The Custom House

We are heading for a disused building at the end of a 3 mile dirt road known as the Custom House. I have been unable to discover much of its history other than that it was a Guardia Civil barracks. This police organisation was, and still is, responsible for customs, anti-smuggling and counter drug operations.

The road itself is in reasonable condition apart from ruts cause by heavy rain that no longer merit repair as the Custom House is not used. Here are some of our group walking along the better part of the track.

At its highest point the road provides a good view over Cartagena bay and the Custom House itself on the edge of the sea. The road then meanders down and around the hills so has few really steep sections.

Close-up , the Custom House building is in good repair but securely boarded up. It gave the Guardia Civil officers a good view over the bay. It’s on a long distance footpath and in such a lovely position, it’s a shame it can’t be used as a walkers’ hostel – or even a retirement home for Guardia Civil 

Thus far is the easy part: we now strike across country on rough footpaths before reaching another unmetalled road that takes us back to our starting point. As an example, we need to descend to this pretty bay and up the other side. 

Here we go down into the gully, thankfully in part on concrete steps. Tough walkers like us don’t need handrails! 

It’s up and down from bay to bay all the way as we follow the coast. We’re all pretty warm by now. Here’s an up section. Two of the party have mountain climbing experience and are super-fit, but are kind enough to pace back with the rest of us. Good to know we’re taking our own rescue team with us!

The shore stretches give us good views of the blue, clear sea. Ships use the bay area to anchor in sheltered waters while waiting to enter Cartagena harbour, which is a deep water anchorage for freight and cruise ships as well as being the Mediterranean headquarters of the Spanish Navy.

After several miles we turn inland and start the big climb up to the return road. We are grateful for this rest stop half way up. Sweets all round. 

Last obstacle before the road is the Broken Rocks. We take the path around the top end as the other, middle path, is scrambly and slow.

At the dirt road there is a wide panorama; it’s an empty, barren landscape, but awesome at the same time. We passed the ruined walls of animal pens and cultivation terraces on the way but it’s impossible to image how farming here could sustain a living in past times with so little soil and an annual rainfall of only 8 inches, much of which would be in run-off deluges.

We finish at the cantina in the local village, with good coffee, cold beer and salmonella–rich tapas. We savour a part of real Spain (but not the tapas).

A Coast Walk at Bol Nuevo

Bol Nuevo is a coastal area about 10 miles from our campsite. There is a selection of dirt roads and trails running by the sea and also inland. We decide to start along the coast and loop back via the interior. There are some strange pillars carved by the wind in the soft sandstone. The example below shows Jane and Elaine walking past one. Vehicles occasionally use this road and risk ending up in the sea on a dark night or in bad weather.

A little farther on is a nudist beach. It’s a little chilly this morning so I can take photos of this lovely bay without being labelled a Peeping Tom.

The halfway point is a small decayed harbour where we stop for our packed lunch. This was used from the 18^th century onwards to carry stone quarried locally to construct fine buildings in the city of Cartagena. The remaining scattered blocks of the jetty wall are visible in the foreground.

Now we head inland and gain height. The sea is never far away and we get some pretty panoramas. Always visible somewhere in a long-distance shot in this area is the white plastic of the tomato greenhouses. The workers, mainly Moroccan, are bussed in each day. Who eats all these tomatoes?

Nearly back now, as we descend towards this picturesque bay and headland with the red rocks. There was a proposal several years ago to create a Disney World 20 miles along this largely unspoiled coast. I’ll settle for the plastic tomato greenhouses every time!

We finish with a drink at the Oasis café. Another good walk completed.

A Stiff Walk

We have just arrived and bump into Jan our walking group leader. He says his last organised walk of the season is in two days’ time, in the Espuna National Park. It’s the toughest walk we do, so we’re in at the deep end!

Espuna is a good hour away from the campsite, and the group arrives at the starting point around 11.30 am, having stopped for coffee on the way. We are at 2,650 feet and start the route,  heading ever upwards.

We are in the tail-end Charley group. Should have broken in my brand new boots with something less strenuous. The weather and scenery are delightful although the ascent is on narrow, steep and rough paths most of the time.

After two hours continuous climbing we are approaching the highest point, just over 4,000 feet.

The views now are far reaching with some distant, hazy, snowy peaks. The near rocks fall away quite steeply.

The trail down is longer but easier in both gradient and path surface. It’s also more forested so with less views.

After the walk we are booked in for a 3:00 pm lunch at a local restaurant. This is by no means late for Spain. The menu del dia, a set lunch menu @ 11 euros per head (£9.50), consists of these courses: salad, starter, main course, sweet, coffee, with beer, wine and water to drink with the meal. Baskets of fresh bread are provided. White table cloths. Generous portions. How can they possibly do it for that price?

