Following a little pre-trip research, I had a target in mind of a wildlife reserve called the Aula Natura de la Marjal de Gandia. However, today having been kicked off with a spot of  pilates -by Francine rather than by me, you understand – our morning was mostly gone so it was a little late to head for Gandia, which is most of the way to Valencia. So, our fine hosts suggested heading inland, over a twisty, turning mountain road to a place called Val d’Ebo. Here, there was reportedly a river for some critters and a good little restaurant for some lunch. However, Chris warned us to be careful how much food we ended up with: “just got for the tapas without the main course; say solo tapas por favor”, he advised. Right. Off we set.

In fact, it would have been quicker to drive along the autovia to Gandia than over the twisty, turning mountain road to Val d’Ebo. However, we finally arrived and drove into town/village over the river bridge. Did I say river? All we saw was dry, sun-bleached white boulders with no water flowing across them. Not promising for critters. Nonetheless, we parked and began investigating, noting first our proposed lunch venue. Wandering through the village, we ended up down at the river bed where we did find some remaining pools of water that were no longer flowing. They were there, though, and so were a seven species of dragonfly including several additions to our vestigial Spanish list. Here, we added:

• White Featherleg (Platycnemis latipes)
• Goblet-marked Damselfly (Erythromma lindenii)
• Keeled Skimmer (Orthetrum coerulescens)

together with an interesting Skimmer that was either a Southern Skimmer (Orthetrum brunneum) or a Yellow-veined Skimmer (Orthetrum nitidinerve). More research/opinion needed – watch this space.

Satisfied, we returnerd to our lunch venue and ordered, as instructed, “solo tapas, por favor”. A salad arrived, complete with the obligatory bread and allioli [garlic mayonaise]. We began eating. A plate of squid rings and fish balls arrived. Yum! Some pickled anchovies arrived, garnished with anchovy-stuffed olives. Excellent! Albondigas [meatballs] turned up with a few token mushrooms. I’m particularly fond of albondigas. Something whose name I forget but which resembles small meat patties arrived, complete with a few homemade pork sausages. We were full. Pork chuletas [chops] were presented next, garnished with some grilled courgettes/zucchini. I’m sure I’ve forgotten something but we couldn’t move.

We’d washed what we could manage down with a couple of beers and a couple of glasses of rosado [pink wine]. €30 the lot; great value but far too much for a lunch where we are concerned.

We wobbled our way back to the car and drove back over the twisty, turning mountain road to refresh ourselves in the pool … after the food had settled, of course.

This trip through to Spain in August was inspired by several things. In no particular order, they were:

1. to experience some proper Spanish summer temperatures;
2. to see something of the Jalon fiesta (it’s a week long);
3. to help our host Chris celebrate his birthday.

We’ve been doing #1 since we arrived – the skies have been blue and the daytime temperatures have been consistently hitting >30°C/86°F. When we arrived, even Chris’s swimming pool temperature was up at 34°C/94°F.

Today we took care of both #2 and #3 in one visit to a downtown Jalon restaurant in the company of ~14 other revellers, to sit in the street and destroy a selection of Spanish tapas. Being a celebration, we also destroyed several beers, several bottles of vino and a bottle or so of Soberano [Spanish brandy].

Having visited several times, we are familiar with the look of the Jalon town square over which our chosen restaurant looks. Today, though, the town square looked very different. The central fountain structure was covered in wood/metalwork. The square itself was covered with a layer of sand and all the businesses surrounding the square, including the bank, farmacía [chemist/drugstore] and restaurants/bars were shielded by large iron bars enclosing a walkway with seating areas above. The reason for these fortifications? The Spanish obsession with bulls.

A large part of the week-long fiesta is daily sessions of so-called bull running. Since we are not talking about an actual bull fight finishing in blood and gore, I was keen, though a little apprehensive, to witness it. After some food – fear not, our table was in the street at the back side of the restaurant rather in the path of the bulls – a firework was let off signalling the approach of the bull. Francine and I wandered through the restaurant to the front, safely behind the ironwork, for our first taste of a Spanish fiesta.

The bull was let into the ring. It was a truly magnificent looking creature, shining a glorious black. We were later told that they were oiled to improve their appearance. The bulls are bread for fiestas such as this and, of course, for the more blood-thirsty bull fights, and are quite unlike any bulls I’ve ever seen anywhere else. This fabulous creature deserved respect. Naturally, where the Spanish are concerned, respect is precisely what it didn’t get.

The bull was not the only creature in the ring, though it may well have been the most intelligent creature in the ring. Along with the bull, and competing with it vis-a-vis levels of testosterone, were half a dozen young studs. Their job was to taunt the bull unmercifully to enrage it and make it charge, whereupon they would show it a clean pair of heels and flee to safety of several wooden frameworks, either behind or atop them. From their king of the castle positions, they would continue taunting the hapless bull. This all seemed to delight the crowd above and behind the safe ironwork.

