Benicarlo. (Day 2)

Before we went to bed last night, we stood on the beach, and looked across the bay at the lights of Peniscola.

A rainbow of colours, pin pricking the night sky.

This morning at nine o' clock the sun was dazzling, lighting the aqua marine sea. Along with Marge, we were glad to see we were still on dry land, despite the closeness of the shoreline. Feeling settled here, we decided to have a fairly restful day, and stay another night. We have plenty of time to reach Dieppe, and there is no way we're giving up the sunshine and warmth until we have to.

At lunchtime, we packed our Serrano ham, salad baguettes into our rucksacks, and cycled along the excellent seafront cycle-way to Peniscola castle, stopping en-route for John to photograph Angela, who was very pleased at solving the towns wordsearch puzzle!

Up at the castle, we could see restoration, or should we say ruination work was taking place.

Along one wall, near to an entrance, that appeared to have been the rear entrance to the castle, there were marks in a stone lintel, that to us looked like the result of cannonball fire. If this is the case, we hope the restorers leave well alone, and do not infill with modern stone.

The streets around the castle were narrow, and the views over the castles artillery gardens beautiful.

The temperature this afternoon reached 28c. We can hardly believe, that at the beginning of the week the weather was so inclement. We know the weather is once again not so good at home, and to add to the misery, the clocks go back an hour this weekend, meaning it will be dark quite early in the evening. In the meantime it's sun, sea and sangria here!

Benicarlo

Last night was one of those nights you just want to forget. Around two o' clock in the morning music started up from a venue nearby. Loud, bassy music, with no lyrics to accompany it. At least when the same thing happened to us in Italy earlier in the year, we knew the songs, which eased the pain a little. At five o' clock this morning it stopped. By then the damage was done, we'd missed out on our sleep, and at ten when we got up, we were tired, and heady. Thank you people of Onda. We will not be back! Next to us on the aire was a car and caravan. Caravans are allowed on aires in Spain. This morning, one of the two men staying in it emerged in his 'tiger' onesie. After after a while, he disappeared into the trees behind the caravan, and then reappeared in a red towelling dressing gown. We realised when the second man emerged from the trees, that they were using their solar shower amongst them. "It's a camping thing'. Never the less, it was time for us to leave town, we had shopping to buy.

Mid afternoon, we stopped for our lunch at a rocky inlet near Peniscola. Although it was very pretty, it was quite isolated, and Angela didn't feel comfortable about spending the night there. So we moved down the coast a little to the town of Benicarlo.

(John's all time favourite van the VW LT)

Peniscola and Benicarlo are both holiday resorts on the Costa Del Azahar. Marge is parked right on the beach, with quite a few other vans, literally a few feet from the waters edge. She, like us, is probably worried she might wake up with water lapping around her differential.

We have a view across the bay to Peniscola's templar castle, which was used in the film El Cid, starring Charlton Heston and Sophia Loren.

Just before seven o' clock this evening, we promenaded with the Spanish along the seafront to the outskirts of Peniscola. We were glad to see one older gentleman was keeping the fashion of the shell suit alive. On the way back we glimpsed through the window of one of the holiday apartments. A lady was sat eating a meal, her hair 'side combed' so much she looked like a cartoon character. Back at the van, the sea sounded awfully close.

Don't worry Marge, worst case scenario, we'll decamp just down the road to the Gran Hotel Peniscola.

It's four star, and a room for tonight is £43.00 including breakfast. They've got a nice parking area, so Marge will be safe. And we bet they've got nice showers as well. Sounds tempting.

Onda

This morning, the sun had decided to join us once again. Great! And the temperature was a more respectable 20c. In the town square, a group of men on motorised disability scooters, had gathered in a circle to discuss the topics of the day. Nearby, a flamboyantly dressed elderly lady stood, cigarette in hand, trying to catch their attention, but with no success. Poor woman, they were oblivious to her efforts to lure them, or were they? Would one of them break the circle of trust, and scoop her up in the basket on the front of his scooter! We'll never know, time to leave town Marge.

Before we left, John spoke to the other English couple who had also been at the aire overnight, which resulted in us changing our plans and heading inland to Onda.

The town is north of Valencia, and home to a thriving ceramics industry. Driving into town, we were amazed at just how many ceramic businesses there were. In the yards outside the factories and warehouse, were an uncountable number of pallets, piled high with all different sorts of tiles, destined for local customers, shops, and most waiting to be exported. Who knows, some of them may have been destined for you local D.I.Y. Store.

The aire at Onda is new. It opened in 2017, and only has eight spaces. When we arrived in the middle of the afternoon, Marge took space number eight.

After settling her in, we took the twenty minute walk to the castle. Oh no! Another historical site the Spanish feel they must rebuild. Please, just leave these ruins alone. We are more than capable of working out the layout ourselves. Just give us an information board with some facts, and a basic drawing or photographs of the site. We like old ruins, don't we Marge? Please keep them that way.

From the castle, we saw a flock of colourful birds flying around the church. At First we thought they were parakeets. But on closer inspection, realised they were pigeons. It seems here in Spain, painting your pigeons is a bit of a hobby. Amazing, we'd never seen the like before. Also below us we could see the old town.

A tour of the other sights of the town, resulted in us being caught up in an event in the town centre. Last weekend, some sort of festival had been held here, and we presumed this was an event following on from it.

Curiosity got the better of us, and we passed into the caged area, along with lots of excitable locals, then a lorry appeared, and we worked out it probably housed bulls. At a quarter to six this afternoon, we found ourselves amongst what could only be described as a street bullfight. There was not a sign of any police, medics or health and safety, just lots of young men, a few older, families with young children and us. Oh, and of course the bull! We ensconced ourselves on the upper level of one of the cages for a better and safer view, and watched as the poor bull was baited, humiliated, tormented and frightened by the hoards of young men. This event seemed to be taking place daily for about three weeks. Outside the secure area, there were at least two more lorries containing more bulls. Glad we'd had the chance to see the bull up close, and witness something traditional, we were not sorry to leave the sight of the poor frightened animal. Most exciting bit for us. How do we cross to the cage opposite, and leave the compound, not knowing where the bull was!