An excellent walk notwithstanding the blister from my new boots. It was interesting to note a few days later the weather turned colder with some rain, which the weather forecast declared would fall as snow above 4,000 feet- the top elevation we reached on the walk.

France & Spain 2019: Start: Tuesday 5th March

We delayed our departure by one day due to forecast high winds. Caravans and gales don’t mix: Tuesday was breezy but towable.

Wrapped up in our concerns about the wind, we are oblivious to other road users’ problems. 8 miles of lorry queues leading to Calais ferry and tunnel terminals indicate that there were other issues around.

BBC news told us that French customs were working to rule. We wonder how long the queues will be after Brexit!

We left Calais and the waiting lorries, and drove on two hundred miles to our first stop, a municipal site at Chalons en Champagne. Our short stay here creates the “guess what this is” photo underneath.

Answer: it’s the caravan entrance door lock, and it’s been mangled. Evidently someone tried to force the lock during the night, but thankfully didn’t succeed. However, the front door is now unlockable from the outside so one of us needs to stay with the van at motorway services or on campsites.

We phoned Swift, the caravan manufacturer. Polite, but not really interested in providing a solution. Pioneer, on the other hand, where we bought the van, were much more proactive and are arranging for a new lock to be sent to our destination campsite in Spain. So it’s not really such a disaster.

Heading on down through France into northern Spain, we spend a few days near Barcelona. NIce site, near the beach, but you have to cross the railway line first, and then take the footpath that runs right alongside the tracks. Probably wise not to swing your arms as you walk!

Our last night halt is at Benidorm.  The approach to Benidorm runs through some stark but attractive scenery. Our campsite here was chosen for convenience rather than ambience: the abiding impression is one of tight pitches crammed with campers and equipment, all set in narrow access lanes. Something resembling a refugee camp.

On the road early next day and an easy two hours to our destination, Camping Los Madriles. No comparison with the previous site. We find a roomy pitch with a sea view.

It must be our tenth visit here, a home from home, and we’ll stay until the end of April. Now let’s relaaaaaaax.

The Texas Riviera

Theodore Koch was a land developer who saw an opportunity to create a seaside resort in the Kingsville area. In 1907 he bought coastal land from the King Ranch estate and established a small town alongside the railroad track that ran a few miles from the coast. He called the town Riviera after the French Riviera where he’d once had a nice holiday. His angle was to promote the town and sell parcels of land for housing and business in the town itself and also on the coast where the name became Riviera Beach.

It’s nevertheless a popular boating and fishing destination with numerous piers for the anglers. There must be plenty of fish as there are flocks of white pelicans around.

There’s a park along the sea edge with mesquite trees growing at the oddest angles. It seems to be nothing to do with the prevailing wind, it’s just how they grow. Maybe to do with the alcoholic content of the soil.

There was a beach of sorts with sand, running for about 100 yards. Very pleasant, but not likely to put Saint Tropez out of business.

 There were some good birding trails and we enjoyed the sea air, so actually had a splendid couple of hours there. Travelling back to Kingsville we passed through another of Koch’s towns, a village really, called Vattman. No, they didn’t charge a tax to pass through.

Back in Kingsville town, we came across an up-market leather shop run by, guess who, the King Ranch Company, with every kind of leather goods imaginable including saddles that were made in the shop itself. You could watch the guy working. Couldn’t comfortably take any photos there but was able to sneak one of the ladies cowboy boots. Beautifully made if that’s what you’re looking for.

We move on from Kingsville to arrive at Dallas on Saturday, then to Washington DC on Tuesday for a couple of days with Ralph & family, including a Thanksgiving dinner (Nov 22nd) with Kelly’s parents.

Kingsville

We’re starting back towards Dallas where we hand back the camper in a week’s time. Kingsville is on the route so we stop here to see one of the biggest ranches in the USA, the King ranch, weighing in at 825,000 acres.

Richard King the founder was born in 1824.  At the age of 11 he ran away to sea as a stowaway. On discovery, he persuaded the captain to make him cabin boy. Although with little formal education, he was smart, and by the age of 21 was a captain in his own right. By 24 he owned his own boat and traded profitably along the Rio Grande River in partnership with several others.

In 1852 King came north on horseback to the Lone State Fair in Corpus Christi and noted that the only water he passed was at a Santa Gertrudis Creek. He thought it would be an ideal location for cattle raising. The next year, with a partner called Lewis, he bought 15,500 acres at 2 cents an acre. In 1855 Lewis was shot following a romantic dispute and King bought Lewis’ share from his estate. The accumulation of land had begun.

This is the creek that drew King to buy his first acres.

