Mallorca 2015

Saturday sees us up bright and early trudging through the murky London autumnal streets to Balham railway station suitcase wheels clattering annoyingly over the paving slabs. An easy journey to Gatwick and before we know it we're driving in sunshine to Villa Beach our home for the week. Home is a beautiful spacious villa overlooking Capa Pi beach and fjord like inlet. To the left is the inlet running out to the Med and to the right the rocky gorge with trees on either side. A relaxing meal and a bottle of wine and we've forgotten all about the damp big smoke.

View from Villa Beach up the gorge

View of the beach from the villa

Villa overlooking the cove

Maya studying studiously with newfound friend

Sunset from the villa

Front of the villa

A beautifully sunny day Sunday and we trip down the flight of steps to the beach for a quick swim. Brother Duncan and family arrive and we meet up for a big pasta meal at ours before they leave for an early night having been up from the early hours. Mozzies eat well too. Next day we drive into Palma where we lunch inappropriately on pizza at a very Italian cafe before the girls go shop and me and Duncan mooch about chatting about this and that. We meet back at the imposing cathedral before driving home, the narrow way but not so straight way. We were meant to go to my brother's for paella but as it starts teeming with rain we cry off and instead stay indoors snugly.

Maya catching dates in Palma. I think.

Palma cathedral.

Everyone in Palma.

Maya, with new ring, and Lily-Rose in Palma.

The girls are amazed by the cathedral.

Duncan and Maria obviously enjoying Palma.

The brothers gone all tipsy.

The girls embarrassing us adults in Palma.

Ah, that's better...

Tuesday and all signs of rain have disappeared revealing a cloudless sky, just about, and we spend all day on the local beach. If it's this hot in October I don't think any of us would cope with the height of summer. I think that this was the day that a few drops of rain sprinkled on us. Awful. Tonight we are treated to Maria's paella which was well worth the 24 hour wait. Delicious. Next day it's beach again although the wind's picked up but we're making the most of the sun given it's going to be the last week we can bask outside in swimming gear for about 9 months. We swim and dive off rocks and the adults beat the kids at volley ball. Twice. Mainly due to sneaky shots whilst the kids are distracted. They all count. After the beach we wander over to the Shrewton Wood's place early as it's barbeque night and Duncan has the coals catching fire as we arrive. It's pretty breezy now which is good for the barbeque but after eating it drives the kids indoors to watch and unreasonable number of Shrek films whilst us adults sit around the barbeque with logs on keeping toasty. A few rumbles of thunder and some dark clouds threaten us but it's all huff and puff and we walk home under another full moon in the balmy evening air.

In our MPV on Cala Pi beach - well done Duncan!

The last of the sunloungers and sun shades - at least they were free

Sinead's Driving Lesson - with Megan hitching a ride (directed by Lily-Rose)

Debbie passes Cala Pi fort

Beautiful Cala Pi tree

Thursday we intrepidly trip eastwards through gorgeous countryside and villages that could come straight out a spaghetti western. I guess those were set in Mexico, or as it was before the good old US of A paid a pittance for much of it, and with the Spanish influence unsurprising that Mallorca reminds us of those towns. We stop at Santanyi and have coffee in the square next to the massive church whilst the kids wander about trying to find trinket shops. Successfully mostly. Then it's down to Cala Santanyi beach for swimming, sunbathing and a trip out on a pedalo complete with slide into the water. Most of the party walk up to see the Durdle Door like arched rock in the sea next to the German's sculpture. The beach is lovely and popular as surrounded by apartments and set in a lovely cove. Not very big though and must get rammed in the summer when all the apartments are full. Given the amount of Germans in Mallorca (our villa is German owned) you'd have to be up with the lark to get some space for your beach towel I'd imagine. After a half hearted game of volley ball shortened by fear of mozzies we drive back home where an early evening drink to watch the amazing sunset, as it has been every evening, preceding preparation of the evening meal as it's our turn to entertain. A mammoth meal catering to all tastes is concocted the spaghetti with tomato sauce and mushroom risotto going down best with the kids. They weren't so keen on the chick pea and lentil stew although to be fair to us cooks most kids didn't try it. An old school evening ensued of eating at the table and then the kids playing cards (to be honest after they couldn't find anything on TV) and the adults chatting. A mammoth bout of washing up ensued thereafter.

