east of eden

Before we left we picked fresh lemons from the trees and gathered windfall avocados to take with us. That's how much of a paradise Patty Pan's place was and is. A more characterful campsite and friendlier host would be hard to find. It's not ideal if you don't like animals (Patty has three dogs, Lika, Charlie and Norman and two cats, including a certifiably insane black moggy with three legs called Tripod. Theo was very taken with her in particular - I think it was the vigour with which she attacked him that attracted him) and I can't imagine it being favoured by the efficient Netherlanders in their spotless motorhomes (although they might get the washing machine working) and the roaming retirees, who tirelessly cross the continent in their shiny Winnebagos. Nope, it's definitely one for the more alternative type of traveller, who's more interested in making new friends and a lifestyle which contains a few quirks. One other thing about our genial hostess which particularly pleased Kate: she whooped Theo's arse at Scrabble. Yes! Anyway, the time has come to move on, so this morning we got back on the road.

The Spanish are in the wrong time zone. In a line North to South with the UK and thus on the same longitude (or is that latitude?) with London, Spain should, geographically speaking, be on GMT like Morocco and Portugal. Instead the Spanish use CET - Central European Time - and so share their hours with Germany, France, Italy et al. This is a masterstroke as it means the Spanish get long summer evenings, with sunset around ten, and can catch the dawn, even in May, at a not inhuman hour.

So, after spending a warm evening bathing in fresh water rock pools in the hills behind Estepona, we hit the road early to be greeted with a spectacular sunrise over the Med at 6.30am as we rounded Marbella heading east from Patty's eden.

We are heading to Barcelona, to the Primavera Sound Festival to see, among others, our good friend SJ Esau. It's a long drive, over a thousand kilometres from Estepona, so we're doing in it two days - after nearly 12 hours in Sheena today we made it to the Costa Blanca near Valencia. There is such a huge variety in Spain's landscape - we're seen nothing like the Basque country or the plains of Castile since we left them - and today was no different. Almeria was just a maze of polythene, each hill rounded bringing yet another series of plains and terraces of long, low, industry greenhouses. Murcia was dry and dusty, with unattractive bungalows sprawling across arid plains. Valencia, so far, seems beautiful and picturesque, full of orange trees and striking hillsides, with even the high rises of Benidorm appearing (from the road at least) attractively built and well laid out - a huge contrast to the usual, unthought out apartment block monstrosities we've found on the fringes of most Spanish cities.

Tomorrow Barcelona - if we have half as much fun as we did last time we were there we'll be in for a treat.

Baptised in the brine

It takes a supreme effort of will, determination and mind over matter to submerge your warm, mammalian body in cold water, but I'm proud to report Theo and I have both done the deed. As it happens, I managed a short dip in the Atlantic in Biarritz last month - in fact, that's exactly what it was. I dipped my body in, almost got swallowed up by the crunching undertow, kicked in slightly panicked fashion to escape the brutal offshore current and just about managed to extricate myself intact. The whole experience was somewhere between exhilarating and terrifying - and the water felt only a few degrees above freezing.
The Mediterranean has supplied a much more mellow swimming experience, although the water temperature is most kindly described as "refreshing". Most of the Spanish wouldn't countenance going into the sea as early as May - but we are made of sterner stuff and have been in two days running. It must be the Celtic blood flowing in our veins. It also helps if there's a pleasant, wood-honed beach bar nearby with reviving hot drinks to help get the circulation going again. And in a real emergency, it also sells spirits. Added to that it's run by Jasmina's mum, Myriam, a very friendly English-speaker and has a stack of British glossy magazines on the counter to flick through while your husband is playing backgammon with a friend (Andy - we persuaded him into the sea with us, but I'm not sure he was all that grateful). We're going back there tonight for a barbeque. With drumming.

The other Costa del Sol

For a basic beach holiday, where you just want sun, sea, an inexpensive hotel room and lots of cheap beer (and aren't too snobby about your fellow holidaymakers), then the Costa del Sol is fine. Personally, I find lying on beaches for hours intensely dull, although a refreshing swim on a hot day and the chance to read a good book without feeling guilty do have a certain appeal. In fact, where we're staying now gives us ample opportunity to do both, but we're also getting the chance to meet the local English/Spanish community - not the people who have moved from the UK to sit in smart villas and restrict their mixing to fellow ex-pats, but the people whose lives have become woven into the fabric of southern Spain.

Patty, our landlady, has been here for twenty five years or more. When we went into Estepona with her, it took ages to get from one side of the street to the other as numerous friends and acquaintances kept stopping to say "hola" and exchange news. Estepona itself is quite an attractive town with some charming cafe-lined plazas, smart shopping streets and a busy fishing port and marina. Mind you, the shops aren't so smart they don't include the odd front room-grocery seller. We stopped in one complete with sofas, sideboards and TV, where an elderly woman was selling fruit, veg and free-range eggs. We bought a big bagful of goods for less than five euros.