When I say “safe”, all things are relative. One spectator was leaning through the ironwork taking pictures. One problem with staring through the viewfinder of a camera is that one’s attention is focussed and one tends not to see surrounding action ones direct field of view. Such was the case with our snapping spectator. Big though they are, these beautiful bulls are lightening fast. Quite suddenly, the bull snapped its head around and attempted to gore the photographer. The photographer leapt back through the bars, rapidly followed by one of the gleaming bull’s horns. The bull tossed its head. Its horn, doing a quick upper cut, didn’t quite contact the guy’s thigh but it did rip his shorts. I’m ashamed to say I found myself baying for blood – human blood. I’m always on the side of the critters.

I’d had enough and retreated to the safety of our table; a bit like burying my head in the sand, I suppose, pretending the action in the next street wasn’t happening. What began as a vaguely intriguing spectacle descended swiftly into something I regarded as abhorrent.

I really don’t understand how people can treat animals in such a demeaning manner and derive pleasure from it.

When we were here at Jalon in Spain in early May this year, we spotted a pair of Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii) beside Las Salinas, a lagoon in Calpe on the coast. I was a little surprised because the water is probably salt or, at best, brackish, hence the name. To see whether or not this sighting was an aberration, we returned this morning.

No, not an aberration. While our hosts were shopping, Francine and I wandered along the edge of Las Salinas where we disturbed Red-veined Darters on a regular basis, finally counting 21 in various states of maturity. This one is an immature male just beginning to turn red. I now see that my dragonfly bible does mentions Red-veined Darters and coastal lagoons in the same sentence.

Las Salinas is better known, though, for its Greater Flamingos.

In the afternoon I returned to the local Jalon river to show Francine where I’d been rummaging around yesterday and to use her as my spotter. At one of the fords that had produced nothing the previous day – at least, nothing that I’d seen – Francine saw a blue flash whiz past. We lost sight of it, as is not uncommon. While looking for it though, we did disturb a Scarlet Darter/Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea).

Our blue flash returned. I spent about 15 minutes trying to get a decent vantage point to snap it as it spent a similar amount of time avoiding being snapped. Eventually I had to resort to getting my walking shoes very wet wading in the ford to get an angle. My first thought looking through the lens was Southern Darter (Orhetrum brunneum), it was the same colouration, but it didn’t look quite right – too narrow in the abdomen. Back chez Chris and Yvonne consulting  my bible again, I suspect that what we have here is a so-called Epaulet Skimmer (Orthetrum chrysostigma). This is an African species that has made it into southern Spain.

It’s a good job the weather is hot and sunny, my shoes dried by the time we’d walked home.

.

After yesterday’s scare with our engine-shaped warning light in the car, today when I started the car all appeared to be normal. I’m going to be nervous for some time.

As this is our first visit in the midst of dragonfly season, I wanted to go and investigate the Riú Xaló-Gorgos, the river which flows through the valley and Jalon itself. We’ve seen the river swell to a fierce torrent capable of washing cars downstream in the winter months but now, in summer, it is a much calmer affair. There are several fords, hence the cars being bowled downstream, all of which are now largely dry, and the flow rate is much slower. My plan was to park in town and walk upstream towards a dammed area which widens out into a modestly sized lake.

I followed the river checking various areas where I could access the water as I came across them. Nothing, not a sausage, pas un chat as the French say. I wonder what the equivalent Spanish phrase might be?

Once far enough upstream, I fought my way through the undergrowth to a wider area of water just beneath the dam. Still nothing, still not a sausage, encore pas un chat as the French continue to say.

Fearing that this river might not actually support any populations of Odonata, I moved up above the dam and fought my way through yet more undergrowth and tall grasses in an effort to get somewhere near the water’s edge. Ah ha, finally I disturbed a dragon, a Broad Scarlet/Scarlet Darter (Crocothemis erythraea). These brilliant red dragonflies can be seen in the UK on occasion but I’m most used to seeing them in the south of France. Beside the Scarlet, perched just over the water, was another one of my friends that does occur commonly in England, a Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum).

My best find of the afternoon, however, was a little further back from the water where I discovered one of my favourites, a Violet Dropwing/Violet-marked Darter (Trithemis annulata). These rather gaudily pink males are colourful at any time but in the lighting conditions here, this one looked spectacular, I thought. Very happy snapper!

I did also spot a Blue-tailed Damselfly which remains a bit of a mystery. There are two possible suspects in this neck of the woods, the “regular” Blue-tailed Damselfly/Common Bluetail (Ischnura elegans) and the Iberian Bluetail (I. graellsii), both of which look painfully similar. Just to make life even more challenging, in areas where the two species overlap, as here, they apparently hybridize. I think I’m going to need a targeted photo, now that I know what to look for, to decide what I think they are – assuming I can find them again, of course.

