I made it here. We all got off the ferry safely, and one or two conversations about whether F800 BMWs are more easy to ride than 1200GSs, I was through customs (bikers had their own policeman to wonder around us checking passports). Then it was 33 miles and just under an hour’s ride to the campsite, with the usual doubt that it really knew where I wanted to go as it started to get gloomy. I arrived about 8 in time to buy provisions and something to drink and cooked using my new space-saving cooking pots as it got dark. The site is lovely, quiet, rural with its own donkey and goats, whose bells you can hear ringing. It is set in a steep valley and the style of the buildings is rustic. Its crucially not crowded and there are only one or two motorhomes, the rest of the inhabitants in tents, albeit ones you can stand up in. There’s a little café here, a bar, open to 11pm and a small shop. I intend to stay here until I feel like moving on and take a ride around here to see how intimidating the roads are climbing up through the mountains. It rained briefly just after I got into bed but the sun is up now and its already feeling warm, due to my choice of place to camp, I think my tent will dry off last.