My Vuelta Espana

No, not that Vuelta Espana – instead, a very different and very much more leisurely lap of Spain.

That was our plan. You see, despite being a favoured location for global new car launches, I’d only ever experienced Spain in the FIFO style that these events adopt. One (sometimes two) nights on the ground, sequestered away from the real people and country.

So, a plot was hatched. A car, two weeks or so, my partner and an itinerary that was rough and at the very least malleable.

Yours truly hadn’t even really intended to write about it, other than a bit of a travelogue to help cement some of the memories. But once the tapping started, the thoughts flowed and the following was the result. Spain by Skoda Scala…

Barcelona is to Madrid as Sydney is to Melbourne. Sin City, a harbour town and, boy, is it a sassy joint. Much of it is set out on a grid system that works for pedestrians but offers traps for young players behind the wheel, thanks to one-way systems and even contra-traffic lanes for buses and bikes!

It’s here where we picked up our steed for our Spanish adventure… The white, six-speed manual 1.0-litre (yes, that’s not a misprint) three-cylinder Skoda Scala hatch was picked to be Rocinante to my Don Quixote. Except this time, our mount was in its prime…

Volkswagen Golf-size, the newest Skoda is a five-door that is arguably the most mainstream hatch the Czech marque will have offered Down Under. It arrives in 2020.

The Scala easily swallows our luggage and with just two of us, the spacious back seat isn’t even required. Having only recently returned our long-term Skoda Octavia RS wagon, there’s an immediate familiarity to the instruments and layout. Even on the other side of the road and the car, I feel at home.

Mastering Barcelona traffic cadence is a different issue and getting used to it takes a little familiarisation. A miscue on the Google Maps navigation requires us to be a bit creative with a couple of traffic rules – not for the last time.

I’d tell you the story about driving down a footpath past two gobsmacked Policia but the statute of limitations remains an issue.

There’s a hint of the seaside to the outskirts of Barcelona, green and fertile, but it’s still not lush. It’s pines, not palms here.

On the road to Llieda, the countryside soon dries out. We slip past the giant stone dragon’s spine that is Monteserrat and by the time we’re approaching Zaragoza and Utebo, the hills are almost desert-like -- stark white, sandy and with barely any vegetation more substantial than salt bush.

The lack of vegetation serves to magnify the room to move… The sense of space in Spain parallels Australia – it’s Western Europe’s only Big Sky Country.

Yet in just another 150km or so, we were back into the green -- the lush mountains that frame Spain’s north coast. Officially Basque country, the land here is so different from anywhere else in Spain. As different as the Basque people and their language itself.

Don’t try and understand Basque. It is a language that is unrelated to any other existing tongue in Europe. Lots of Xs and Ts.

Proper mountains, which are the tail end of the Pyrenees, protect San Sebastian from the south and the rest of Spain. They are steep and lush, and the houses, barns and farms (even the cattle) look as though they’ve been transported from Austria or Switzerland.

Down this coast there are real surf beaches and Spain’s own version of the Great Ocean Road, the N-364. The stretch from Zumaia to Zarautz is not long but it makes up for it with the views.

Take the Padre Orkolaga Ibilbidea detour and it’s like detouring to Blue Johanna on your way to Warrnambool. Victorians and keen surfers will know what I mean.

San Seb (Donostia in Basque) in contrast, is tightly crowded around a bay with one of the Continent’s best, (proper, soft, fine sand) beaches – Playa la Concha (Kontxa in Basque). Here, the old seven or eight-storey hotels have their foundations in the sand but they are not the drawcard of the town. The bay itself and its old town centre with its narrow streets and myriad Pintxos bars are what brings the crowds.

Over a few days we confirm the food is a highlight – as it is across all of the Spain. But here the Museoa San Telmo is also a must (better than the Guggenheim in Bilbao, to be frank) and gives you an insight into the hard past of the Basque nation.

It’s as though the rest of Spain has been jealous of the relative natural plenty the Basques (and to a lesser extent the Catalans) inherited over the millennia. Perhaps that’s why both regions have been denied independence but hold on to some degree of autonomy.

The main government of Spain doesn’t let them forget it though. The big fast roads up here are toll roads and you (and the locals) pay plenty for the privilege of using them. Funny, in the middle of Spain and to the south of Madrid, those same big roads are free… Just saying.

On the road again to the royal capital of Madrid, and the first hour or so of the journey is climbing, climbing, climbing -- on a road that’s all bridges and tunnels.

It’s lush and we’re in Austria (kinda) again… The pine-clad rocky peaks tower above the road, but thanks to the Scala’s glass roof, we don’t miss a thing.

