Christmas in Estapona, Spain - December 1981

My mother was a prolific writer and she kept carbon paper copies of letters to my siblings and myself dating back to the 1970s.  She also left us diaries and genealogy records.  I am slowly transcribing these records and sharing with my family.  In 1981 Mum joined my family on a nine month tour of Britain and Europe - finishing in Hong Kong.  Today I came across this account of our 1981 Christmas.  I am going to let Mum tell her story and haven't edited it.  Although the images have been added.  I hope I do it justice, Mum.  Thanks for leaving us this wonderful memory.

Estapona, Spain

We had been travelling for five months ….months filled with interest and excitement.  

We had experienced the wonderful atmosphere of London, felt the hope in the people still evident after the Royal Wedding,
applauded the never-to-be forgotten Edinburgh Tattoo, picnicked in the peaceful beautiful English countryside and slept in a haunted 15^th century castle by Lake Coniston. 

 Across the Channel we tasted our first sizzling sausage from a street vendor in Brugges, camped by the Zeider Zee, marvelled the beauty of the River Rhine, and the Romantic Road, climbed the Eiffel Tower, gazed with awe at Mona Lisa, were sobered by the aura of Lourdes, were befriended by the wonderful people of Portugal, and now as Christmas approached we all longed for the security of home and familiar things.

Our five berth campervan, which accommodated my daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren, had become claustrophobic….

Our home for 9 months 1981-1982 throughout Britain_Europe

The children, Sean who had just celebrated his thirteenth birthday and Rae who was eleven, wanted to run wild, climb trees, anything but sit still in confinement.  But most of all they longed for their family and friends. 

We were all suffering from a bad bout of homesickness. 

Whilst crossing the river from Villa Real in Portugal to Ayamonte in Spain, we decided not to abandon our trip and fly home, but find a little place in Spain where we could stay immobile for a few weeks.

We liked Seville, with the streets lined with orange trees, laden with ripened juicy fruit, reserved for the poor and disabled, but we were searching for an area that would remind us of home.

Seville Cathedral with Orange grove

The children knew they would never find the golden beaches with the large waves they loved to romp in at home in their small country seaside town, but like most of their ilk, they were adaptable, and we knew they would be happy wherever we stopped. 

Torre de la Pena, Tarifa, Spain

We meandered along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea, and paused at a little village of Tarifa where we could see Morocco, just a short eight kilometres away. 

Each morning dawned fine and sunny, with just a little crispness in the air to remind us that winter was just a days drive north.

The little village shops, the large supermarts and the houses, so white in the sunshine, were all agog with Christmas preparations.  Everyone busy doing something – all except us.  We hadn’t found what we wanted, and were beginning to despair, when we came to Estepona … a lovely spot by the Mediterranean surrounded by Australian Eucalyptus trees, and we all knew that this was where we were going to spend Christmas.

 

Estepona beachfront

We chose a fairly central campsite in the open where we could view both the gums and the sea.

Our van in the La Chimenea

Whilst the next morning was windy  … there was great excitement … the full coast of Africa and Gibraltar could be seen clearly, as the wind had blown the cloud cover away and revealed this unusual sight.  As this doesn’t happen very often, the beach was alive with excited amateur photographers.

That afternoon we accepted an invitation to visit Ronda, an ancient town 730 metres above sea level in the Sierra Nevada ranges, and what a marvellous experience … climbing through the clouds on the road of 1000 bends, to the ancient town built on a chasm … all materials had been transported by the donkey … that brave beast of burden.

 

Now Christmas was only a few days away, and as the activity increased so did the secrecy.  Individual trips into Estepona by bus, searching small shops in narrow streets for presents, which were quickly wrapped and mysteriously hidden in some secret place in the campervan.  We had gathered pine cones in Portugal for decorations … these the children painted and hung or placed around the perimeter of our site.  We had made friends with people from many nations, and as the children learnt greetings in different languages, so it appeared on our windows … Feliz Navidad … Joyeaux Noel … and Froliche Weihnachten … were just some of the messages which brought a smile and a handshake from passer bys.

