We’ve stayed here, at Islares, before, another occasion when we’d needed to get home earlier than planned. I recognise the site when we pull in; a green, daisy- strewn field next to the sea. There’s loads of space, and, best of all, the sun is out. The journey here has been pleasant and I remember how beautiful the north coast of Spain is- rugged and glorious.

There aren’t many places to walk here, but outside the camp site gates you can stroll up to the seaside bar and watch the waves crashing in against the rocks in fluffy plumes. When the sun comes out it actually feels hot, so having walked up and around the path a little we return, plonk down at a table and have beers in the sunshine. It feels, on this penultimate day, like a proper holiday at last- except we’ll be setting off home the day after tomorrow.

Back at the site, we scrutinise the bus timetable for tomorrow’s jaunt- a day’s sighseeing before we depart. We can get to Bilbao by bus from Islares, although it’s two buses.

The site here has its own, modest cafe/bar and we opt for this, rather than the posher place where we had our beers. It just has a few tables, formica topped and a small selection of meals, from burgers to paella. Since we can’t order until 8.00pm, we choose to prop up the bar with a beer. At 8 a few people drift in and sit and we decide on paella which, at 12 euros is a no-brainer, besides- a Dutch couple who’ve arrived to the site after us and parked nearby have ordered it and it’s looking delicious.

The paella arrives in a large, traditional dish. We dig into the fragrant rice and it’s full of wonderful, fresh seafood as well as topped off with giant langoustines. We’re happy.

Next morning we trudge up to the main road above our site and walk along but there’s no sign of a bus stop. We backtrack a little but by now the bus is due, which is worrying. I waylay a passer-by and launch into my woeful Spanish: ‘Senor- donde esta autobus?’ It will do! He gestures further along the main road, gabbling furiously, then gets into a car. He pulls alongside us and indicates that we should get in, then takes us up the road to the bus stop- a kind stranger!

After a while a few other passengers arrive to wait, then a small bus comes along and we’re off towards a town called Castro Urdiales, where we must change buses, ‘at the bull-ring’ as we’ve been advised.

The older I get, the more I enjoy bus rides and there are all kinds of reasons to use public transport, not least the convenience of not needing to find a parking place or worry about traffic, or the route. So we settle back to enjoy the ride and the scenery as the bus meanders in and out of villages and round the houses, until at last we’re in the outskirts of the town and we must pay attention in order to get off at the right place. Castro Urdiales is a sizeable town, with a seafront, all attractively landscaped and an obvious tourist destination.

We spot the bull-ring and get off, although there’s no obvious sign to where we catch the next bus. But there is a large coach parked in a space by the wall of the bull-ring and it’s complete with driver, who assures us that yes- it’s the bus for Bilbao. Hooray!

For fiction by me, Jane Deans, search for novels: The Conways at Earthsend [an eco-thriller] and The Year of Familiar Strangers [mystery drama]. Visit my website: janedeans.com