Back at Patty's Paradise our fellow campers include Heicke, a German traveller with her two old-style Mercedes cars (which she uses interchangeably, depending on which one happens to be working), her beautifully painted blue bus and her three energetic dogs, one of which is an improbable cross between a chihuaha and a husky.

Also, newly arrived in his long wheelbase Volkswagen truck is Andy, who we'd already encountered at the Rocket Festival. He's recently quit his job in the UK and sold most of his possessions to move out here. The seed was planted when his friend Kerine (who gave us Patty's flyer at the Rocket) moved to this area around five years ago. Last year Andy spent a few months doing a solo motorbike tour of Western Europe and that was that, going back to life and work in the UK didn't hold enough attractions anymore, so here he is. It gets you that way. I wonder if Theo and I will ever slot back into our former lives, but we shall see. Plenty of time yet.

Kerine herself has also visited a few times, sharing funny tales of her life in Spain and the people she meets in her upholstery job at Estepona Port. Patty's daughter Rosie is currently taking time out from her own travelling (Central America so far, the UK then other parts of Europe are next) to see her mum - Rosie's boyfriend Raffa is also here. He's from Madrid originally, but she met him while they were both in Belize. We've also met Patty's ex, Steve (christened the patron saint of vans since he fixed the busted fuel pump on Andy's vehicle), a lively Spanish family friend called Jasmina and another mate called Simon. We joined the ensemble up at Patty's house for late night wine, chat and bread and butter pudding. As you do in Spain. If we're not careful, we'll start feeling rather at home here ourselves.

Patty's Paradise

Some people just don't deserve their country. That's certainly true of the British, our ratio of ugly, insensitive developments to beautiful surroundings being sadly weighted in favour of the former. And it's definitely true of the Spanish, who seem intent on raping their stunning landscapes with acre upon acre of concrete monstrosities. The building boom has seen big, boxy appartment blocks going up wherever there's the slightest bit of space and beautiful towns like Salamanca or Cordoba are becoming increasingly swathed in wastelands of depressing urban sprawl. On the Costa del Sol, huge hotels to feed the (often British...we definitely shoulder some of the blame here...) swarms of tourists have been mushrooming for some decades now. So too, the rash of white, balconied villas over the lush hillsides, facing what was once a charming and picturesque coastline...all too many of our fellow countrymen and women are living in those too.

It was with a mixture of horror and gloom that we passed by Malaga, Torremelinos and Marbella on our way down the Costa to Patty's alternative living campsite, near Estepona in the far south of Spain.

Patty herself collected us from a rendezvous point nearby and led us to the orchard below her house, only ten minutes walk from the nearest beach (very unspoilt for the Costa del Sol, with a view to the rock of Gibraltar and the Atlas Mountains in Africa) and boasting electricity hook-ups, plentiful fresh water, loo, hot showers and laundry facilities. For that, we are paying ten euros a day plus ten euros on top for unlimited and excellent wifi internet access. In fact, pretty much the same facilities we payed 25 euros a night for in Torre del Mar, Lisbon and Salamanca, but on a far smaller scale and in a scruffier, more unruly but much more friendly site.

We are now comfortably ensconced beneath a lemon tree with a bucket full of windfalls ready to be squeezed into home-made lemonade.

Rocket review

My review of the Rocket Festival is now up on efestivals plus loads more photos....

we're currently chilling out on an unofficial (and therefore very cheap) campsite in Estepona, doing some laundry and enjoying the sunshine....

Rocket Festival, Sunday

This time it was gone two pm by the time we made it out of the van. Heading to the healing fields for our favourite juice bar we caught up with Fran, Pete and Ayesha and then got chatting to Jacob, the very friendly head honcho of the healing space who soon had us all taking part in a Chi Gong workshop. Just what we needed to get the energy levels flowing.
General ambling for a while saw us take in some improv music in the healing field (Barry The Box again, this time with a sitar-player and violinist), checked out the stilt walkers (including Kate's former neighbour Lucy and Theo's former mentee Lewin) and an excellent bout of tag mud-wrestling.

We watched Miss Cecily, another Bristol band play at the Solar Stage, then wandered back to the van for some R'n'R, which involved a hefty dram of the port we'd acquired while visiting the Ferreira HQ in Portugal. Well, we might be in southern Spain, but it gets damn nippy at night in those mountains. This was purely medicinal.

Back on site again and as we settled into watch the much-touted Los Deliquentes (who were very good, it must be said), the all-too-familiar sound of rain pattering on canvas was heard overhead. We could scarcely believe it, this is what we came to escape!

In the end, the chill in the air and general dampness saw us heading to the dance arena, where we eventually pitched up in a tent full of green laser-light and techno. There we both became ever more ebullient, befriending a couple of Spanish guys, Diago and Manuel (and managed to fix up Manuel with Ayesha - score!) and a French girl called Bem. We also spent much time hugging numerous other festival chums who came to join in, including Fran and Pete, Extremely Tall Sham and Matt the fence-jumper-turned-wristbanded-performer.

