Notes on the Galicia going to Spain

I left home late afternoon with plenty of hours to get down to Portsmouth for a sailing due to leave at 9.30 in the evening. After working my way through south west London and then the A3, it was raining when I arrived in Portsmouth and waited in the queue to board which dampened the spirits by quite a measure.

I think of all my motorcycle travels, starting fifteen years ago, I have always been blessed with a sunny evening to wait for and catch my ferry. In the queue, I met a recently retired couple riding a blue GS. They are touring Spain for four weeks – lucky them. They tell me that they have taken motorcycle trips together for 16 years. Including Morocco (they have been to the edge of the Sahara) and the Arctic circle. They used BMW Motorad tours. Hmmm. For a few minutes I wondered if I could change my approach to motorcycle travel and persuade H to travel with me, riding pillion on the back – but this thought didn’t last for long, enchanting as it was.  

How could I forget that I had a breakdown on the way down? On the A3 somewhere around Guildford. Mysteriously the clutch cable became loose. Meaning I couldn’t change gear. Luckily the traffic was moving slowly and I was already in first so I could make a gentle exit to the side of the road in gear and turn off by flipping the side stand down and make an adjustment with a spanner I seemed to have to hand. Satisfaction that I could fix something but anxiety that something was wrong and that it would happen again and be worsening beyond adjustment.  (It never did but it took a few days to gain confidence that it wouldn’t).

Boarding, riding on the boat, was the usual flutter of excitement, as it is no matter how many times I do ride onto a ferry bound for foreign climes.

Once on board and changed I had a glass of wine in the bar but retired to my cabin for my so welcome Brie sandwiches with red wine followed by date slice. (I am so glad that I had these.) Followed by bed. 

Today has been odd. Time wise. I slept soundly and woke up slowly with those strange half dreams in my mind for an hour. Half dreams where you seem to have some say in where things are going unlike proper dreams that are just deeply bizarre. I had a Brittany Ferries ‘continental’ breakfast which was scrappy but filling because I made sure I had some of everything – mostly miniature pastries and croissants – then went back to bed and dozed most of the morning. The public spaces in the boat were a little cold or rather I was poorly dressed because of the limited wardrobe I carry round as a weight-saving effort and it was dry but windy on deck. I’ve been reading William Gibson’s Idoru lying on my bed. It’s gripping which is such a welcome way to spend the time. But these books do more especially when there is a kind of void. In the real world. They draw you into their atmosphere in this case a sci-fi thriller. 

Up on deck again now at six in the early evening (the next day) – there are two nights on this journey) the sun is shining as we sail due south though we are sailing toward dark clouds. A few minutes with my face toward the warm sun. The forecast is for rain on arrival but hopefully it can be escaped by riding south which is what I plan to do. There is still the battle with the anxiety that the enjoyment of this trip will desert me. 

Brittany Ferries tickets now include compulsory meals. I’ve just had my first dinner. Nice table service and a very efficient operation as each course arrives a few minutes after you have ordered it. Not bad food. I treated myself to a half bottle of Chablis. So it seems a nice way to hike up the ticket price and ring up the till for all the alcohol people like me add to the meal.