Today was always going to prove interesting because we would be travelling through a large chunk of Spain for the first time. As it turned out, it proved a lot more interesting than expected.

We’d chosen our routes to and from Spain to cross the Pyrenees in two different places, hoping to see more of the sights crossing some of the higher mountain cols [passes]. Our morning weather was cloudy so our first decision was whether to actually bother going up over the col or just to use the almost 9kms/5mls Somport Tunnel. As we neared the real mountains, the skies were clearing a little so we chose the col.

The high points of the Pyrenees mark the actual border between France and Spain. Once over the border, the change of architecture and atmosphere make it quite obvious that you are now in a different country.

Being in strange territory armed only with an out of date satnav, we were feeling a little exposed and decided to call into a fuel station to buy a road map of Spain. Francine found one she liked the look of and we set off again. Something looked wrong on the dashboard. Surely that little warning light in the shaped of an engine block shouldn’t be on? Bother! (Or words to that effect.) Francine consulted the manual. Paraphrasing slightly:

You may have a problem with one of the engine’s emission control systems. The car may feel normal but you may be putting out too many emissions that may damage the vehicle further. When safe to do so, pull over and stop. restart the engine three times with a >30 second pause in between. If that doesn’t clear the fault, go to your nearest dealer to get it checked. Avoid hard accelerations. The fuel consumption may be affected.

I tried the stop and restart routine to no avail, as expected. We were now driving through a high (1200m/3700ft) plateau which looked like the bread basket of Spain with harvested cornfields to either side. I wasn’t really keen on being delayed here and, as indicated, the car did feel perfectly normal. I checked the fuel consumption and that also looked normal. We decided to drive gently and try to make our destination, Jalon, about 6 hours/300miles/480kms down the road. Once on a delightfully underused free autovia [motorway], I set the cruise control to 60mph/96kmh and continued, silently muttering prayers to Gods in which I don’t believe.

Approaching 1:00 PM, the warning light having been glowing steadily for the last 3 hours, I pulled off to fill up with fuel and have lunch, which we’d cunningly brought with us in the form of two boxes of tuna and rice salad. We filled the tank then, with the temperature at a windy 34°C/86°F, we stopped in a small amount of shade on the station’s forecourt to empty the boxes of salad.

Our lunch stop at the fuel station had been about 20 minutes. We strapped ourselves back in and I started the car. Miracle of miracles, the engine-shaped warning light was not now glowing at me. We clambered back on the autovia where the engine-shaped warning light continued not to glow at me all the way across to Valencia and down the remaining hour and a quarter to Jalon, where we arrived, mightily relieved, at 4:30 PM.

If we suffer a recurrence and I do have to get it checked, at least we’d now be comfortable and among friends.

Phew!

After a day recuperating in the Marais Poitevin with Mike, today we were on the road again heading for the Pyrenees. Our target was a little walled town called Navarrenx towards the western end of the mountain chain. We set off at about 9:00 AM after a simple breakfast of bread and jam with the all-important coffee at our great value B&B in Arçais.

Satnavs really can be spectacularly stupid. Leaving Arçais, ours decided to ignore a perfectly sensible tarmac road and send us down what I can only describe as a farm track with grass growing down the middle, which eventually turned into an unsurfaced rough stone track. The speed limit may technically have been 90kmh/56mph, which may have saved a second or two over the sensible route, but much more than 20kmh was out of the question. Nonetheless, we eventually made it to the autoroute and began heading south towards Bordeaux.

With the heavy travel weekend now behind us, we expected today to be considerably easier and so it was, at first. We even sailed through the toll booths north of Bordeaux with very little delay. Then we stopped. The autoroute section forming a ring road around Bordeaux was locked solid. We eventually stuttered our way around and popped out of the south side of Bordeaux about an hour later. A stalled car in one lane wasn’t helping on one section but essentially, this was that most English of problems: too much traffic and too little road. The roads around Bordeaux are broken.

Approaching the Pyrenees, Sally Satnav got confused again but this time through no fault of her own. Her maps are two years out of date and the French have clearly been making some improvements. Poor Sally was trying to have us turn into junctions that no longer existed courtesy of what appeared to be a new dual carriageway. Navigation Officer Francine had to take over with a more modern real map.

After a much harder day than I’d expected, we checked in to our pre-booked Logis hotel in Navarrenx at about 5:30 PM and sat on the local square unwinding with two beers – each, that is.

A local supermarket was open and netted us a bottle of rosé to see us through to meal time, when the hotel’s restaurant produced Francine some excellent scallops and, of course, another bottle of wine.