Eventually, the effects of the beer, the shots of neat rum and gawd-knows-what-else took their toll on our sense of balance and co-ordination, so I figured (Theo was too far gone to make the decision at that point) it was time to have a cup of tea and get vertical. It was almost six by the time we got back and settled down. It had also been the best night of all at The Rocket.

Rocket Festival, Saturday

We completed our Friday night with a 0200 Main Stage rendezvous with an Italian gypsy band called Circus Abusivo, easily the best thing on the MS since the festival began (from what I'm told - I spent most of Friday interviewing people, editing the interviews and sending them to my old work, BBC Radio Bristol) then completed our night's revelling with a bounce around to Village Disco in naff Ozzie form in Cantina Galactica. "Nellie The Elephant" and Rod Stewart were on the playlist, you couldn't fault it really. We got back to the van some time after three, after stopping at a stall for chocolate and churros. When in Spain...

Later that same day, we emerged after a reasonably decent amount of sleep and headed straight for the healing field where I had a shiatsu massage from a lovely chap called Alan, with whom we'd got chatting the day before. He's lived in Spain since the eighties, when he joined the hippie exodus fleeing the horrors of Thatcher's Britain. He did a great job, I've had hardly a twinge from my dodgy right arm ever since.

Much of Saturday daytime was spent ambling around the site in that time-honoured festival way, but we did stop off in the Lux tent to watch an improv band comprising Clyde, the ukele-playing frontman, a harmonising woman with a puppet, an Italian playing a drum and Barry The Box, busily bashing away, as he had during a gap in the music at Cantina Galactica on Thursday night. What they lacked in preparation they made up with enthusiasm and the gambit of giving the audience three bottles of home-made wine to share (providing someone had a corkscrew - Theo did) guaranteed them a rousing reception. They did their last number among their spectators, with the grand finale involving everyone spinning on the spot then collapsing into a group hug.
We greatly enjoyed Lazy Habits, a white UK hiphop crew in Cantina Galactica and willingly received one of the free CDs they gave out from the stage (this habit of bribing the audience is something I would tend to encourage...there was a lot of it going on at the Rocket). After that, a fabulously costumed drum'n'bass rendition of the Wife Of Bath's tale by the Eat Prunes Collective in the Lux tent caught our attention - quality stuff.

Possibly the most enjoyable Main Stage act came next - Rrradio Gee, a self-styled pikey band who got the early evening crowd madly a-jigging to their fast-paced Irish folk-rock. I was so hot after all that jumping around, I opted to take a free shower when the water-spraying fire engine came by to damp down the dust in the main arena. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine myself at Glastonbury.

A Bristol band, Zen Hussies were next and they were most enjoyable with their mixture of ska and swing (they finished their set with a Christmas song set in Melksham - suitably random).
After that, it was back to Sheena to get into fancy dress. The theme was space, so we fashioned some alien costumes out of tin foil, empty water bottles, starry glitter and UK forces issue light sticks, which were included when we bought our van. The effect was pretty decent, we thought and it certainly got some heads turning when we went back onto the site some time after 11pm.
It was noticeably busier as loads of Spaniards had arrived, as predicted by the festival regulars.
We enjoyed the Spanish band, Muchachito Bombero Infuerno, the first act I've seen to include an artist working on a painting as part of the gig (mind you, the set went on so long, Coldcut, who were on next, were an hour late starting) and we loved Beardyman, the champion beatboxer, who played to a packed Dance Tent.

Other highlights included attempting to reunite a guy called Rob with a Swedish girl called Lena - he'd met her in Malaga a couple of days earlier and had come to the Rocket with the express intention of tracking her down. We asked for an announcement to go out over the PA, but we still don't know if he found her.

We also met Kerine and Andy, attracted initially attracted by the excellence of their fancy dress as we all stopped at a stall for food. They gave us a flyer for an "alternative living" campsite on the Costa del Sol, which seemed like a good place for us to go and hide our damaged van for a while, so we resolved to give it a try.

The other great part about Saturday night was simply hanging out with Fran and Pete, our mates from the Grenada campsite and other buddies they'd collected, including Ayesha, who'd travelled to the festival from London alone after splitting up with her boyfriend a couple of weeks earlier. It was Fran's birthday, so much toasting involving Jack Daniels and coke went on - and what a place for a party! We caught a couple of songs from Coldcut before calling it a night sometime towards 5am.

first impressions

We're at the Rocket Festival and it's fabulous! Not much is going on yet - it's still Friday morning - though we had a lovely boogie at the Space themed Cantina Galactica last night as well as meeting lots of very friendly people.

Anyway, while Kate is off conducting various interviews she has instructed me to write a piece for BBC online which goes into far more detail

They credited it to Kate but I wrote it and took them snaps. What's mine is hers now, apparently.