Cantabria

When Alberto came home from work in the early afternoon on my last day in Pamplona, we sat down and had lunch together. After thirty years of having lunch I figured out, that after a decently filling one you've got exactly two choices: either lie down and rest for about thirty minutes or go for a walk. Preferrably to a place where they sell coffee. On our last afternoon Alberto and I went for the latter and it's been so nice. There were such a lot of vibes in the little square around this cafe, people of all ages, children playing, chatting and laughter surrounding us.

Before I actually left we took a family photo in the living room, where we shifted tables and turned on all lights so to have a chance of taking a proper picture at only ISO 400, a fixed property of the film roll. Mama made me a bocadillo with Serrano ham for the trip and they also gave me two cans of coke and two Spanish salamis called salsichons.

I then drove through the night to the sounds of Angus and Julia stone. Direction Bilbao, or Playa da Laga to be more precise. Djinga chilling on the passenger seat next to me. Although it made me a bit sad to leave the family behind, I was also looking forward to getting back to the coast again. Decent sized, long-period swell with no wind or only a slight offshore breeze has been the forecast for the rest of the week.

The carpark/campsite at Laga, opposite Mundaka is probably the most chilled out area in the Basque country to camp in a van. Surrounded by huge rocks you find yourself in a quiet pine forest, stars above you, the sound of the sea, and the lighthouse in the distance with its beam cruising through the night. I went for a surf the next morning and the first duck dive in the cool water woke me up straight away. The waves were pretty small, so after breakfast I decided heading west to the more exposed spot of Playa da Gerra right next to San Vicente de la Barquera.

This little town is located at the far west end of Cantabria and as I find has some of the most stunning scenery on the planet. We arrived at the beach at night and as Djinga and I went for a walk along the beach, the view of the bay made my heart beat faster. Not only were there so many stars but also did the crescending moon illuminate the mountain ridge of the Picos de Europa National park with their peaks covered in snow, towering over the small fishing village.

From where I parked the van, I can see the lighthouse on the other side of the river. It always gives me the feeling of having arrived in a save harbour. Besides this, we have here everything that makes a good camp spot. First of all it's free and nice and leveled, of course. And although the little wooden toilet block is closed for the winter, the showers are still runnning. And there's a small eucalyptus forest nearby anyway.

The surf keeps me heaps excited. In the ten years I've been chasing waves I can't remember having seen such a forecast, not even in Indo: at a paradise-like left in Asturias, which can even get "hallucinogenic" when it's on, for tomorrow there's a 11 ft swell at 16 secs on the menu, with virtually no wind and up to 17 °C! But one golden rule says "Never leave a spot when it's on" so I'll stay at least for the first light. Funny enough, the forecast just continues that way for the whole next week and not only for Spain, but for the entire Iberian Atlantic coast.

Yesterday was already pumping and glassy and I got two sessions in with a sweet load of pancakes in between. I could imagine the sceptics at the table with me: 'man you already put sugar in the dough and now even more on top of that pancake? So much cinemon? Mate, you're aware there's already loads of sugar in that appelmoes, right?' I topped them even with flippin' slagroom haha! And a coffee at the side. And another. With sugar of course. And it actually felt good! Soooo good. And in extreme contrast to what I'd teach in any of my lessons, after that feast I went straight back in as the sun was about to go down already.

I've heard it loads of times this surf-eat-sleep-repeat thing. It sounds cool. And it is damn f**kin' awesome to actually do it! Every day you feel stronger, your paddles seem to become so much more efficient as you race through that liquid glass back out to where the last plunging peak has left it's trace.

It's the first time on that trip that I spend a couple of nights at the same surf spot just because it's on and there's no reason to leave. It makes such a difference. The van really turns into a house for I don't have to secure everything for a possible drive. And it's such a good spot to be. From the line-up I'm looking towards San Vicente and the Picos, watching red and blue fishing boats entering and leaving the little harbour all around the clock. Although there are some surfers around, there are usually not more than a handful of us at one of the peaks.