The kids made this poster for the windows

Hours were spent making daisy chains and streamers from coloured paper, stars and angels were cut out from cardboard, plus a nativity scene that wouldn’t have sold at a school fete, but brought great satisfaction to us travellers.  It became very difficult not to be entangled in decorations on entering the van … but good humour prevailed. 

 

Delicacies appeared after each visit to town … fresh nuts, dried fruits and olives from the market filled every empty jar.  Christmas Eve dawned sunny and still … we were up bright and early, eager to complete the preps.  The children scoured the camp ground and found a branch from an Eucalypt, that once adorned with the coloured decorations, and laden with presents, would be the most beautiful Christmas tree to us.

 Excitement increased as every hour brought another van of travel weary Australians, New Zealanders and many other nationalities – all in search of company and a little bit of home.  The greatest thing about each arrival was the reception the children gave each other, regardless of nationality.    Tears sprang to my eyes as they greeted each other like long lost friends, chatting gaily as they helped one another prepare for the next day.  Rae and Sean led the new arrivals on a trek to introduce them to all their adult European friends.

 After tea, with most of the cooking finished, we strolled down to the beach, and ambled along the shore, drinking in the beauty of the clear blue skies, the moon reflected in the waves moving softly on the sands and the twinkling of lights in the little white villas in the surrounding hills.  The Costa del Sol was ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus … Peace on earth.  What a wondrous feeling.

Christmas morning found us all up early.  As the day promised to be sunny and dry, John and Sean put up the awning, we placed the tree outside and filled a borrowed table with wine and food.  Over breakfast we listened and cried over tapes and presents sent from home.  Then midst laughter, oohs and aahs we opened our gifts from the tree.  Santa had been generous to us all, uncovering such delights as peanut butter (found in a small drogheria), a pirouette doll, French chocalat, a bottle of Spanish vino blanco and numerous other pleasing gifts.

Before the wrapping paper had been cleared away. The first of our new friends arrived, each bearing gifts in the form of food and drink from their own countries.  Our German neighbours produced a 4 litre bottle of Malaga red, insisting the wine would make Sean big and strong.  Sean, with all the wisdom of his thirteen years, compromised and became the waiter for the day, noticing those that partook of the Malaga became a little wearier as the day wore on.

The table creaked with the weight of the appetising dishes, some familiar, all tantalising with the aromas – German, Belgian, French and Spanish dishes sat side by side with our English food, whilst nearby hovered males and children ready to taste.  Two vans had been driven close to ours to form a U shape, and as the morning progressed, the area became crowded with fellow campers.

Language barriers were non-existent as for some mystical reason, we all seemed to be able to communicate.  We were all drawn together to celebrate the Nativity as we had that morning early at Mass, and had given each other the best present possible.  In the lazy afternoon, as we sang carols or listened to them sung in many languages, I knew I wouldn’t forget this day, and that I had made many lifelong friends.

We learned that many retired couples in Europe left their homes each November to travel south, to avoid the bitter winters and to lounge in the warmth of the Mediterranean sun for three months, but every year they all felt the loneliness of separation from family. They all agreed they had never celebrated an “Aussie Christmas” before and loved it.  As twilight approached they all reluctantly returned to their own vans.  We lingered awhile in the chaos and pondered the wonderful folk who had helped us over a rough patch, and had inspired us to continue our tour.

The next day disaster struck … we awoke to rain and gale force winds, which raged all day, gathering intensity till it reached Force 10.  The peaceful blue sea had become a turbulent brown ocean, the shores disappeared under the angry waves and the ground became a river, as the rain saturated even high area.  Hastily rescuing the awning, we watched as the running water swept away our coloured decorations into the Mediterranean.  Friends helped us dig a trench but we couldn’t keep up with the downpour.

The gale blew all night, and though the van rocked perilously, we knew we were in the safest position when many campers drove their vans as close as possible to ours.  Large limbs crashed all night, no one was hurt thankfully, though little sleep was had that night.

 We were thankful and amazed that dawn heralded in another sunny and dry day.  Refreshed from our rest, our interest in our tour renewed, we decided to continue on the road that afternoon, but it was with sadness we wished our new-found friends a happy New Year as they waved us on our way.  Hasta la vista Estepona … we will never forget you 

Patricia Joan Romeril (nee Wilson) 1981