Skodas have never been the most adventurously styled cars but there’s much to be said for the big glass areas and low beltline that defines the current crop of the marque’s passenger cars. A glass roof might not make sense in Far North Queensland, but in higher latitudes when sometimes the sun doesn’t shine as long as we’d like (such as in Melbourne in summer!), they flood the car with reinvigorating light.

The overhead lights flash by quickly at one hundred and plenty and as we emerge from one particularly long tunnel, we are in what again could be a different country. All of a sudden, the mountains are replaced with gently rolling vistas in every direction and a return to the light, almost white soils of our previous leg.

Basque country is behind us and the Castilians and Don Quixote’s back yard are ahead. The terraced fields of corn have been replaced with broad acres of feed crops and wheat. Some harvested, some still a WIP.

There are as many or more trucks on this road south to Madrid as we’re used to in Australia. Spain rides on the backs of the black pigs and the European branded semis. Scania and Volvo are king – no Kenworths or Freightliners here.

They’re semis rather than B-doubles and the driver’s habits and road manners are impeccable. The (fast) left lane is verboten for trucks unless the road is three or more lanes and the truckies respect that.

As we approach a tailback, from what turns out to be a nasty truck crash, there are around five kilometres of trucks all nose to tail in the (slow) right-hand lane. This allows the cars to filter up the fast lane almost all the way to the incident itself. Then the cars and trucks merge easily, zippering one or two by one. Amazing discipline and thoughtfulness. What in Australia would have been a 50-minute shitfight is behind us in what Google Maps says was a nine-minute delay.

Each day of our Vuelta Espana, I became more and more impressed with the Spanish drivers. They’re fast and drive with brio, but equally with attention and a degree of give and take.

The 120km/h limit is administered with regular (say every 30 minutes or so), well signposted speed cameras. As they are approached, drivers comply and then as they’re past, the cruising speed goes back up to 135-145km/h with almost everyone zealous re their lane discipline.

Shock horror -- even the Germans could learn a thing or two from these guys.

We choose a slightly longer route to Madrid, jumping off the E5 and on to the A-62 to see a little more of the country.

There’s substantial commerce decentralised across Spain. Before Burgos we see industrial complexes almost side by side with broad acres of dead sunflowers, drying in the warm Autumn sun awaiting harvest.

Past Valladolid, once intended to be the royal capital, and then in the small town of Tordesillas we run into the local fiesta. The whole population is decked out in white jeans and coloured tees and scarves. You’ve either on the blue or the red team, it seems.

A roadside restaurant serves Michelin star quality paella – without chorizo (that’s a sin in Spain!) – and the best rabu de buey (oxtail stew). With a starter and dessert, the bill is around the same as a stop at McDonald’s.

From here we’re deep in wine country, driving fast south-east towards Madrid.

Spain is an agricultural powerhouse and there’s clearly been a ramping up on investment in all forms of food production. Not for the last time we see massive plantings of new, long-term crops – grape vines, fruit trees, nut trees, olive trees and forestry projects.

The investment in this agricultural infrastructure actually seems to dwarf even the impressive dollars being spent on wind and sun farming in Spain.

On almost every distant ridgeline there are big turbine installations. In the dry, almost arid central Alta Plana approaching Madrid, there are solar farms that one hopes will deliver inspiration to Australian power planners.

Spain’s capital has a depth that takes some time to appreciate. It’s stylish and so are the natives – their fashion, food and flamenco exhibit flare that makes us Aussies feel awkward.

The tradition of promenading is still alive and well in Madrid, despite the modernisation of business and social norms. From 8:00pm or thereabouts everyone’s out, many in their finest. Don’t even think about sitting down to eat before 9:00pm.

Our digs are simple but respect the three golden rules of real estate – position, position, position. I can see the Palacio Real without getting out of bed!

Many of us think Italy when we think olive oil, but Spain with its larger land mass and lower density of population is the world’s largest producer. In fact, it produces five times as much as Italy, the next biggest producer.

And it seems that most of the oil is produced via the miles and miles of trees that line each side of the E5 from Madrid south towards Granada. They are literally from horizon to horizon with the only gaps being more grapes, occasional groves of fruit trees and handsome but well-worn, walled farm complexes.

At first the acres start out flat, then as the hills get steeper, the olives climb with them. On some slopes it’s hard to fathom how the farmers get up to hand-pick them let alone use machinery.

Spain is clean and there’s just a fraction of the litter you see in some other European countries. This may surprise many people, but it’s unerringly our experience. Indeed, Spain has all of the charm, culinary attraction and historical interest of, say, Italy but with more space and better organisation.

Yes, there’s a different pace to things in Spain than our often overwrought lifestyle dictates, but it doesn’t take long to adjust and there’s much to be said for the way the country plans its days. Who doesn’t like the idea of a break mid-afternoon to regroup?

