Manchester to Munich Part two
After less than a wee of cycling through Portugal, trying desperately hard not to get killed by the marauding Portuguese drivers and ferocious dogs, I again found myself back in Spain where I was able to enjoy being back on a bicycle once again.
As I approached the city of Seville, the temperature hovered around the 40 degree mark. it was once again blisteringly hot but there were always trees dotted alongside the road that frequently offered up succulent oranges to quest my thirst.
From Seville, I made my way east towards Carmona and then onto Marchena, Osuna and Mollina before reaching Granada three days after departing Seville.
With the knowledge of some pretty inhospitable east of Granada, I had decided to take a bug from to Alicante instead. From there, I cycle north, hugging the coats as must as possible. After having spent the best part of the previous month cycling through the stifling heat of the interior of Portugal and Spain, I was in dire need of a fresh sea breeze.
Whilst the previous weeks had been filled with quiet villages, rolling farmland, hospitable locals and traditional food, the latter part of my time in Spain was quite the opposite. The whole eastern coast was completely filled with holiday home, high rises and golf resorts. The towns that I passed through catered more for the British, Dutch or German tourist than any self respecting Spaniard and it was safe to say that I was having a very hard time to fall in love with this part of the country.
From Barcelona, I continued on my way along the coast passing some nice coastal towns and some quite striking cliffs along the way. This area of Spain certainly felt more Spanish than anywhere south of Barcelona and I was again enjoying the ride again.
Before I knew it, I was heading over the Far Eastern flank of the Pyrenees and back into France.
From the Pyrenees, I cycled north east to Narbonne and then on towards the towns of Nimes and Arles where I encountered the first Roman ruins of the trip. From here I cycled to Marseille where I spent the evening before cycling on towards my fiends house near the town of Brignoles.
As I entered Saint-Tropez, my world tuned upside down. Every centimetre of the entire coast was filled with luxury hotels, casino’s and white sandy beaches. Due to this, it was almost impossible to find a place to camp. One night, I even found myself having to camp on the edge of a golf course. During the night, a few teenagers took to hanging out 2 metres away from my tent smoking some dope. Luckily however, I had pitched it directly behind a bush and so I was able to remain quite hidden. The fact that my tent is green also helped a lot.
When I entered Monaco, I couldn’t resist cycling to the top of the town by the grand casino. I found myself a little out of place here, what with my oil and dirt covered clothes and filthy matted hair. Nethertheless, I didn’t mind for I had come for one reason and one reason only: to cycle around as much of the F1 circuit as I possibly could.
I think you could say I enjoyed myself very much.
