The Big Portugal Adventure
From a village in Rutland to a village in Portugal, across the sea and 1000 km by land - with a campervan novice and her dog
For someone who has just managed to damage the entire side of her new campervan – OK, I didn’t see the wall was so close when I turned a corner, and I’ve since had some much-needed lessons on how to actually drive a campervan - it might seem crazy to decide to cross the sea and drive 1000km to see her family in Portugal. And I am indeed filled with trepidation. About so many things, so many unknowns, so much that could go wrong……
“How can you be so anxious about this trip, when you’ve done so many far more scary things?” my friends who know about my work with Médecins sans Frontières ask me. A logical question. But I think the answer is this: with MSF, I was responsible for something I knew about, the medical side of the project. Someone else took care of everything else, including keeping out of the way of armed militia in war zones, avoiding being kidnapped while crossing the width of Yemen, safely evacuating war-wounded from Libya onto a ferry converted into a hospital ship at the height of the conflict there. In all these situations, in all the projects, I was part of a team. I had to know my area of expertise, others took care of theirs. And I knew I could trust them.
It’s the same for some of my wilder travel adventures: crossing the Caribbean in a RIB and then travelling down the Orinoco River, for instance. “You’re crossing the sea in a small rubber boat with a guy you know nothing about?” I was asked when I discussed going on this crazy trip. That description was spot on. But the difference was I was just going along, as a Spanish speaker, for the adventure, I wasn’t in charge. (It did occur to me once I was in the RIB on the Caribbean, and looked out across this vast stretch of grey water stretching to the horizon: if anything happens to this guy driving the boat, I’m up a gum tree. I have no idea how to drive a RIB, navigate, find land……) But luckily I hadn’t thought of that before I left. I was drawn totally by love of adventure, the tantalising name “Orinoco”. So 98% excitement, 2% worry – like what if we were held up by drug barons wanting our high-powered RIB in this lawless region?
For this trip, shortly before I leave, I find the ratio is more 98% worry, a mere 2%, on a good day, of excitement. Like most decisions I have to make about doing something I find challenging, I’ve taken it step by step, putting myself in a position to go ahead if I wanted to, but hesitating before taking the final plunge. With a friend recently, while I was voicing my concerns, I decided to ring the ferry company to ask about the availability of kennels. “Only got one left on that crossing,” was the reply. “I’ll take it,” I said instantly, realising that in spite of my worries I was going to be very disappointed if I couldn’t go. Decision made.
So now, in sole charge and with no-one to share the worries – or the driving and map-reading - with (OK Toby you’ll be a great support) I’m committed. And tackling one by one the intimidating amount of preparation this trip involves.
My first concern is regarding Toby. To save the long drive across France, we’re taking Brittany Ferries from Plymouth to Santander. And therein lies the first problem, the first worrying unknown: how will Toby, a fairly nervous dog, cope with the kennels? On this ferry dogs aren’‘t allowed to stay in your vehicle; and the “dog-friendly” cabins get booked up years ahead. So kennels were the only option. It’s a 33-hour crossing, and although Toby won’t have to stay in the kennels all the time – I can take him for walks on a special doggy deck, albeit wearing a muzzle which he also won’t like – he’ll have to be there at least overnight. I’ve borrowed a large crate to try and get him used to the idea. And a couple of good friends, smaller and more agile than me, have actually climbed in to try and lure him in, one with another dog. We’re getting there slowly, but he still hates it and just stands there looking mournful, refusing to look at me or accept a treat.
Then there is all the bureaucracy, the rules and regulations of driving in Europe and taking a dog with you (thank you Brexit, I fear it’s got a lot harder). Luckily someone alerted me to that, all the equipment (reflective jackets, warning triangles, UK not GB sticker) and documents you have to take with you, and I think I’m more or less sorted, or getting there. Documents for Toby are on the agenda.
Then planning where to stop each night – which was what I spent that wet morning in the Gower campsite doing – was a time-consuming logistical challenge. For a start I discovered that lots of campsites in the north of Spain are not open after the end of September. We’re going the second week of October, and returning the final week of the month. Then I needed a campsite that accepted dogs; one that was not too far off the beaten track, well actually not too far off the main highway which is the road I’ll (sensibly I suppose) be taking, along the north coast; and a distance I could feasibly cover comfortably from one day to the next. Preferably one that had a shop and a café, to save cooking each night. Lots of requirements! They’re all now chosen, all the way down to Porto which will be my last stop, and a google map print-out of the routes made, in case the worst happens and there is no reception for my mobile phone! Thank heavens for google maps, but sometimes it fails. And as a dear friend just reminded me, my sense of direction is such that I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag (you know who you are, thank you for that encouragement!) The roundabouts, driving with the steering wheel on the wrong side, paying the tolls on my own, getting lost going through cities or at big motorway junctions, getting into a tight situation down an unexpectedly narrow road – these are all things that worry me, and make me find the whole trip totally daunting. Still 98% daunting, 2% excitement (but 100% still wanting to go….. “You could just take EasyJet,” someone suggested My reaction told me all I needed to know about myself.)
I’m also slightly reassured to read on various web-sites that I’m not alone in these concerns, as a novice campervanner heading to Europe, ie I’m not a complete wimp. There are whole web-sites on it! And as one of my lifelong mottoes has always been that I only regret the things I haven’t done, never anything – however scary or difficult.- I have done, I’m hoping that I will soon start to find it more exciting than daunting.
Watch this space!
I’ve been lucky enough to work on your van and meet you and help with a small peace of your preparation for this trip, your sense of adventure is infectious and I believe it takes a special person with a special mindset to hold onto spirit of Adventure.
Myself and Vince were in the workshop today talking about you and your trip and we both agreed on that 95% of people that own camper van would not even dare take on a trip of this magnitude, but this is why we build campers, we both have the upmost respect for you taking on this Beauty adventure.
With the trip you are about to embark on I would look at it as a series of small trips instead of one big trip take it day by day location by location. And enjoy every minute.
I wish you all the best and safe travels and please keep us updated, and any problems or questions with the van along the way let me know I’ll do my best to talk you through them 👍
Your friend Lewis