Walking Over Lemons: Optimistic Hikers on the GR7 in Andalucia.




Like quite a few things during these travels, our trip to Spain came into being through a series of spur of the moment decisions. After the somewhat random decision to head to Europe for Spring-made very swiftly (in the time it took to ride an elevator in Thailand in late January- admittedly it was a journey from the 50th floor, so there was a degree of thinking time) and the subsequent purchase of a motorbike in a 2 hour airport stop over in KL airport on route to Australia, we actually only got around to looking at the weather for Europe in April sometime in March. Based on our research we decided it didn't look much fun for motorbiking in early April. We are fairweather travellers and don't like the wet or cold, especially not at any speed faster than walking. So, waiting for spring to- well- spring, we looked for a place with warm temperatures, cheap flights, good food and wine, and a big long hiking trail. The somewhat unexcitingly named 'GR7 in Andalucia', Southern Spain, looked to fit the bill. We reckoned we could tackle a big chunk of the trail in just over 3 weeks, and had our sights on starting at the most southerly point- Tarifa on the coast (where on a clear day you can see across to Africa) and ending about 550kms from the start in La Calahora, on the other side of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. Even better, the route takes you through the Alpajaras, location of Chris Stewart's biographical novel 'Driving Over Lemons: An Optimist in Andalucia ' (hence the nicking of the title for this blog) a book which I had read in the past (and enjoyed re-reading this trip).

And so we set out from London, flying into Malaga- as far south an airport as we could get. Our friend Jo and her son Zein live in that part of the world, so we were able to stop in and say hello and catch up. When we first set out on our first foray into long distance walking years ago on the Pembrokshire Coast Path, we stayed with Jo the night before we set off and Jo dropped us off at the start. It was a nice touch of sentimental serendipity that she dropped us at the bus stop on our way to Tarifa. Thanks for everything Jo!



Setting off from Tarifa

The weather in Tarifa didn't have much to recommend it- it was cold and blustery and the first stretch of the trail is along along a long windswept beach. We were having out doubts about the early Spanish spring, and we allayed our fears with a few glasses of Rioja around the cozy fire in the campsite bar chatting with a bunch of regular Spanish holiday makers who assured us that things would improve. We awoke to a blue sky, and had great conditions for most of the trip, though wind was a feature- and we saw a lot of wind farms powering the countryside!




Day two, up into the mountains

Lots of wind power.....and wind!

First bush camp

Wide gravel tracks were a feature of this section

One of our favourite wild camps- On the top of a hill

For the first week or so to Ronda, the track winds its way up from the beaches of Tarifa through the Mountains of Ojén. We were walking in fairly wild and remote country, occasionally punctuated with gloriously quaint villages, all whitewashed and red tiled. The spring flowers were out and there were forests of cork trees (stripped from about half way up the trunk) on the route.

There were some long sections in-between towns, perfect for wild camping, with only the tinkling of livestock bells to be heard. And of course the distant bark of dogs which was the 'sound track' to this section-and indeed most of the walk. It seems the Spanish like to employ a kennel of dogs, rather than a solitary guard dog. These dogs seem to take the place of proper gates, fences, security, locks and door bells. Each country household- empty or inhabited- appears to have around 4-5 mutts in their pack, normally made up of:  a dog so old and ancient the bark is more a cough than a challenge;  one or two growling, tail waging teenage type specimens; and a couple of tiny, jumping pocket dogs, that wouldn't look out of place in a celebrity hand bag. These dogs definitely have a bark that is worse than their bite, and normally, after some mildly alarming barking and growling, they end up trotting alongside you - sometimes for several kilometres. And because I was walking with a self-styled 'dog whisperer', the dogs, after being patted and chatted to, followed us for a l-o-n-g way. And in spite of James realising that the dogs were getting further and further away from home, and having to turn into a baddie by shooing them away and throwing stones in their general direction, one poor pup had to be collected about 7kms from home. By its owner. On a motorbike.