The earliest surviving ranch building is in elegant Spanish style. Many of King’s workers were Hispanic, a whole Mexican village having been recruited early on to work on the ranch.

We took a tour of the ranch- obviously only a small section- which promised to give an idea of how it was run and their types of cattle and horses. Unfortunately, the size of even this small part proved its undoing as, in most instances, the animals appeared as tiny dots on the far side of enormous fields. Texas is generally flat and this region is no exception, so not much scenery either. Rather like driving through the fens.

Well, we did see a Weaver’s cottage where the horse saddle blankets were made until recently, and the loom. It took about a week to make each one. Presumably the Chinese now make them for a fraction of the price.

This is an odd patent, a gate that shuts itself but whacks the tail of your vehicle if you drive through too fast. It’s a way of regulating the impatience of the many contractors and visitors to the ranch.

 This giant catapult- it’s about 10 feet tall- is what cowboys used for securing a lassoed cow. The rope goes through the “Y” and is tied to the upright. 

There were some good wild deer views. Ironic that the wild animals were more visible than the cattle and horses.

To cater for American tastes they allow hunting on the ranch, and in front of some of the estate cottages the hunters have built rather gruesome towers of antlers.

 Heavy machinery is used to clear the scrub every 10 years, and for the crop production, but the cattle are still managed by cowboys on horseback. The horses, called quarter horses, are specially bred for cattle work. A film before the tour showed the prize-winning King quarter horses in action cutting out single cattle from the herd. It would have been good to see these horses close-up, but the tour bus sped by so a faraway shot is where it’s at. They could be milkmen’s horses at this distance.

The ranch also breeds champion cattle and registered the first new American breed in 1940, the Santa Gertrudis. The cattle photos on the range look like just any other cows, but there are mounted Santa Gertrudis bulls heads in the museum that are more impressive, as if they had charged through the wall together.

The Ranch was reasonably Interesting, but could have been much more so given closer views of the animals, and with stops to do so, accompanied by a more relevant and enthusiastic commentary from the guide. Only 2 out of 5 stars I’m afraid.

Days Out

Some trips we made don’t merit a full blog, so what follows is a selection of these.

As mentioned before, Texas has the greatest number of butterfly species in the USA, so what could be more fitting than having the National Butterfly Center in Texas. It was just down the road. We’d seen some superb butterfly gardens already, so were expecting something special. But, disappointment: it’s all a bit run down. Even the entry logo is partly hidden by shrubs, and looks more like a cemetery entrance.

We were expecting enclosures with specific habitats for different species, but found it was all in the open with the same butterfly bushes we had seen elsewhere, therefore with the same butterflies.

However, the bird watching was good. The green jay is so colourful, and is peering straight at the camera.

These creatures look like chickens with long tails. They live in noisy flocks in the trees. It’s called plain chachalaca. The bird book doesn’t mention if there’s a fancy chachalaca.

The squirrel is unimpressed by all of them. He’s had a busy morning nutting and is now flat out in the heat of the afternoon.

Let’s not be too mean minded about the butterflies, so we’ll include one pretty photo that reminds me of a kaleidoscope.

A solitary picture from the next excursion- to the seaside. A boiling hot day, so we go to South Padre Island that is linked to the mainland by a bridge. We took a picnic and walked for several miles along the Gulf of Mexico sea shore, with paddling thrown in.

That was Friday: Saturday the temperature plummets from 92F to 54F (33C to 12C). It’s caused by the northerly air flow and is unseasonably cold. We tog up and go to a museum in the local town of Harlingen.

Harlingen was founded by a Mr Lon C. Hill who was a lawyer with a finger in numerous pies. Before he arrived in 1904

it was a crossroads called Rattlesnake Junction. Hill quickly turned his talents to setting up and running many types of business. The next two photos show, firstly, his house and then the interior of one of the rooms. Surprisingly sophisticated and elegant given the frontier nature of the town.

You might think I wasn’t such a hazardous place to live after all- until you read the next picture caption.

It reads “Sugar mill built by Lon Hill in 1911 and burned by Mexican bandits 1917.” Bandits with a sweet tooth evidently.

In 1923 two nurses opened a hospital in Harlingen. Rooms were $5 a day.

This is the operating theatre. Saturday operations drew large crowds of spectators peering through the windows.

 And the dentist’s xray machine, looking like a Starwars death ray – which it was, in a way.

In a reconstructed cabin elsewhere in the museum, we spot an 1880 doughnut maker. Junk food isn’t so recent then.

There was a lot more to see in the Rio Grande Valley than was first apparent.

We move off in a few days, moseying back in the direction of Dallas from whence we picked up the motorhome. The weather’s got even a little colder with the first frost projected for next Tuesday night.