Notes from Spain (Part Five)

The author tasting Luarca’s finest plonk

Luarca, Spain – I’ve given up on the waves, now its time to focus on Asturias’ strengths: eating and drinking.

MagicSeaweed.com tells me the swell is small, small, small and will stay that way until after I’ve returned to London. So there’s not much point wasting all my time looking for non-existent surf when I can just stay local and make a glutton of myself.

I mentioned before the native blend of cider, or sidre, they do here. It’s a low alcohol, flat brew that is poured from a great height to introduce some bubbles into the mix.

Most Asturian males, while seated, simply hold the green sidre bottles high over their heads with one hand, their tumbler glass low to the ground with the other, and pour. It generally splashes all over the floor, their hands, feet and the feet of anyone near them.

What does make it into the glass is drunk straight away in one gulp and the dregs thrown onto the ground (which by now is awash with cider).

I calculated that out of every 750mL bottle of cider, you’d be lucky to actually drink about a third. Good thing it only goes for about 3 euros a pop.

Notes from Spain (Part Four)

Surfing in Asturias: beautiful landscapes. Small waves.

Somewhere near Luarca, Spain – I finally got some waves this morning. Small, glassy and kinda fun.

Unfortunately, it was also bloody freezing. I only have a 3/2 wetsuit, good enough down to about 18C. I suspect its colder because in between sets I was laying on my board with my hands and feet up out of the water like a sky diver, trying to stop them going numb.

It worked, sort of. I could almost feel my surfboard under my feet when I stood up.

I also packed both my surfboard and Mum (she got the front seat) into the car and headed all the way west to Tapia de Casariego, Asturias’ surf city. They have a WQS surfing contest here each Autumn so I thought if anywhere was going to have waves, it would be here.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. Neither did the beach further west near Villadun. But it had potential. And they were both very pretty parts of the world.

Notes from Spain (Part Three)

Waiting for the fog to clear

Luarca, Spain – After arriving in Luarca, I lapped the town’s  one way roads four times before finally finding the narrow street the fishing house is on.

It’s so narrow it requires a three point turn at each switchback. God forbid if a car comes the opposite way. I hope your reversing skills are up to scratch. Mine are (now).

I had to do it all again after dumping my stuff and heading back out onto the road to find some waves. It was 6pm, but in this part of the world it doesn’t get dark until after 10pm, so I had a few hours up my sleeve.

Either side of the motorway the landscape is flat and agricultural. The smell of cow shit drifts on the breeze. Low-roofed sidrerias serve the golden-hued local cider (more on that later). The small churches that make up this part of the Camino Santiago pilgrim trail stand tall and proud. All of it set to a backdrop of the baize-green mountains that stretch away into the clouds.

Turn down one of the many roads to the coast and things get interesting. Pine trees line the very edge of the cliffs. Almost every beach has a rivermouth of some sort, carrying the run-off from the rain-drenched mountains. The sunlight filters weakly through the thick sea fog. Deep gullies are filled with gum trees. Sometimes it feels like I’m back home in Western Australia.

It’s also this fog that is making my search for surf pretty difficult. On that first afternoon I wasn’t able to see beyond the shorebreak, let alone make out any surfable waves.

Since then, I’ve checked a couple different beaches to the west of Luarca. It might be sunny and warm on the highway, but down on the beaches among the cliffs and valleys, visibility is down to metres.

Unwilling to spend hours smoking joints and waiting for it to clear, like the band of surfers in the maroon hatchback at one beach, I usually push on and do some sightseeing inland instead, vowing to strike for the beach as soon as the fog lifts.

Notes from Spain (Part two)

Heading west on the A-8

Luarca, Spain – My arrival was easy enough. Touch down at Asturias airport. Stuff my bags and surfboard into an electric blue Peugeot hire car and tentatively pull out onto the A-8 motorway.

I got lost pretty much straight away, which is a given when you’re driving on the wrong side of the road and navigating with a map on your lap at the same time. But it did mean I got to check out the sights of San Juan, a cosy little fishing village.

Its estuary seemed to be boiling and billowing in the afternoon light as a thick bank of sea fog rolled in, turning the sunny afternoon grey and moody in minutes.

Back on the A-8 and heading west I duelled with the Spanish drivers. The speed limit was a generous 120kph but even then I was being buffeted by the sonic booms of every Seat or Peaugot that roared past. And these were little hatchbacks! Imagine if the Spanish had proper cars?

The reason they can go so fast, it seems, is that the motorway is absolutely first class. Smooth, well sign posted and with enormous viaducts stretching  way out over deep valleys. It was like driving in the sky.

Millions must have been spent on the stretch of road between Aviles and Luarca – all for the handful of people (relatively speaking) that live in this region.

Notes from Spain (Part One)

Parking for your boat is at a premium in Luarca.

Asturias, Spain – This place must be the forgotten region in Spain. Everyone has been to Madrid or Barcelona, the Balaeric or Canary Isles, Andulucia even. But who’s heard of Asturias? And who knew you could surf here?

I’m in Asturias for a week. The official line is that I’m here to meet my mum, who will finish a whirlwind three week bus tour through western Europe tomorrow.

We’ve rented a fisherman’s house high on the hill in Luarca, a village of a 15,000 or so. Not very rock star, I know, but it suits the Hemingway phase I am going through. (not the holidaying with my Mum part, but the heavy-drinking blogger in an isolated-house-on-the-hill part).

Unofficially, I’m using this mother-son bonding holiday to scout around for waves. There’s not a lot of information on the usual surfing websites about this region. But with miles of beaches and headlands – all facing the north Atlantic – its got to have some potential.