The castle at Castellar de la Frontera

Castellar de la Frontera

Other highlights from this first section included eating wild boar stew at the foot of Castellar and then climbing the winding 4 kms in the morning to eat breakfast in the walls of the castle; being amused in Jimena, a village in the throng of a festival that seemed involve everyone dressing up as Romans or in drag or both; having a cerveza pequeña and olives on the plaza in Ubrique as it swelled with the post school crush of children playing ball games in the open space then clashing with the older citizens dodging the balls as they took their evening promenade. Favourite foodie experiences were the garlicky olives at the country venta on the first day, where the proprietor offered us a drop of his homemade wine after our mid afternoon caffeine injection of coca cola, and the first taste of a bocadillo stuffed with cured ham and dripping with olive oil with your morning cafe con leche  after a 6km yomp to breakfast (Andalusia is not a place for a dieter or a vegetarian!). Less memorable was an odd meal at  a trendy place in Ubrique......James is good at languages, but the menu was just too fancy and complicated!




More fab wild camping near Puerto de la Calderona



High plains and wild flowers on the exposed moores coming out of Fuente de los Arrieros



Cute town- Coming into Mont Jacques

Plains of Libera -looking up over the pass



Camping at the deserted refuge at Illons Liberia- we saw deer as the sun set

Coming into the cute village of Villanueva del Cauche

The first major bit of civilisation we came across after about a week, was the hill top town of Ronda, with its incredible location clinging to the cliff top and its gorges spanned by fabulous arched bridges.  What a place. I had never heard it, though it seemed that it's cobbledy street charms and general beauty were not a secret, as it was the first place we had come across that was touristy. Just as we checked into a hotel, the skies opened and it actually hailed......we couldn't believe our timing. Jo and Zein came to spend a night with us, ferrying some more dehydrated food for the wilder sections to come to replenish our supplies.

Amazing bridge over the gorge in Ronda

The delights of the next week or so came thick and fast from Ronda. We began to climb into stunning limestone mountains and cliffs interspersed with fields of olives. It became more populated, villages were now more frequent and evenly spaced, and, as the temperatures dropped as we climbed higher, it was nice to stay in pensions in cute little villages rather than camp. The comforts of a warm bed and hot shower were appealing- we might be getting soft! Indeed, camping became less possible. One evening we found ourselves 12kms from Antequras and ready to stop for the night with nothing as an option before before the town.  There were no wild places, so we snuck over a fence into an olive grove and quickly set up camp, thinking there was no-way anyone was around. We were tucking into to dinner, when we were approached by a man with some aggressive dogs. There was some shouting and gesturing and we understood we had to pack up immediately. As we took down tent, he was on his phone -Was he saying terrorista? Did he say he was calling the policía? That seemed extreme. Holy cow, we were just camping in a tiny tent! We were packing as fast as possible. He then handed James the phone, and, heart pounding, he took the call. Which was from the security guy's daughter translating- "he was terribly sorry, but this was his job. He would drive us into town". And so he did. How nice!

We passed the fabulous reservoir and gorge at El Chorro and the beautiful town of Alhamara. We had one of our favourite meals in El Tigre. You could tell it was going to be fabulous at the outset- old fashioned tiles on the walls, a huge round of cheese on the bar wafted ripe cheesy scents as we entered, and walls were lined with bottles of vino.  We put ourselves in the hands of the charming owner Antionio by asking for his  recomendacións, resulting in fabulous wine accompanied by aslightly too complicated Spanish explanation, undoubtedly to educate us in the intricacies of the local wine. It was poured with an aggressive flourish, decanted to allow it to breathe (sign language in use to explain this - the wine was treated roughly as it needed to 'wake up') and accompanied several racions of cheese, meat, clams, prawns and, finally- though we could not manage it - desert. All of which  just kept coming as Antonio wanted to give us a meal full of sorpresas.

Further on we had a day of rain, which looked to set in for the day. We arrived in a town soaked already by 9am and holed up at a dodgy old man cafe for coffee, where by 10:30am,the brandy had flowed so freely, that 2 blokes propping up the bar almost had a fist fight. We understood through a pantomime from one of the more sober barflies, they were hermano- brothers-, but both 'no good' apparently. A slice of village life. Sitting out the unrelenting day of rain in the cafe, the patterns changed- more people  (men only, mostly older and with no teeth) congregated in the bar for a few glasses of wine from about 12-3pm, then cleared out for siesta. By then it was 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em', and we too tucked into vino tinto and checked into a hotel for a siesta. The next day was glorious and clear, so much so that we were inspired to do a huge 38km day to make up for our day off. We arrived in Restabal exhausted and ravenous, though typically you could not get anything until well after 9pm. And at that unfashionably early time we were the only people in the restaurant. There was always a massive gap between when we wanted to eat-7pm, when you could actually find a restaurant open- 9pm (where you were resigned to being the only people there), and when everyone else ate -11pm! The Spanish life style- which sounds so lovely- siestas, late eating, lazy mornings- isn't exactly ideal for hiking, though we eventually got into it- thank goodness for tapas to fill in the edges!

