Spanish Eyes, English Words

We've been back in Spain for two weeks now, and I have to admit, I found it easier to slide back into the Spanish life than I expected. I thought I'd miss my daughter and worry about her - which I do, of course - but I find I'm happy with regular chats on the phone, and she's still making good progress, so that's fine.

Another concern was the language - I haven't spoken or read a word of Spanish in 4 months, so how would my brain cope with getting back into it? Quite well, as it happens. On my first trip into Algorfa I was able to explain our absence - in Spanish - to our favourite bar owner, so that was another hurdle cleared.

Then there was the driving. Okay, I've driven all the way through France and Spain, but it was in a UK registered, right-hand drive motor home. Would I end up on the wrong side of the road - and the law - when I got behind the wheel of my trusty Spanish Fiesta? The answer was no, and as an added bonus, it started with the first turn of the key, even though it had sat neglected for four months. Obviously the car was pleased to see us back, and wasn't going to welcome us with a fit of the sulks.

Finally, I was a bit bothered about the shopping. What if Lidl and Consum had stopped stocking our favourite products, or hidden them away somewhere in a store reorganisation? Again, nothing to worry about, even though a few of my staple foods had risen in price by a few centimos since April.

Really, I needn't have worried at all. Within a few days, it was as if we'd never been away - just as our friends had said it would be. It was just me, worrying over nothing as ususal!

After four months, we're finally back home in Spain, and something struck me this time that's never really occurred to me before. As you will know if you've been paying attention, we tend to travel by motor home, driving up through Spain and France, then reversing the process. On the way back to the UK, we also had to camp in  Shropshire, as it was convenient for the reception for my niece's wedding, so this is the first time we've camped Spanish, French and English in one trip, and we've certainly noticed some differences.

UK camp sites need to be pretty. They don't necessarily have to be full facility, but they should be located in beauty spots to attract the campers. The site we used - Riverside in Bridgnorth, Shropshire - was situated alongside the River Severn, and it was full to bursting point, even in late April, before the camping season really got going. They were also pretty hot on recycling, with bins located all over the site to encourage campers to separate their refuse.

Another thing is, UK camp sites expect you to pay before you park. As we were newly arrived in the UK, we didn't have much cash, and the site didn't have card facilities, so we had to head into Bridgnorth in search of a cashpoint as soon as we'd pitched. That's never an issue in France and Spain. If we're just staying overnight, we tend to pay up front so we don't need to hang around for the office to open in the morning, but it's not expected.

French camp sites are also often located at beauty spots - although you will see 'Aires' - motor home friendly camping areas - in the middle of towns and villages. The French are also pretty hot on recycling, and they make a point of asking if you want to order bread or croissants for 'le petit dejeuner' in the morning. Okay, you'll pay more than if you headed off to the boulangerie yourself, but it's great to breakfast on fresh croissants, without having to step off site to get them.

In one area, though, French camp sites are very different to their UK counterparts - they're much cheaper, even with full facilities. The site we used south of Bordeaux on our return journey cost less than 12 Euro for the night, including electric, showers and  use of the swimming pool.

The following night was a different story. The site we stayed on in Puzol, north of Valencia, looked like a gypsy encampment, not to put too fine a point on it. The pitches were big, but we were pitched on tarmac, with not a blade of grass in sight, and we were packed in like sardines. If it hadn't been so late - around 8.30pm - we'd have carried on, but we just had to stump up the requested 30 Euro - no, that's not a typo - and make the best of it.

Thinking back over previous trips, we've always paid more on Spanish camp sites, and they've nearly always been rather scruffy, compared to their French and UK counterparts. All that said, the site owners were very welcoming, and we got on well with the other campers, so we enjoyed our overnight stops. However, there is a big difference between the camping experiences in Spain, France and the UK. Maybe you have your own observations to add to this?

And no, we're not having a go at anyone here - we'll do it all again next time we go back to the UK. Vive la difference, as they say in France!

After four months in the UK, away from my spiritual and actual home, you'd think I'd be champing at the bit now the ferry is booked for Monday, 12th August. We sail from Plymouth to Roscoff, so we should be back in Algorfa some time on Thursday afternoon.