Siesta time, between 2-5pm, is when many businesses, shops and so on close. We found it was an ideal time to slip into our next locale and park the Scala away. The old towns of cities like Granada are often mixed vehicle and pedestrian zones that can make things a little fraught when the laneways are very busy.

The narrow alleys and (especially) tiny parking garages (our hotel in Granada did not have ramps but a car lift!) meant that the Scala’s multi-camera views and parking sensors were more than a little useful.

Our Scala had an odd mix of equipment, likely to be smoothed out in the Australian versions. For instance, it had a high-grade screen and multi-function centre display but no navigation.

We used Google Maps via CarPlay integration. Things looked a little dodgy when I first spied the USB-C-only ports in the dash but a handy adapter was sitting ready for use in the Scala’s centre console. Simply clever again, Skoda.

The other equipment surprise was the powered rear hatch. I’m becoming just a little too used to these. Just the other day, I stood standing behind one of our long-term cars waiting for the hatch to open. Didn’t I feel like a goose when after about 45 seconds a colleague walked over and lifted the tailgate for me...

Granada and its Alhambra is a must-see for any visitor to Spain. Indeed, it’s claimed it is the country’s most popular single attraction. The red stone fort that dominates the city’s skyline has history that goes back to Roman times and within its walls is an oasis of gardens.

The city’s bars are also probably the last in Spain to retain the tradition of free tapas with every drink. On our last night in Granada, we ate a lot…

So a late start ruled out a side trip to the Sierra Nevada ski fields – the southern-most in Europe. Wedged between Granada and the Mediterranean, this range of mountains climbs to over 3300m – properly high with views to Gibraltar and the Atlantic beyond!

On an amazing day, the air is crystal clear and the mountains seem smaller. That is until you pick out the Cetursa Sierra Nevada ski village high on the range – so small it looks like just a dot.

The route out of Granada climbs – not to 3000m but about half that. The road here is two or three lanes – like a giant racer road that carves through valleys and over saddles, through corners that actually load up the Scala at our 140km/h cruise. Is it right that you can enjoy spirited driving on a multi-lane like this?

Relatively lightly trafficked for the run from Granada all the way to Lorca, it’s not only the road that’s entertaining. There’s everything on this stretch: mountains with sharp rock formations that from a distance ape the Great Wall of China, projecting vertical striations that run across the ridgelines; further on there’s amazing eroded canyon structures that look more than a little like a Spanish version of Bryce Canyon in the USA’s west.

Then we pass houses and farm buildings part stone, part carved into the soft clay arroyo walls… Spain’s own Lightning Ridge?

And closer to the industrial smudge that is Lorca, the brick coloured clays are replaced by shining mineral cuttings that echo the almost alien colours of the copper and zinc slag heaps at Broken Hill and Silverton.

Finally, the groves of the oranges that give our next stop its name begin – perhaps not as expansive as the olive acres we’ve passed, but close.

Kilometre for kilometre, it’s by far the most diverse scenery we’ve encountered.

Spain’s third largest city, Valencia is quickly a firm favourite. Not as sharp as Barcelona, nor as regal as Madrid – its old town has a youthful buzz. And there’s a placa with a café or bar around every corner.

Artisanal, shared work spaces are a thing – and the diverse goodies they create and sell will have you looking for an excess luggage allowance. And then there’s the central market.

We seek out markets wherever we go. As a keen angler, I like to look at the fish. As a keen cook, I want to check out the wares of butchers, bakers and greengrocers.

Valencia’s market is a real foodies’ paradise, from the beds of oysters, scampi and sepia, through the meat displays – at one stall perfect pale milk-fed veal, at another, dark, dry aged mammoth T-bones. Then there’s the pickles, peppers and baked things that scream eat me. Vegie stands with all manner of offerings and the very, very best oversize tomatoes you’ve ever seen.

And a café at the centre of the original iron-framed building serves the very best of it all… It’s hard to drag ourselves away.

But the clock is ticking, and Skoda Spain wants its Scala back in Barcelona. Thus our last leg is straight up the toll road (yes, we’re nearing those pesky Catalans again) from Valencia to Barca.

We’re accompanied much of the way by more oranges and the regular sight of castles – large and small, plenty in near perfect condition but also some in ruins. There seems to be more along this stretch than the rest of the journey altogether.

At the end of our Spanish Vuelta, we’ve covered more than 2000km in our five-door. And at a decent pace – our average is better than 100km/h. And yet, the Skoda Scala has averaged less than 6.5L/100km.

We will get larger engine models when the car comes Down Under later in 2020 and, given Aussie tastes, most will be auto-only.

But the 1.0-litre triple under the bonnet of 4103KWW is a hearty, willing engine that lacks only when the hills are steep or this lazy driver attempted things in too high a gear.

Saying farewell to our bug splattered Scala is just a little sad. Like its literary counterpart, this faithful Rocinante served us well…