Santanyi main square.

Leaping for joy in Santanyi 

Regulation holiday album cover

Santanyi 

Santanyi cattle trough, presumably

Cala Santanyi - note girls in boat on left and cliff leaper on right

One of the Wood Family

Friday is our last day bar travelling back and the beautifully sunny morning sees myself and Duncan scrambling up rocks to walk along the coast. The views are incredible with the brilliantly blue sky meeting an equally beautiful blue green sea with only a couple of fluffy clouds on the horizon to separate the two. The walking next to the cliffs are across jagged volcanic flat rock formations that are not bad for walking but you need to keep your wits about you. One part involves the path virtually petering out above a sharp drop in all senses of the word into the sea below but we both make it there and back. After an hour and a half we rest looking out over the next headland's ancient light house stack and return along the paths which takes a lot less time. Then it's beach day in the scorching sun, well hot enough for us tender skinned families, with the adults yet again dominating the kids at volleyball, during which I crash to the ground injuring myself which what I think later is a cracked rib. I swim out to the rocky promintory with Maya and Megan although I curtail the diving to get back where we are in our depths as I am stung by a jellyfish on elbow and side and don't want to let them know in case they freak out. They do when we're back nearer the shore and Rebecca, Sinead and Lily-Rose tell us about seeing jellyfish themselves. We depart the beach for the last time trudging begrudgingly up the steps and then do some packing before tomorrow (well, me and Debbie have) and get ready for our last supper, which is a visit to the local pizzeria and we have literally the last pizzas of this holiday season before they close. And no wonder as it's outside and we're all pretty cold by the time we leave having had an assortment of pizzas and the last of the peculiarly Spanish cheesecakes. Saturday morning is another blue sky as we get ready to leave our lovely temporary home. Apart from Avis trying to rip us off at the airport and Duncan not getting his bag at Gatwick the journey home is uneventful...

Our villa is the left right hand yellow one

The bay at the start of our walk

Duncan poses in front of the local Cala Pi fort / lighthouse

Tree growing flat across the rocks

Duncan and I looking west towards Cap Blanc

They loved their stone piles here - looking out toward the Archipiélago de Cabrera

The Rolling Hills of Normandy

A last minute decision to visit Simon's gaff in France too late to get a cabin for the overnight crossing. I set off from work along the canal towpath stopping just before Angel to watch an apt act of a couple of guys on the Books on the Water barge playing French sounding jazz on a big cornet and clarinet. Lovely to listen to sat in the sun but I have to leave them to rendevous with Simon in Blackfriars before getting the 7pm to Portsmouth and then the ferry to Caen. There are a lot of cyclists on the ferry mostly looking more professional than Simon and I. After a couple of drinks and taking in the sea air we sleep fitfully on the floor before being rudely awoken by the siren and stagger bleary eyed down to breakfast. Simon has a full English, served by Frenchmen in France, and I have beans and tomato which is all they have for me. We need the energy cos it's damn windy cycling from the port of Ouistreham the ten miles to Caen itself. Simon gets a puncture after 5 miles and it starts spitting. The weather that is. After taking the scenic route through Caen we travel along the fairly direct D9 which isn't a bad road to follow as not too much traffic but the hills! My magic cycling shirt given to me by Simon on our last trip here isn't really working and I'm really struggling up the hills. They aren't steep but seem relentless and the energy drink I prepared doesn't seem to be working. Or perhaps that's the problem. It's also trying to rain off and on which doesn't help my mood. A café allongé with calva chaser (that's expresso with a bit of water and a shot of calvados to you anglophiles) gives me some temporary relief in a roadside cafe. I resist buying a pack of filterless Galloises for old times sake as I don't think it will help me on the hills. The locals wave us off looking up at the grey skies and sniggering. We stop again at Caumont l'Evente where we have a quick look in the church and I light a candle for those not with us. The priest and a few others practicing their songs adds to the atmosphere. By lunchtime the weather is better and after a biere pression we picnic next to another church where we're joined by a slightly dotty woman who we have an animated conversation with in poor French. She takes my offered banana and pops it in her bag saying that she'll make a banana tarte that afternoon. Refreshed we set off again after the bag lady picks up my dropped slice of tomato saying that someone could slip up on it. We go the long way round to Contrieres and by the time we're within striking distance I'm just about pooped and Simon gets his second puncture and decides to walk. There a loads of cars parked going into the hamlet and yep, there's a funeral at the church. With the simple sounding two bell call to church and seeing the coffin being carried in I shed an emotional tear. What the mourners must have thought of a sweaty haired bloke standing on the edge of the graveyard in tight fitting cycling top and shorts looking more morose than anyone else doesn't bear thinking about. Turns out the deceased had lived a pretty long life. By this time the sun had come out full blast so we sit in the sun trap of the back yard rather than cycle further to the beach. I read and doze and drink beer whilst Simon patches his tubes. I also realise why I struggled compared to him as my panniers weigh a ton and I have all the tools whilst his weigh about a pound. Also the slipstream behind me and my panniers must drag Simon up the hills whereas I get no protection from him. Ah well, we're relaxing now and after watching the end of today's stage of the Tour of Britain we cook dinner accompanied by a lovely red wine and then catch the decisive penultimate stage of the Vuelta. Now those hills look steep!

