The outside of a motorbike engine seen up close near the exhaust

Home Travel StoriesSpain And The Faro Rally 2005 - By Ren Withnell

Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 12

Today is a rest day. There is nothing left to do now except wait for the ferry tomorrow. The morning is spent washing, checking, showering, getting breakfast and talking. Susan and Sandra are going back into town to do the whole girly shopping thing, the rest wander up to the lighthouse for a nosey and I leave them to it. I need some time alone.

I sit for a while in the café and think. I’m almost home now, just one ferry and a mere 300 miles till I’m back home. I ask myself “Why do I feel like this?” The image I would like to project is that of the great traveller, a man of adventure and beholder of amazing experiences. I want to be like the Norwegian bloke I read about, I want pictures of myself in the Gobi desert, the Amazon jungle and the frozen Siberia. I’m looking to be someone I may never be.

I’ve done something I consider amazing. I’ve ridden my motorcycle 2,000 miles to a far off country, camped for 11 nights, been to a truly international rally and experienced a different way of life. I should be quite proud of myself. But at least 500 other people from Britain have done this. Some like the Scottish crew have travelled further than myself. Some people have travelled all the way through France and back. This has been a huge, enormous experience for myself but compared to everyone else I am merely another rally-goer. It all seems so pathetic, this has been a life changing experience for me but to most folks it’s another rally.

I have missed home. I miss English speaking petrol attendants, English cafes and English supermarkets that stock familiar food. I miss the green fields and quaint villages, the familiar currency, the cool weather, endless rows of terraced housing and motorway services. I’ve struggled with the culture of “Manyana” and the unfinished feel of this place. I’ve struggled with the heat. If I cannot handle Spain, a country that shares many similarities and cultures with my own, what chance have I of ever surviving somewhere like China or India?

Later I go for a walk to the Lighthouse. The scene before me is stunning, rock faces slide down into a frothing sea, endless clear blue skies and mountains rising in the distant heat haze. I walk along a small outcrop on a dusty path. There is an odd concrete construction that seems to have no purpose other than a place for the local vandals to write their stylised messages on. The wind is quite strong coming in from the sea that makes me feel pleasantly cool. I sit down on the grass and ponder some more.

outcrops of rock into the sea at Cabo Mayor Views from the outcrop at Cabo Mayor

Is it me? Am I really just a homeboy, am I destined to live my whole life back there in the North-West, only venturing out to places not too different from home? I know I’ve been concerned about the gf and I’m trying to use this to excuse myself. I know I’ve a lot of reflection to do when I get back home. I get up off my backside and try to appreciate the view and the cool sea breeze. It only takes a few minutes to wander back to the campsite. It’s hot back at the site due to the shelter from the breeze. I go to sleep in my tent porch again, it’s become a habit now. I make a pile of bike gear and prop myself up against this and sure enough things fade away.

Later on I catch up with the Scottish crew and we talk of what to do for this evening. George and Liz want to take it easy but Mel, Sandra, Bill and Susan fancy another trip into town for a curry or Chinese. I don’t fancy any of these options tonight, I think I’m ready for something familiar again. I decide I’ll ride into town and find another Burger King or McDonalds.

I ride into town and start searching for a McDonalds. I cannot find one but one thing does come as a surprise. I find I’m mixing it with the traffic here in the same madcap way the locals drive. Pedestrian crossings are more advisory than compulsory, traffic lights can occasionally be ignored, especially if you’re turning right and it’s clear, pedestrians are suicidal lemmings that you honk your horn at and road position is dependant on your mood. To think that only 10 days ago I was terrified, now I’m as ignorant and careless as the best of the Spanish lunatics.

Round the back of the town I find the rough areas. The multi-storey apartments rise up in a gloomy greyness that even the evening sun cannot cheer up. Dogs run across the road while weary owners shout relentlessly and hopelessly in their strange language. Cafes and bars are filling with a variety of people and pushchairs and youths smoke on street corners. I came to Spain to see how the Spanish live, and I don’t think I would like to live this way.

I get back into town and give up on my search. I know where the Pizza-Hut is so I head there and park up on the footpath. No-one else cares where they park here so I don’t feel any need to worry about it myself. Looking around I spot the Scottish crew up above me in a first floor window and they motion for me to join them. They are in Pizza-Hut but when I go in to find them they are nowhere to be seen. Back outside it takes me a while to realise they are in the Chinese restaurant next door. I feel quite stupid. Through the now open window I inform them I’m going to have Pizza and I’ll catch up with them after.

the broad santander beach in the evening sun Santander Beach in the evening sun

The menu has pictures so this ignorant English tourist can see what he wants and point to the picture when the waitress babbles something. I also manage to get a coke in my best Spanish, “Una cola por favor”. The pizza is good. The rest of the evening is spent back at the campsite talking some more and listening as several more bikes arrive to stop the night before the ferry tomorrow. I talk a while with a couple from South Wales who have pitched behind me. They are veterans of this trip but I take some comfort when they tell me it has been particularly hot this year and their group has had a few moments where fuses got too short.

Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Preparation
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 1
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 2
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 3
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 4
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 5
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 6
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 7 The Portuguese coastline is not quite what Ren was expecting. Then there's the case of the disappearing helmet.
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 8
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 9 Ren has to brave the plastic portaloos of HELL at the Faro Rally. It's also time to leave the noise and chaos and get back on the road Northbound
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 10
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 11 It's another long and hot ride across the Spanish scenery. Still, every sweaty mile is a mile closer to home.
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 12
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 13
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Day 14
Spain And The Faro Rally 2005 - Aftermath

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Home Travel StoriesSpain And The Faro Rally 2005 - By Ren Withnell

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