At night Djinga and I walk for an hour or so along the beach to the village for a small beer and to use the internet, with no torch needed because it's almost full moon now. Yesterday we got nearly cut off on our way back by the incoming tide but just made it with dry feet.

Pais Vasco

A good friend advised me to take the toll road for the bit where France meets Spain at the Atlantic coast for it's quite cheap definitely quicker. However, I felt like going to Guethary. So many times I wanted to see this place or even surf there. It actually felt as if I must have been there before, but these days I realised that I had not even read the paragraph in the stormrider properly, yet. Not only is this tiny village in the Basque country heaps beautiful but also does it host this huge wave called Avalanche that I'd kept an eye out for from the road before. It wasn't breaking when I was there, though. We stayed at the little harbour for the night and I made pancakes for breakfast the next day.

Since the waves were very small and the forecast looks great only for the days to come, it was a great slot to visit my Spanish brothers in Pamplona! The drive from San Sebastian (Donostia) leads up into the stunning Pyrenees with their snowy tops. It goes uphill forever. From sea level you're virtually going up to more than 600 metres in one go on the Autobia das Montanas. Friz was huffing and puffing but made without overheating.

Pamplona is home to about 200.000 inhabitants and sits at an altitude of 450 or so metres, resulting in the temperatures being quite a bit lower than at the coast where for the first time on this trip we got up to 13 °C. Every year in July, Pamplona is put into the global spotlight when the festival of Sanfermines takes place for no less than 9 consecutive days. Every morning during the festival, six bulls run through the alleys up to the bullring. And quite a lot of guys seeking the kick running with them. This tradition goes a few hundred years back when the bulls were guided by herdsmen to the bullring up in the city and people started helping the herdsmen before then they probably got bored and started running with the bulls. Only for a short distance though because they are incredibly fast! 700 kg moving at about 25 km/h! That's quite a bit of energy. Back then and still today, somewhat sadly, the purpose of the run has been the bullfight in the afternoon with all of the six bulls being killed. This famous running of the bulls, being the "highlight" for most spectators, normally only lasts about 3 minutes. That's what it takes them terrified animals to run the 825 metres. Just as some of us rushing not to miss the tram to work or school. Eyes wide open, pulse racing, sweating - not actually facing death, though.

I'm staying here with Alberto and his parents, sister and grandmother. They are all too lovely. José used to drive trucks all over Europe so we had something in common instantly. It didn't take long and he got the map on the kitchen table, recalling all the places he'd been to. Last night grandma stayed around and also today. She doesn't feel too well. For being 89 she's still sprightly, though. We had breakfast together and now she sits in the lounge knitting while I'm writing. We eat a lot of traditional local food and always have red wine with it. It feels like home and I'm so thankful for being considered another family member.

On the road again!

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I drove to Germany for Christmas. On the ferry I somehow smuggled both Djinga and the van to Europe. Smuggling the other direction could have got a bit sketchy these days... This dog does get me into situations. She just never pays and always gets away with it. She usually does it in the pub but this time she gave the ferry a go with no ticket. Just hiding behind my seat as the ticket guy had a quick look into the car from his booth. And the van? Just got through as a regular passenger car. Eventually it was only me paying the regular price. So, in the presence of these two smooth operators, next time you may want to think twice before calling me cheeky.

As we got into the Netherlands, this little red light in the dashboard grinned at me: "Your generator's f**ked bro hihihi". I could just resist to yell at it. Which would have been okay actually bearing in mind that I repaired this thing twice already. At least it felt like I did. Since I could not get it fixed straight away, I opted to drive during daytime only and recharge the battery over night whenever possible.

Days are short in December, though. Really short. Too short to cover more than those 700 km ahead of me with this van all across Germany. To save the energy of my only half full battery (the charger had switched off over night) for as long as possible, on the motorway I tried hiding in the dark behind a truck with only the parking lights on. The traffic from behind would not see any difference (same bulbs) and usually on a motorway there's no oncoming traffic. 'Good thinking' I thought with a smirk that expressed that feeling of having the edge over this little red lightbulb now. It actually worked alright.