We're up early and start off in a grey wet chilly morning cycling directly to Saint-Lo via the less hilly route. We can't get a train from Saint-Lo which is just as well as the weather has picked up and we follow a lovely riverside path to Lison station where we await the train over a beer in the sun drying our socks on our bench. A quick train to Caen and we ride directly to the port with the wind behind us. It's another sunny afternoon so we cycle along beach and both go for a dip in the surprisingly warm sea. I say warm I mean about north Cornwall summer temperature - i.e. bloody cold but bearable. Once the on ferry we sunbathe on the sundeck deck with a couple of beers and then have a very civilised dinner over a bottle of wine. At Portsmouth we just make the train which has quite a few Bestivalites on it who seem a little grumpy as I guess they're missing the Sunday night finale. Offloading at Clapham Junction we hit the shit London traffic with lorries giving us inches to spare which just reminds us of how considerate French drivers are to cyclists. It's been a good trip and well needed. Thanks Simon!

Canal side continental jazz

Stop to take a pic of where we've come from. Mainly to gain my breath back.

The end of the Sunday's riverside path

War time allies bridge between Caen and the port

Well deserved sorbet and ice cream

Last of the Summer Wine

It's the 2014 bike ride revisited following our aborted attempt in the Spring which ended up as just me and Simon taking on the rolling Normandy hills. Pete picks me up in his van at Battersea Park and we have a good drive out of London considering it's Friday rush hour. As night comes on we pick up Simon on the Swindon slip road and also an Aussie hitcher he's met who's going to Bristol. We drop him off at the Bath turn off advising him to get a bus. After the weekend we think that he's left his laptop in the van. Poor guy. But why oh why would you hitch with a laptop? Modern life I guess. Rest of the journey to the Gower is pretty good although once there we get a little lost at one point my phone sat nav telling us we were in the estuary. So Google don't know everything about us cos we were pretty dry at the time. Eventually we see Amanda's fairy lights to guide us to her and Chris' house and we are treated to great hospitality plied with beer and wine sitting in the warm night air next to the fire pit burning Amanda's driftwood artworks.