Maybe now we’d be able to face tomorrow’s crossing of the Pyrenees.

We are no strangers to the Marais Poitevin since it one of our regular stopping points in France, both to visit friends and to hunt dragonflies. It’s a flat, rural landscape perfect for exploring on bicycles which we normally have with us. This one-day visit is very different, though, since we aren’t camping and are not carrying our bikes. Mike suggested that we take a walk and investigate one part of the marsh more slowly on foot.

Mike led us down through Arçais and round one of his favourite routes of about 5kms/3mls. It started rather unpromisingly on a tarmac covered lane but soon struck off onto tracks that began to look more Odo-friendly. Our trip is different in another way in that it is teh first time we’ve visited this area in August. Not only is it the height of the tourist season but it might provide a different collection of critters.

Our first interesting customer, i.e. one that we hadn’t seen here before, was a very well positioned Winter Damselfly (Sympecma fusca).

Next up was a Darter. Back chez nous it would be either a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) or a Ruddy Darter (S. sanguineum) but there are more to choose from here so one has to look a little more closely.  After a little considered thought I realized that this was the first of several Southern Darters (S. meridionale) that we would see.

Both these Odos were new to my list for the Marais Poitevin.

Back chez Mike while being well refreshed, we were entertained watching Violet Bees on Mike’s Passion Flowers. Violet Bees are particularly large and the Passion Flowers, which fit them perfectly, seem to be designed to be pollinated specifically by them. Here’s a couple of shots showing a bee at work.

And now for something completely different.

I had originally booked our usual ferry to La Belle France for June, plus the normal week or two either side. However, my subsequent deciding to stick around in the UK to get a cataract sorted out caused a re-planning exercise. Since our friends in Spain, Chris, Yvonne and el perrito, Scamp, had offered their hospitality in early August to help celebrate Chris’s birthday and to experience both the Jalon fiesta and the Spanish August heat, we gleefully rearranged our outbound ferry for August 3rd.

Our plan is to drive through France and cross the western Pyrenees into Spain at the Somport pass taking three days to complete the 1200-mile journey. Although less than direct, day 1, today, takes us to friend Mike in Arçais where we’ll stay on Sunday to recoup and reminisce before heading further south to the Pyrenees on Monday. Calais to Arçais is a long day of about 450mls/720kms so our ferry was at a disgustingly early 7:30 AM from Dover. Our alarm was at an even more disgusting 3:00 AM to be on the road by 4:00 AM to arrive on time.

Now, although I am fond of banging on about how delightful it is driving on French roads where, compared to England, there is relatively little traffic, there are exceptions. The French, bless them, have controlled holiday seasons when the entire population of France rises up and hits the roads heading for their chosen holiday destinations. Such coordinated mass exoduses cause bedlam. The French Bison Futé organization produces a calendar of of circulation difficile [difficult driving] days. The days are colour coded in four colours of increasing difficulty, rather like ski runs, black being the most severe. Today was a black day. I had thought that the worst days were in July but apparently not; there are probably 364 days this year with less extreme driving conditions than today. Bother!

We made Dover and our ferry without difficulty: circulation facile [easy driving]. Incidentally, time was when one had to check in just 20 minutes prior to a ferry’s sailing time. Now it’s an hour. I assume this is because the ferries are now larger and take longer to load. Such is progress. Our ferry was full to overflowing; there were cars parked all the way up the ramps to the higher vehicle decks even as it was under way. I hope the handbrakes were good.

We hit the roads of Calais in good time at 10:00 AM, unlike those vehicles that were going to have to reverse before they could drive down the disembarkation ramp. We hit our first bouchon [traffic jam] in good time also, just about 20 miles out of Calais. A Dutch caravan had flipped onto its side and its tow-car was now facing back the way it had come at a jaunty angle. The hold up was not severe and we eventually sailed on.

We sailed on to just before Rouen where we hit what looked like another much more severe bouchon. Sally Satnav now earned her passage. Purely because other vehicles began diving off onto side roads, our queue shortened allowing me to do the same. The queue appeared otherwise to be completely static. Sally Satnav found an alternative route through Rouen and we were on the road again.

Our feared circulation difficile due to an exodus of Parisians heading west never materialized. We did avoid an apparent difficulty at one autoroute exit by diving off earlier and bounced cross-country into Arçais at 6:30 PM. It had been a very long day but a day that was less frustrating than we had feared it might be.

Mike restored the missing parts of our sanity with a cold bottle of rosé and then introduced us to our B&B with a former mayor of Arçais, and what a delightful little chap he was. Our room for two nights was great and wonderful value to boot at just €40 a night.

After a driving day totalling 580mls/930kms, we unwound very quickly and very effectively.