When we first arrived at this campsite, we were very dubious about it but, after four nights, it has grown on us. It is surprisingly quiet and comfortable and although Olhao town does not have a lot to recommend it, there are other places of interest to visit. We would happily stay here another time.
Having paid our bill, we journey down the coast to visit the nearby port of Fuzeta. This was described in the Olhao tourist information as an unspoilt port and worthy of a visit. However, we didn't know that Sunday was market day – a large market occupying the side of the road through the town that we were travelling on. We did wonder why the traffic was so heavy! After a somewhat difficult navigation of the town, we found ourselves driving out the other side without stopping. We drove on until it was approaching lunchtime and I randomly chose to take a road off the main road that was signposted to a beach at Cacela Velha. This turned out to be an inspired choice as Cacela Velha was a tiny, unspoilt village with lovely views in both directions along the coast. We parked with a number of other motorhomers that were obviously free camping in a field just below the village. We walked around and then went back to Henrietta for lunch.
Abu Omar ibn Darrag (958 – 1088) was born in Cacela and was its most famous resident. He became the poet of the court of Almancor. Here is one of his poems:
“Say to Spring: Spread out your mantle of clouds and fill the sails with wind over the places where my childhood games took place.
Don't stay away, o Spring, as my tears are flowing after you in long waves.
Mix the perfume of my welcome with the moisture of your cloud and sprinkle it on all those whom I love.”
Rather good, isn't it? You even get education and culture on this blog!
We had to resist the temptation to stay the night there but we wanted to push on Seville. We would certainly return to Cacela Velha and it would be a lovely spot to spend the night, with excellent coastal walks and two good restaurants in the village.
Having crossed over into Spain, the first part of the afternoon journey was along a coastal plain, flat and full of orange groves, blossoming almond trees and acres (or should I say hectares) of poly-tunnels – this is where a great deal of English supermarket fruit and vegetables come from. Now, I know that I said that I wasn't going to mention storks again, but I am going to break my word. We drove for miles passed high-voltage electricity lines where every pylon had a stork's nest on the top. Some had as many as four nests on a single, relatively small, pylon clinging to the arms as well as on the top. There was at least one with three separate nests occupied by storks. I have never seen so many storks' nests or storks.
So far, the day had been great but, just like the England v Wales match, the last quarter went rapidly down hill. We followed directions to the campsite north of Seville but couldn't find any signs to it, nor indeed, of it. I stopped to fill up with cheap Spanish diesel (the only commodity that we have found cheaper in Spain than in Portugal) and asked about the campsite. “Closed” came the reply and the impression was that it was permanently closed. This was the only campsite in Seville and that gave us a problem. In the Camperstop Europe guide, we found one outside Seville in Alcala de Guadaira and decided to head for that. We should be able to get in to Seville from there by train or bus. Unfortunately, the address wasn't precise and the place that the sat nav took us to was the edge of a park with no sign of a campsite. As luck would have it, I saw a park ranger on a motorbike and approached him. He didn't speak English but quickly established that we were looking for the campsite. Unable to explain the directions, he indicated that we should follow him and we were soon at the campsite. However, we were not impressed. From the outside it looked run-down and we were greeted by a very overweight man with a fag dangling from the corner of his mouth. Still we had little choice, so we went in to find a pitch. At least half the site was semi-derelict with many of the permanent 'bungalows' having no roofs. We found a pitch and tried to hook up to the electricity – there was no power and the other side of the box had the panel detached and bare wires showing. We moved on to another pitch and tried every one of the spare sockets and none of them worked. We decided to move to yet another pitch. This was a big mistake and the afternoon got worse. I managed to break the moulding around the awning and scrape the very top edge of the van on a piece of metal sticking out from one of the derelict cottages – not too much damage but very annoying. And still there was no power. In the end we discovered that the 240v supply in Henrietta had tripped, probably due to the first dodgy power panel.
So we settled down for the evening in the worst campsite that we have had so far, with the rain coming down, sounds of frequent gunshots nearby and the howl of a wolf (well that is what it sounded like) very close. And to cap it all, we were paying over €17 per night compared with €10 in Olhao.
Photos: The view east along the coast towards Olhao and Faro from Cacela Velha; The church and village pump in the square at Cacela Velha.
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