Waiting for the man at Battersea wondering what on earth they're doing to the roundabout

I awake wishing I'd gone to bed earlier but after a great breakfast served by our hosts I'm cycling fit. Chris sets off at a ferocious pace and soon we're at Llanelli Golf Club to meet our fifth man Nick. So the peloton sets off along fairly flat roads until we reach Kidwelly where we stop off for coffee next to the castle walls. Every sizable village or town seems to have it's own castle in this part of Wales. We hit our first proper hill and as soon as we've struggled up we freewheel down to the water again at Ferryside where we forlornly search for the long gone ferry (as in decades) and so have to haul our sorry bodies up to Uplands and glide down to Carmarthen. After a couple more hills we stop at Llangain to find our bearings. Finding they are well off course in our quest to find Dylan Thomas' boat house at Laugharne we get chatting to the locals. We are persuaded to lunch at the brilliantly named Tafarn Pantydderwen pub which has a great grasp of veganism and serve me up a lovely veg chilli with half and half (rice and chips). Over our pints we are joined by three locals and a dog and get a potted history of the place, Dylan Thomas' relatives, the local characters and anyone who passes stops to find out who we are including car drivers. Caused quite a stir us five cyclists. The directions to Laugharne seem to be that we go up a very Steep Hill and then Another Steep Hill before traversing the Spiders Web of Lanes which we are warned we may never emerge from before getting on the Main Road to Bancyfelin and St Clears on the River Taf. We part with our newfound friends telling us that after the first couple of hills it's all downhill to Tenby and we'll be laughing all the way. Bracing ourselves for a Hobbit like Epic Journey we pass Dylan's old house of Fernhill before the hills and lanes which actually aren't too bad and before we know it we're in Laugharne where we resist the attempt to drink in Browns Hotel, apparently where Dylan's wife met her rough dalliances, and get to Dylan's boathouse. Well, at first we see his writing shack just down the lane from the boat house and the views across the estuary are just amazing. As Pete says, anyone could write brilliantly with those views out the window. We then have afternoon tea at the boat house which is more like a proper house and where the lad who serves us tells us the next ways we should take to Tenby. This fills us with more dread than the old guys and their Spider Web of Lanes as we have to ascend Heartbreak Hill favoured by Iron Man competitors. It seems that it's not called Heartbreak Hill due to lost loves but because of the blood pressures reached whilst struggling up it. It's officially named Pendine Hill and once reaching we think that's it but there's another vicious kick before we are treated to a gorgeous long fast descent where I have the quandary of whether to gaze at the beautiful views over Amroth and Saundersfoot or whether to watch the tarmac in front of me in case of pot holes. Safely down we go for a quick dip at Amroth in the surprisingly warm (yes, warm) waters as the sun goes down. Up and down a couple of steep hills before reaching Saundersfoot through the beach tunnels then it's up the climb to New Hedges where the family camped a couple of summers ago and we bypass Tenby by which time the night has come down and we're cycling with lights on along the main road which is a little hairy. Eventually we get to our haven for the night Manorbier Youth Hostel which is way past Tenby and worryingly next to an army firing range. Friendly staff here and it's neat and clean. Chat to a worryingly enthusiastic cyclist who wears Shimano SPD sandals and seems disappointed that we are amateurs and not that knowledgeable about cycling in general and welsh routes in particular. We order in a curry and after a couple of bottles of beer and watching Match of the Day old style (i.e. without knowing all the scores which in The Arsenal's case is nothing to write home about) we go to bed in our cosy room of bunk beds. I sleep pretty well but a couple of the lads have a restless night. Probably due to me struggling down from my bunk to visit the loo a couple of times.

Fiddling about making sure we're all set

Ready for the official "off" pic

Gower waters

Nick rendezvous

Coffee and cake at Kidwelly, with castle of course

Pill box to deter the Germans - as we kept on bumping into on last year's Kennet Canal ride

Simon's first to realise there's no ferry at Ferryside

Ahh, the rolling hills of Wales

Stop Press! Five foreigners visit Welsh village. (Pete is also counted as a foreigner in these parts)

Puffing away like a Welsh dragon

As ever we are in complete agreement as to the way...

