “It’s taken you three days to get here when you could have flown in two hours”. He is right of course but at my time of life each and every new experience is an experience to be savoured.
Oh and my daughter did complete the Brighton Marathon God bless her!
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