This was a mini adventure of its own and quite the worst ferry I have ever been on.

I had planned to take a ferry from Barcelona in the North accross to Palma Mallorca and then on to Malaga not far from our home in the South near Marbella; thus cutting out the drive down the Spanish coast.

As with many attempts by plane boat or car hire the so called "open jaw" trip (which is neither a single nor a return) causes great confusion and vast cost.

So the only practicable way was to drive half way down Spain to Denia near Valencia and get a return boat trip to Palma from there.

The first mild peculiarity was that first class was cheaper than standard but neither had any sleeping accomodation for an overnight 12 hour trip and next when we arrived at the port they insisted on car passengers boarding seperately and queing outside on the dock for a long time.

On board we enqiuired about the "dining room" and were given directions. We followed them but found nothing but a collection of crew's quarters in narrow ship's galleyways.

On further enquiry and searching we did find a cramped room where a dozen  people (exclusively lorry drivers) were eating. This was it. So we pitched in and it was a bit like Mimi's in Umbria; no menu no formality - one eat what there was - and ten euros all in including wine.

The service was excellent and given the surroundings the food was surprisingly good and freshly cooked.

Then back to the saloon where TV screens blared into the darkness through the night as one struggled to sleep in 25 year old plane seats. The voyage finally ended and we drove to Marriotts resort in Mallorca as the sun rose over flat mist covered fields.

On our way from Cadequez just outside Barcelona we had a puncture, more or less at the end of our jouney. It could have happened in some rather less civilized places.

It was a pain and inconvenienced us and our hostess Lesley but we made it by about 7pm and after a few stiff drinks to recompose ourselves repaired to an excellent traditional Catalan bodega and had a very good meal at about 10:30pm.

What struck us all is that it might have been more than an inconvenience if it had happened at various other stages of our journey.

The next day was so beautiful that we all went for a long lunch on the beach, had a superb paella washed down with some good cava and caught up with mutual developements.

We then wandered around some of the main sights and sounds of Barcelona and in  particular  enjoyed some of Gaudi's wonderfully spectacular elevations. The following morning I found the neighbouhood church and enjoyed a swim on the beach before we bade farewell to Lesley and made our way to Denia.

Throughout our drive along the Spanish mediterranean coastline one couldn't help admiring the largely grandiose landscape of mountains and sea. It is occasionally scarred by towns turned into jungles of stark ugly rectangular cheap hotels but the overall impression is of great beauty.

My brother Anthony, David Fantham and I drove here in my ancient Ford Anglia for my first holiday from work in 1964 so I thought it would be fun to visit again and see what changes the intervening years had brought.

The town acquired some fame during the 60s and 70s as the home of Salvador Dali the Spanish modern painter famous for his moustache and (in my mind) St John of the Cross a remarkable painting of the Crucifixion viewed from above with the shore of Lake Gallilee in the background. Dali's prescence had encouraged other artists and the whole place had an arty feel with several galleries obvious to a winter cursory visit.

Back in ´64 we had camped, but Kathy was not on for this strict adherence to retracing my steps. We stayed at The Mirimar Hotel on a hill just outside this small white fishing village and overlooking the bay.

To my considerable surprise the ravages of tourism have almost completely escaped Cadaquez. Whether it is the fact that the three beaches are only big enough for the few fishing boats pulled up onto them or the approach roads which pack as many hairpins into 15 Ks as many a mountain, I don´t know but something has deterred people from ruining this very typical fishing village.

Equally it could be that driving around the village in a small car is a very hairy experience. The road hugs the jagged winding rocks falling to the sea and at several points you are at the triple risk of hitting whatever is coming around the rocks, being swept into the sea by the waves or miscalculating the narrow width of the road and joining the sea that way or merely hitting the overhanging rocks in trying to avoid any of the former.

The village church is a remarkabley rich Baroque affair inside whilst very appropriate and modest outside.

Another glorious day dawned. We have been so lucky with the weather; sunshine everyday including in Delphi when it mostly rained.

Carcassonne is a very rare place: an intact medieval fortified town and castle within. It is a working town in the sense that ordinary people live and work there, largely of course in the tourist industry.

It could be compared to Rothenburg au de Tauber in Bavaria, but that was quite badly damaged in WW2 whereas Carcassonne mercifully escaped despite being occupied by the Wermacht as their regional HQ.

There are two exterior walls each about 4 kilometres in circumference. The walls are interspersed with dozens of towers and two gateways all fitted with the usual deathly defence systems such as holes above gates to drop objects and stones on attackers.

It has a very well preserved castle and keep and its own cathedral. The whole town was falling into some disorder in the mid 19c when the French government restored it over a 60 year period to good effect.

What was news to me was that Carcassonne marked the French Spanish border until I think the early 19c when it moved to the Pyrenees which can be seen on a good day about 35 miles away.

This was a fairly long stretch of driving so we split it into two and stayed overnight in St Maxime on the bay of St Tropez where again (as on the approaching coast road) the scenery was glorious.

The hotel happily had a pool which I enjoyed in order to try and work off some accumulated Italian cooking.

The driving was happily uneventful and not a border guard in sight. There was merely a sign announcing the transition from Italy to France.

I went to 8am mass in the beautiful and very old Cathederal of  Como; it dates from the 12c and retains some original features of the original medieval church.

We boarded an early boat after breakfast and sailed 20k about half way down this beautiful lake to the aptly named lakeside town of Bellagio. The lake has great natural beauty created in particular by the surrounding foothills of the Italian Alps which fall into the lake creating delightful views as the boat turns every ridge.

I had splashed out on the Sunday papers which we sat and read from cover to cover over  a long coffee at the lakes edge.

This was followed by a spot of Christmas shopping, a delicious lunch a spot more shopping and the last ferry back to  Como.