Brussels photo album

Jeu de Balle flea market

Near Grand Place

Centraal Station

Brussels, Belgium – As part of my ongoing campaign to pack light, I took only my 50mm 1.8 lens with me to Brussels.

It’s about half the length and weight of my normal lens, the Nikon 18-70mm zoom, so together with the D80 body it  was relatively easy to stuff in my satchel.

Unfortunately, 50mm is quite a long lens on a DSLR, equalling about a 75mm film lens. So it was a challenge to get everything in the shot. Great for portraits, not so great to capture an entire street scene.

These splits are my attempt to combine detail with a more pulled-back view for each scene.

For more photos of my trip to Brussels, check out the Flickr photo album.

Second time lucky

Brussels, Belgium – It may have taken me two visits, but I finally discovered Brussels’ nightlife. But who knew it would be in an 18th century church?

Brusselians go out late, so I didn’t have the pleasure of even beginning to line up outside the venue until 12.30am on the Saturday night (well, Sunday morning). An hour later we were in, walking into an enormous nave that was lit up like Christmas from dozens of laser lights and the sound of New Order’s ‘Blue Monday’ booming from the PA. We joined a couple of thousand Belgian hipsters and a handful of ex-pat Foreign Office types in the space, which was apparently weeks away from being turned into a hotel.

Sure, there were some logistical problems associated with having a club night in a building originally designed to worship the Lord. Such as a cloakroom that ran out of rack space. Or a bar with no beer. Or there being only two small bathrooms.

To beat the toilet queue, some of us may have (allegedly) used an unlit bathroom. I used the light of my mobile phone to illuminate the pitch-black room and was confronted by a shower stall of unimaginable horror. It was hard to tell how many people had used it before me, but one thing was for certain, if I dropped my phone it was going to stay dropped. It made the Trainspotting toilet scene look positively hygienic.

It was the latest I’ve stayed up for a long time, so our gang of three spent the Sunday leisurely exploring the flea markets down the road (where I found a kick ass 1970s radio/turntable unit with the frequencies of major Euro cities inscribed on the white plastic top) and then a spell of promenading around the lake at Elsene with a fortifying cone of frites.

Apart from raging in a church in the early hours of Sunday, the weekend in Brussels was a chilled affair – probably the best way to enjoy the city. It’s a little cliched, but if you focus on the key aspects of beer, frites and chocolate, then you can’t go wrong.

When in Brussels Backpack Storybook now stays at the leisure of Her Majesty (and I don’t mean gaol). Thanks Timmy!

Return to Brussels

The gang at Place du Jeu de Balle flea market

Brussels, Belgium – There’s so many great cities to explore in Europe, so its perhaps a little strange I chose to return to the one that I personally think is the most boring: Brussels.

I was there in the summer of 2008 with my sister and while it was nice to walk around for a few days, its not the prettiest city. It’s also expensive and almost impossible to find the private parties and one off shows that make up Brussels’ nightlife.

This time I was visiting a friend who recently relocated for work. Having a fixer who spoke decent French and got us into one of the best parties of the year made a huge difference. More words and pics to come.

Surfers on Twitter

Technology – Twitter is exploding in popularity this year and its good to see that even professional surfers are getting involved.

The below list is who I have come across so far. I haven’t actively searched for anyone so it’s probably far from exhaustive, but it’s a good start:

WCT Surfers
CJ & Damien Hobgood (US)
Mick Fanning (Aus)
Joel Parkinson (Aus)
Fred Patacchia Jr (Haw)
Kieren Perrow (Aus)

WQS Surfers
Ben Bourgeois (US)
Leigh Sedley (Aus)

Others
Alex Cater (Australian big wave surfer) 
Ryan Hipwood (Australian free surfer)
Jamie O’Brien (Hawaiian free surfer)
Jason Shibata (Hawaiian, Contrast Mag editor)
Neal Purchase Jnr (Australian surfer, shaper)
Ian Cairns (70s pro surfer)
Shane Beschen (former pro, aerialist)
Ben Mondy (freelance writer, former Tracks editor)
Chris Cote (Transworld Surf editor)

To be honest I wasn’t even sure if pro surfers knew how to write, but the above proves otherwise (spelling is sometimes another matter, however).

Hats off to brothers CJ and Damien Hobgood. Ther first started blogging but are all over Twitter. Their updates during the  Quiksilver Pro on the Gold Coast were regular, amusing and often insightful. What more could you ask from a pro surfer?

Mick Fanning and Joel Parkinson also deserve a mention for getting stuck in. Their regular posts are a good insight into the life of a pro surfer.

Know any other high profile surfers on Twitter? Let me know in the comments.

Last days

Johnno, about to get tubed.

Waiting for the tide to turn

The author a split second before swan diving out of the lip.

Tamraght, Morocco – I almost feel the need to apologies for the lack of insight of the real Morocco I’ve been travelling through for the past few weeks.

But the fact is, apart from brief  side trips to Essaouira and Marrakech, this adventure has been all about the waves. After enduring two long, cold winters in London, I booked this trip with the intention to escape the third winter by just going surfing.

And that’s pretty much what I’ve done by staying here at the surf house. Wake up early, pack up the truck and spend the day searching for waves and having some funny adventures with the boys from Jersey.

After the craziness of Marrakech, I spent the last few days of my holiday enjoying the  sun (it was 30C today) and doing a lot of surfing (I had four sessions yesterday). Johnno recovered from his broken arse and did some unreal surfing . James stopped rolling joints long enough to paddle out. And I got a barrel that will stay in my mind for the rest of my life.

Feeling cocky, I tried to do it again on the next wave and got tossed head over heels onto the reef. That’s surfing for you.

Check out the Backpack Storybook Flickr album here.