Opposite Browns Hotel

As Pete said, who couldn't write fantastic poetry with such a view

Dylan's Writing Shack

View from the house

The Boys

Artistic shot

After a wicked climb the long blissful descent to Amroth

Amroth beach invaded by mad ageing cyclists in underpants

We wake to a gorgeous day bathing our hostel in sun and after a big vegan breakfast (much appreciated YHA foreign staff) we start off wondering if we've eaten too much what with yesterday's curry. Excess is soon burnt off with the first couple of hills. Simon and I are out front and race down a steep wide hill road perfect for head down freewheeling. It's the hill that just keeps giving and halfway down I do wonder whether the others will follow given we have to get back up somehow. At the bottom is beautiful Freshwater East beach and soon the others join us. With the glorious weather, which we overhear a local saying is the best September since they can remember which is a long time by the look of him, we go for a swim, colder than yesterday, then toast ourselves for a while. Tempting to stay here all day but we're not on a beach holiday so we jump upon our trusty steeds again. Not wanting the break the rule of not backtracking and not particularly relishing going back up the hill we've just come down we climb out of Freshwater East by the western hill. By now we are well and truly in the Pembroke hills and we climb up and scoot down a few including one which says 20% at the bottom (luckily I didn't notice that) and 25% at the top looking back down. Soon after we reach Pembroke itself. After another heartpumping climb we get up to Cleddau Bridge at Pembroke docks and cycle over for free with brilliant views in all directions. At the end we follow the signs to the local pubs and have an excellent lunch. Mine is bean chilli with half and half again following a vegan conversation with knowledgeable bar staff. With full stomachs we have to haul all that food up the next couple of hills through lovely wooded lanes. We hit the open road to climb up to the menacingly named Hill Mountain but either we're getting used to the gradients or it's not as bad as it's named. Probably the latter. Following our post breakfast testy discussion about today's route (OK, me and Simon were the main testy ones) we all decide to head for the train at Haverfordwest. We have time for a quick pint at the local station pub in a very urban beer garden before boarding the two carriage train that stops at every one horse village between here and Manchester some even being request stops. Chris Pete and I leave the train and Simon and Nick at Gowerton for the half hour cycle ride back to Chris' place where a hot shower, a beer and tasty meal awaits. Thanks Amanda that was appreciated more than you can imagine. As our exertions are taking their toll we're in bed by 10.30 to sleep like logs.

Our ex army youth hostel

Pete's keeping and eye on me so I don't give him the jump

Rolling hills of Pembrokeshire

The Fabled Bronzed God-Like Cyclists of Freshwater East

You can take the man out of Zummerzet but you can't... oi! get orf moi beech!

Nick laughs in the face of at 25%er. It's surely not a grimace?

View from Pembroke bridge

More from Pembroke bridge

Hill Mountain is but a pimple on the face of west Wales to us hardened climbers

Our last directions discussion

Nick and Chris out for the count, Simon raring to go. Not sure where

Monday is overcast and after a quick breakfast Pete and I say our farewells to Chris and Amanda and hit the M4 with a detour to visit Pete's folks and a cup of team. Our cycling egos are deflated as Pete's dad tells us he used to cycle around Pembrokeshire on his fixie and who's idea of a cycling weekend was to London and back. Ah well, maybe bikes were lighter back then? Soon we're back in the big smoke and I show Debbie our snaps. Her verdict is that it reminds her of Last of the Summer Wine. I assume that she's referring to the landscape and not that we are five old blokes cycling up and down hills with knobbly knees? Or the fact that we drank the last dregs of Chris and Amanda's top tasting red.

Jerseys. I was voted the polka dot as I never pushed the bike up a hill which I'm irritatingly proud of. Green is a toss up between Pete and Simon for reckless hill descending. White, although traditionally for the best youngster let's award it to the person who cycles least and who we are all well impressed at putting in a 100 miles over two days. Congratulations Nick. Chris can wear the red race number as the most aggressive rider - both for the pace he set and for shaking his fist at drivers the most. Yellow? We don't care about the individual as this is a team sport and we were all winners. Oh sod that. I would've been first to Haverfordwest station if Pete hadn't pulled my jersey just as I was about to sprint so it went to either Simon or Chris. Also I'm sure that all four of them have been on the EPO as there was lots of rustling of blood bags when I once went into the hostel room.

The route. Steepest hill starts at the green pointer just past Pendine climbing before whizzing down to Amroth beach for our evening swim. See here: http://connect.garmin.com/jsPlayer/601830457

Our route - stopped for the night at the southernmost squiggle

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