El Chorra

View down the gorge from Alhamara

Restabal- horses parked out side the bar!

In the final week we  hit the Sierra Nevada and the Alpajaras. Snow capped peaks let us know where that cold breeze from the past few days had been coming from. The track changed from open paths to tiny goat tracks. The architecture changed- now white flat roofs with spindly chimneys sprinkled across the mountains- kind of like someone had thrown a whole heap of white lego at the mountainside (and it had landed in a very artistic and quaint kind-of way!). The villages appeared to be close together, but should come with a warning like you get on car side mirrors: "The village in the distance is further away than it appears". The path dove into crevices and ravines, up and down, arriving maybe 7kms later at a village that was a mere 2kms away as the crow flies. The sound of the Alpajaras is definitely the chuckle of gurgling water. There is an incredible system of aqueducts here and they were in full flow as the snow melted. This was also 'Driving Over Lemons' territory and some places were recognisable from the book, though we did not see Chris Stewart himself unfortunately! Some of the scenarios were familiar. He often talks about being invited to "Come, sit, eat some meat". Which was true! We were in the pork capital of the world.We wondered how long it would take before we overcame the slightly odd affliction of the Cairo expat- an obsession with pork products (from the lack of availability of pork in Egypt.) Cairenes, I can tell you that it takes at least 15 jambon and cheese sandwiches (very often the only thing available in tiny villages), 8 plates of curred pork tapas (the tapa of choice in an area  where the tradition of free tapas with your drinks is still thriving) and a massive pork shank (had to be tried- not that good) to be over the strange pork obsession that you develop from years in Cairo. Don't be too alarmed- We didn't eat this all on one day, but over the course of the three weeks.However, that is enough, and I think I am over pork and am actually contemplating vegetarianism.

Snow and Almond blossoms

Trevlez- highest town and self proclaimed ham capital of the world!

Sierra Nevada

The final push of the journey was up and over a 2000 metre pass, which didn't feel too tough by that stage. At the end of the hike our fitness was pretty good, though may have been even better without all that tapas and vino, but never mind. We were clocking up some big kilometre days. You know that you are getting fitter when you respond to the comment "We are 10 kms  from such and such a village/point/town and you say,"Good, only 10kms!", rather than 'What do you mean its still 10kms?". So the final day took us over the pass and down to the spectacular Calahora in shadow of a fairytale palace and snowy mountain peaks. where we arrived in plenty of time to have a final meaty tapas and celebratory cerveza (of course, would be rude not to) and catch the bus to Granada that afternoon. The walk had surpassed our expectations-we loved it- but we were ready for a taste of city life!


La Calahora

550kms later- the end!

Granada is a fabulous place. We had never been and were blown away by the stunning physical location, the wonderfully wind-ey, cobbl-ey old town and that fabulous icon The Alhambra. What a place. We loved it. We had some more fantastic foody experiences in between sightseeing. We loved the seafood tapas at the crazy, frantic Los Diamontes, where plate after plate of deliciously fresh seafood arrived with your drink- the bar tenders were incredible- the place was heaving, but they never served the same tapas twice, and the tapas always made it to you, passed over the heads of the rowdy patrons. We also loved a place called La Tana- a gorgeous wine bar where the former sommelier turned bar owner took us through a selection of the fantastic local wines glass by glass. The temperatures were hitting 27 degrees as we left Granada- spring had definitely come to Spain.

Snowy peaks against the skyline

The Alhambara

View of the old town from the Ahambara

Tinto Verano and squid

Tasting at La Tana

It was then to Worcester where we had a fantastic week with Liz and Bruce, with more delights of yummy food and drinks and the weather co-operated and Worcestershire was lovely in the sunshine. Thanks Liz and Bruce for a fab time!

Post walk drink in the sunshine at the Talbot

 The bike was loaded and collected and we survived our maiden voyage to London. James is en route as of 4am this morning, on his marathon 2 day drive to Venice, and I will fly tomorrow. We will then be on the bike on our way towards Croatia and Montenegro. The bike is old hat for James, but completely new for me so watch this space for the motorcycle diaries!