Campervan Therapy

The Santoña docks in Bilbao at 8 a.m. The plan is to find a camperstop in Bilbao for the van and head off to the Guggenheim Museum in the centre of town. I’ve always wanted to go to the futuristic designed art gallery by the estuary.

We bowl up to the camperstop on the edge of town, only to be greeted by what I assume are an adept pair of young scammers. They’re parked in a car with the engine running, telling us the camperstop is now defunct and if we give them our phone they’ll key in the directions to another camperstop. Being raised in London does have its street wise credentials and so we bomb off quick as an oil slip.

Not being known for tenacity when it comes to accessing tourist sights, we’ve had enough and head, literally, for the hills. In this case, these are the foothills to the Pyrenees near Vittoria Gasteiz and more specifically, the hamlet of Nuvilla in the Alava Region.

The view is of rolling wheat, sunflower fields, and holm oak forests, with sudden russet cliff faces against a blue sky.

The Añana (Valle Salado) has over 5,500 ancient evaporation terraced salt pans, powered by underground springs. We’re delighted with the thyme infused salt produced in the valley.

We spend our days rambling through the rustic countryside or walking in the mountains. The scent of the garrigue on the air, we wander through holm oak, pines, cistus, wild rosemary and juniper. I’m careful to check it’s not hunting season though, as it is a hunting reserve and we’ve stumbled blindly before into the centre of a shootout between the local hunters and the creatures of the forest – in this case, almost, us.

As we pass a sign that says we’re on the track of the Cueva de Lobos (Cave of Wolves) I jump every time a bush moves. I get Himself to check whether there really are wolves in these mountains. Nonchalant as ever, he shrugs, says probably not in this area. It’s only when we’re down the mountain and still alive that I check and, yes, wolves most certainly do roam in this area.

“Not a problem,” Seán says, “They’re shy creatures”. He leaves out the fact that they also hunt in packs.

So why, you may ask, do we feel the need to go rambling through the woods again? As we sit picnicking though, on a rustic bench, way up the mountain, we know it is worth it as our eyes feast on the forested slopes and the fields way below.

Seán follows the track behind us over the rise in the mountain. Even Mr. Laid-back jumps as he finds himself balancing on a sheer cliff-edge, the rock face plunging kilometres below his feet.

We spend some time communing with a field of friendly donkeys on our return to the campsite. Part of the joy of travelling for us is the food. Our most memorable tapa at the bar is definitely the roasted octopus served on potatoes sautéed in olive oil and paprika, with aioli.

After three days of rambling and resting, we’re ready for Zarautz on the Basque Coast, and also on the Camino de Santiago. We can never resist walking as modern day pilgrims along that iconic long-distance trail, so we dust off our walking shoes and limber up.