Tag Archives: Portsmouth

A Toe in the Water

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It’s a return to travel writing in this week’s post…

Not literally- at least I hope not!

The ferry from Portsmouth, UK to Santander in northern Spain leaves sometime after 11pm; after the last, remaining motorhomes, lorries, cars and motorbikes have been fitted into the jigsaw slots in the ferry’s capacious hold. This boat is one of Brittany Ferries’ newest, boasting ingenious ramps and contraptions in order to accomodate as many vehicles as possible. Similarly, there is more cabin capacity than public area, although the bar/lounge, once we’ve managed to get loaded on, found our cabin and got there, is bursting with life, a roaring trade, with drinks and platters of charcuterie and cheese flying out like the end of the world is at hand. Once we’ve sat down with a drink ourselves, all the dreary waiting in queues, yawning, is forgotten.

I don’t sleep well on ferries. In fact, I don’t sleep well at all, these days, but after this first cabin night there’s no rush to get up. It’s a dinky 4-berth, which is lucky because neither of us is cabable of clambering up and down off a high bunk, especiallly in the dark. Next morning there’s a cafe queue for huge breakfasts, and since we’re not huge breakfasters we grab coffee and a pastry, then…what? We can walk around the boat for a look, which we do. We can look at the one, modest shop, which we do. We can go to the ‘reading room’, which we also do, although it isn’t as comfortable as it looks and not as warm as the other areas. We spend an hour or so then get another coffee.

We have lunch. We read, We take another tour. We resist the urge to drink the day away as some are doing. The views in the Bay of Biscay become, briefly interesting as we glide past Brittany, with the lighthouse at Finistere a feature. The afternoon becomes bright with sunlight and the skies clear, until the sun is a tangerine orb that sinks into the sea. We go to shower in the tiny ensuite inside our cabin then go for dinner.

I’m awake before the tannoy announces our imminent arrival to Santander. It’s 7.00am, so 1 hour before we must disembark, but there’s very little to do except wash, dress and pack. In the cafe some are scoffing down ‘full English’ breakfasts as if they’ll never eat an edible morsel again. Santander port begins to slide past then the boat slows and we’re docking. We’re called to the car decks and descend through the hoards to ours- which we’ve taken care to remember! [I’ve described in a long ago post how we failed to locate our van on the Sardinia ferry and were mortified to be the last remaining vehicle as well as confronted by scowling ferrymen].

It takes an age to unload everyone and we’re one of the last to trundle off the boat and on to Spanish shores, then out into the outskirts of town, driving south and west. This first part of our journey is mountainous [the Cantabrian Mountains] and it’s exciting to see snow caps. We stop at a convenient supermarket for supplies and the bright sun feels warm. The autovia is easy and quiet and we’re on our way to Burgos…

For fiction by me, Jane Deans, search for novels: The Conways at Earthsend and The Year of Familiar Strangers. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Southsea- Ins and Outs

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For our second day at Southsea we’ve decided to walk the prom/seafront and its environs, taking in a few places we know of and some we don’t.

From our hotel, we need to cross the common and turn left on to the promenade, which becomes smarter and free of the heavy machinery that’s employed in strengthening the flood defences.

I love the architecture here- tall, grand terraces, some of them five floors high, lining the streets leading to the sea or facing the sea itself, although on this January day the sea is iron-grey and visibility poor.

We come to a ‘tropical’ garden, with a faux mini-waterfall, pathways snaking around the palms. Even now, in the depths of a UK winter it’s attractive, with an assortment of green plants and trees providing a variety of textured leaves. Further along there’s [yet another!] pier, then on our left, across the road there is a park with a large boating lake, where swans and ducks have taken residence, coating the surrounding footpath in large dollops of excrement. These have to be negotiated in order to circumnavigate! At one end of the lake there’s a cafe, but we’re heading for the tiny museum, housed in an old house just outside the park.

We know that there’s a butterfly house inside the museum, although when we enter the warm enclosure it soon becomes clear that only one species is visible. They are interesting and spectacular but once we’ve seen them…

The museum is clearly aimed at visiting school parties, with its accent on environmental issues, the ‘only man is vile’ take. Amongst stuffed versions of our own wild birds and mammals there are, bizarrely, models of exotic creatures such as alligators. The lobby is dominated by a large, ambitious model of a dinosaur, looking a little battered and worse for wear. Presumably someone had harboured dreams of echoing the London Natural History Museum’s diplodocus…

It doesn’t take long to complete a tour of the museum, which, to be fair, is free to view. We exit and loop back away from the seafront towards the shopping centre, for tea.

For our last evening we choose to visit an Italian restaurant, Giuseppe’s, which is a stone’s throw from our hotel. On this Saturday evening the small place is packed out with diners, which bodes well, but we’re glad we’ve booked a table. It appears to be run by two brothers who are both gregarious and pleasingly Italian, greeting people in dramatic fashion and creating a fun atmosphere. It’s typically cosy in the restaurant and the decor is characterful and quirky.

The meals are delicious and filling- I’m unable to finish mine. We’re pleased to have chosen this place. We move on to the pub for a last drink before returning to the hotel.

