At 8.30 on Saturday morning our Brittany Ferry spat us out like a large white block of Lego on to the Spanish shores and we joined the hordes of Brits heading south.
It was at this point we began to realize that the Spanish had been busy in the years since our map book had been published and they had built new roads and to add more interest to our navigational challenges, they had cunningly changed the numbers on the roads that they had already built. Being men we steadfastly refused to ask for directions, and we blindly thrust forward – a plan that has worked for generations of Bear Grylls types (like us) - so we followed a Landrover with a Camel sticker on - driven by a bloke in a Khaki shirt, this proved inspirational, we were on our way.
With our Cummings diesel thumping and our 'Blake's Seven' technology clearly impressing the locals, we powered through the Pico's del Feugo mountains that surround Santander. At points we threatened to reach speeds of almost fifty-six mph (on the downhill sections), a speed that was not to bettered for the whole of our journey down through Spain.
As we glided effortlessly through the green hills and red tiled buildings of northern Spain we marvelled at the Red kites and storks that soared effortlessly above, and on passing the small town of La Cucaracha, the seagulls wheeling above the local rubbish tip, truly a spectacle for the bird lover.
La Cucaracha - like many of the Spanish towns is divided into quarters- the restaurant quarter, the industrial quarter, the red light quarter and the hospital quarter, a true Latin gem.
Alas, we had no time to linger, for our aim was to get to Algeciras (the gateway to Morocco) by nightfall. Onwards and upwards, our white steed relentless - like molten toothpaste sliding down the plughole - an unstoppable force.
The road carved on and on through the hills and plains (where it did rain incidentally) the views changing from green to brown, depending on the state of the dirt and spray being flung off the passing car tyres. More storks, black bulls and Spanish drivers tail-gating and weaving in and out of the traffic (that's the drivers, not the bulls and storks).
Tony and I shared the driving all the way down (approximately 800km) before eventually calling it a day just outside Algeciras (10.10pm) a long day. We parked up and shared a pot noodle and some laughing cow cheese. Marvelling at the twinkling stars - before we realized they were wind turbines (hundreds of them) dotting the surrounding hills.
Tomorrow we brave Moroccan immigration, and the adventure takes on a whole new level of uncertainty.
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