Also two days later, when we drove another 400 km and only started off after sunset, getting somewhat comfortable with this stategy. One might also call it a bit slack. But to be fair, we turned the lights on when we got into this thick fog. They lasted just until we arrived at our destination. Just here means that they were less than dim and the indicator didn't do the familiar 'click-clack-click-clack' anymore but only a single, halfhearted 'gligg'.

Now here's a little poem to start the new year with. It's not my own but from a wise person called Cavafy:

“As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.”

— C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. Princeton University Press, 1992

It was this picture that a very good friend of mine had drawn into my imagination: warm weather and big clean waves reeling along a right-hand point break with only two people out. This is how the south of Morocco became my Ithaka. This was where I wanted to go and this is what made me set out. I looked at my bank account and it looked back at me saying "no you won't" without any sign of sorriness. But by all means, who listens to a bank account.

We (Djinga and I) are on our way south now. Wednesday I left Holland not without taking all the good memories of these amazing Surfani-days there with me. And some smoked Mackerel of course. In only one day we already passed Belgium (haha) and entered France, arriving in a lovely town called Addeville. It was just after 9 pm as we wandered through the streets and one could literally see and hear the window blinds being shut on every other flat. The only people we met where two guys with a beer each asking me to light their cigarette. We had a bit of a chat - quite an acrobatic one beacause I don't actually speak any French. Neither does Djinga.

Yesterday we drove all the way through Normandy. Sunshine mixed up with full-on hailstorms. It felt like we left good old Father Frost behind us now that we got further and further south. The nights are still frosty, though. I'm wrapped in my sleepingbag and under the duvet. Djinga snuggles up on a cosy blanket. When we're driving in the sun, the temperature inside the cabin goes up to 30 °C! We are in the South of France now. The McDonald's where I'm using the web got invaded by 15- to 25-year-olds as if someone had set up one of these anonymous facebook-parties.

The weather charts look promising! A large high pressure system over the continent with sunshine and light winds that turn even off-shore in the next days, whereas west of Ireland there goes a storm berserk which is meant to be the first January hurricane in the last 60 years. Looks like we might find some pearls on our way to Ithaka.

Last session of the year

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"Let's get changed man, it's pumping!" I open my eyes and squint in the morning light. Where am I? Little by little my memory comes back. We'd done the Croyde pub crawl from the Thatch to the Manor and then to Blue Groove and for some reason everybody seemed to be out and about which made it a big night. Not having enough yet, we continued to Ed's and Damo's house where Guy had been more than generous with this sailor rum. Right. So must have fallen asleep on Damo's couch then, who is now wedging himself into his wetsuit.

Having a glimpse through the salt-coated windows I see huge, clean sets rolling into the bay. The wind has dropped considerably and the swell has been constantly building over night. "We've got big tides. At some stage it's gonna get too low to hit the banks, let's go!" I hear Damo say and then he's off. Ed comes out his room, sleepy and hanging as me haha. We get changed inside the house where it's warm and cosy and then run down to the beach. 'What a privilege!' I think.

The line-up is anything but crowded. Damo is there with his young guns while Ed and I are chilling at the peak next to them. We're cheering a young lad with very long hair into a bomb and he takes it. The last I saw of him was his hair and arms straight up in the air as he must have fallen out of the sky. Ed is ripping as I've always seen him do. I blame the night before for getting lip-launched on my first one and surfing like I've never done it before in general during this session. However, on the very last wave I made the good decision of getting to my feet at a point that felt quite a bit too early actually. But it wasn't.

Finding myself in a decently stable stance I surf this right to the inside where it surprisingly starts walling up. The water in front of me is being sucked up the face of the wave which now reflects the morning sun as if it was pure green glass. In the next moment this wall rears up and throws the lip. For an instant all the noise of the raging sea is gone. I crouch and aim for the exit but this time it wouldn't let me out. It must have been less than a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. It still does. It's been one of these waves we never forget and that make us move strangely in our beds at night when we dream of them.