During this short break, the sore throat I’d been harbouring for two days has morphed into a heavy, streaming cold. By the time we get home it has moved on into full-throttle flu, the worst bout of which that I can ever remember. So much for holidays!

An Hour Away

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After having spent most of last autumn engaged in various hospital matters, we feel it’s time to make an amoebic foray into the world of excursion- but not too far and not too long!

Husband has reserved us a few nights in Southsea, a satellite of Portsmouth, only about an hour from us here on the UK’s south coast. Two months of only packing hospital necessities has not prepared me for any kind of hotel stay, so I have to think carefully about what I need- but the weather is cold, [as it should be in January here].

Portsmouth is a major south coast port and houses the Royal Navy Dockyard, as well as catering for ferries, across the English Channel and more. Southsea is the seaside part of the city, with [stoney] beaches, piers, street art, a castle and all the usual attractions and some hilarious signage. Besides all of this, it boasts a range of beautiful, historic architecture and some interesting sights as well as a vast, green swathe of common between the sea and the residential area.

The short drive and arrival are bathed in sunshine and clear blue skies so having checked in we wander out around the area and it’s a great location, just behind the stretch of common that borders the beach. The council are clearly using low season to reinforce the seafront, beefing up flood defences- cranes, diggers and piles of aggregate dominating the front. Ferries pass offshore, heading to harbour, also the Channel Islands’ hydrofoil as well as the hyperactive hovercraft to Ryde, Isle of Wight, which is what we’ll be doing tomorrow.

Portsmouth’s ancient dockyard, which houses Lord Nelson’s ship, HMS Victory, HMS Warrior [the first iron battleship] and The Mary Rose, Henry VIII’s flagship. In a previous life I’ve made regular trips to the dockyard with groups of children and know it very well. HMS Warrior is, to my mind, by far the most thrilling to visit with children as they can clamber over canons, handle objects and have a thoroughly good time. Still…

We don’t need to walk far to find a wide selection of places to eat, opting this first night for Chinese, although the meal is mediocre and the restaurant very brightly lit and not quite warm enough. There is just one other couple eating there and the experience is a little dispiriting. We decamp to the pub next door, which is cosy and welcoming and where we’ll eat tomorrow.

If I have one complaint about hotel rooms, it’s that they are too often too hot and dry, the duvets too thick. We do manage to turn off the radiator but I can only adjust the air-con down to 16, which has to do. I prefer a cool room for sleeping, even though the outside temperature is cold.

Breakfast next morning, however is very good and sets us up for some Isle of Wight exploration. Unlike yesterday though, it’s cloudy. We wrap up and head off to the hovercraft ticket office…

Jane Deans two novels: The Conways at Earsthend and The Year of Familiar Strangers are widely available

Making it Back

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With only three days left before the ferry crossing from Bilbao we arrive back to Spain’s north coast and settle in Islares to spend the time. The tiny village, on the edge of a bay is only just off the motorway [Bilbao/Santander] but hosts a secluded, daisy-strewn camp site laid out in neat rows of pitches. It  also houses overnighters making their pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, who can stay in the year-round, static tents [green, seen in the background below].

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At last the sky is an unbroken blue and the sun makes a welcome appearance. While the site is never full there is a steady flow of vans in and out, as well as overnighting pilgrims. Some come to stay a night before or after the ferry, some for surfing and a few have chosen to holiday here.

You would have to go around the bay to find an extensive beach, but at Islares there are small pockets of sand that appear when the tide goes out across the rocky shore and the remnants of a miniscule harbour decorated with the ruins of old fishing huts. It is all outrageously picturesque.

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Santander, a half hour’s drive away, is another city we’ve tended to bypass, however we were tipped it was worth a look and decide to visit, only to discover there is nowhere at all to park the van. We drive along the sweeping seafront and back through the town. It does seem very grand, but will have to wait for another time.

Another excursion, to Laredo and further along the lengthy sandspit, takes us to another point on the Camino, where a tiny passenger ferry carries people across the water to Santona.

We make lunch by the almost deserted stretch of beach then continue around the lagoons, nature reserves and beaches. Nowhere is there more than a handful of tourists or day-trippers.

Our last day brings sunshine warm enough to sit outside and read- a rare treat this trip.

Although we rise early next morning for our drive to the ferry the site office is firmly closed, which makes it impossible to settle up, reclaim our ACSI discount card [an essential camper accessory] detach ourselves from the electricity point and exit the barrier. We learn that all this should have been addressed the previous evening. Horrors! But we are fortunate. The security guys help out, taking our cash and lifting the barrier, and I write a note begging for our ACSI card to be sent on.

Then it’s along the motorway to Bilbao’s ferry port, conveniently sited well away from the city’s sprawl. Once loaded we locate our small cabin before finding a comfortable place to sit and munch Brittany Ferries’ pastries and coffee-and I have to conclude that nobody can do breakfast pastries and coffee like the French.

A wander round, a read, lunch on the top deck [to the accompaniment of the noisy dogs in the on-board kennels], a snooze, a read, a wander. The day passes. After a shower in our cabin we find dinner before spending an hour with the ‘entertainment’ in the bar; the music quiz being the only item we can manage, then it’s off to find a quiet spot for another read before retiring to the twin bedded cabin.

Next morning Portsmouth has arrived.-and the sun is shining…