As the day approaches, I find myself more and more reluctant to pack up our caravan in Devon and head back. A big part of the problem is that I don't want to put water between myself and my daughter. She's made a miraculous recovery from her stroke - she's camping with friends as we speak - but I very nearly lost her, and I don't want to leave her, even though she'll probably be glad to see the back of me. She's told friends that I'm fussing over her too much - and I am - so it will probably do her good to get her independence back again.

That's not all of it, though. Everyone has been so good to us during this difficult time, and it's going to be hard to say goodbye to those friends who have cooked meals for us, plied us with drink, organised outings and generally tried to make life as enjoyable as possible under the circumstances.

And of course, the weather here has been fantastic. This time last year, we experienced four dry days during a five week visit in June and July, but this year it's been shorts and suncream all the way, so it feels more like home.

I'm sure once I board the ferry I'll be really looking forward to seeing our apartment - and our friends who have kept the garden watered and the tropical fish fed. However, at the moment, my feelings about my return to Spain are very mixed indeed. Who's a silly Sandra, then?

Yesterday, we attended the funeral of a very close friend here in the UK. We were ready to - finally - head back to Spain last week, but we had to delay our departure. Although our friend passed away on 22nd July, it wasn't possible to arrange the funeral until 7th August - that's 16 days after he died.

It wasn't even as if he died over the weekend, either. It was Monday afternoon, and his widow fully expected to collect the death certificate on Tuesday and make the necessary arrangements. However, first of all the right person wasn't there to sign it, and then the Coroner had to be informed. Although our friend was suffering from terminal cancer, as he hadn't seen a doctor in the seven days before he died, the Coroner needed to be involved, and he (or she) wasn't available for a full week. That's rather disconcerting in a city with around 300,000 inhabitants.

For all its bureaucracy, in Spain, it's possible to bury your dead within a matter of days rather than weeks, so why is the interval between death and the funeral so protracted in the UK? Not so long ago, you could reckon on a week between the death and the funeral - maybe a couple of days more if the death occurred during the weekend. Does anybody in the industry have any insight into why it takes so long to say goodbye these days?

We've been in the UK for almost four months instead of the anticipated four weeks, so when some friends suggested a girlie weekend in Folkestone, with a Booze Cruise thrown in, I was all for it. We brought plenty of wine, cava, beer and vodka over, but it was never intended to last so long, and I was getting fed up with paying £4 or more for a bottle of reasonable wine.

After just 4 hours on the road, we were pulled over by a police motorcyclist and led to an inspection centre. There, the driver was fined £60 for flying two small Union Flags in the middle of the dashboard. The police said it was an obstruction - although it really wasn't - and, not content with that, they did a 'fine tooth comb' inspection of the rest of the vehicle.

On one of the hottest days of the year, we were ordered - and I do mean ordered - to remain seated. Nobody was allowed off the coach for any reason at all. By the time we were waved on our way, we were all wilting, and we couldn't help thinking that, had the driver been flying any other flag, we wouldn't have been stopped at all.

That was bad enough, and it briefly took the shine off the whole weekend, but what happened to another coach was even worse. When the coach came off the ferry at Dover, it was pulled over to the inspection shed, and three of the passengers were ordered off the coach, along with their purchases. Then they were each put in separate rooms, and kept waiting for almost an hour, without being told why they had been singled out.

None of the passengers had excessive amounts of alcohol and tobacco, and eventually, they were allowed to return to the coach and proceed with their journey, but each of them vowed they would never make the trip again, as they felt like criminals, even though they had done nothing wrong.

European law allows people to bring in as much duty paid alcohol and tobacco as they wish, as long as it is for personal consumption or gifts, yet the British Customs insist on issuing guidelines, and confiscating goods if people exceed their arbitrary limits. And they don't just confiscate the excess - it's all taken away.

I have no time for people who make a business out of buying and selling tobacco and alcohol illegally, but there's a simple answer to the problem. Cut the duty in Britain to continental levels, and then people won't bother going abroad for their supplies, and the smugglers will be put out of business. In fact, the Treasury would probably pull in more money that way.

It's wrong that people who want to enjoy a weekend away to buy cheap booze and fags should be treated like criminals, just so the authorities can catch the odd smuggler. Smugglers don't go on coach trips. On our coach - which was full - only one person had bought anywhere near the guideline amount of alcohol, and they had a family wedding coming up.

This culture of intimidation will have wider repercussions, because it will affect the business of coach companies, ferry companies and hotels, as more and more people decide that it just isn't worth the hassle for a few bottles of wine and some cheap tobacco.