Granada – el duende del sur (the spirit of the south)

The drive to Granada from Oliva was a significant step for us – once we had passed Murcia it was all new, as we’d not yet visited ‘northern’ Andalucia (we’d always hugged the coast previously!). We’d frequently said we wanted to see the ‘biggies’ that we’d not yet made time for – this time it included Granada and the Alhambra – and by going in May we’d hoped to avoid the intense heat of the summer proper but for it to still be nice and toasty.

So it came as a bit of a surprise for us as we reached our campsite, Alto de Viñuelas in Beas de Granada, that not only did we have spectacular views of the Sierra Nevada from the site, but that the peaks were still capped with snow along a very well defined snow line.

We’d chosen this site as it was a short 20 minute hop into the city – for the princely sum of €1.40 each way. The site has a high turnover of visitors which was a bonus for us, as we were able to swap to a different pitch on night two with amazing views of the mountains – both day and night, as the full moon lit the snowy skyline in a clear and otherwise unlit sky.

Our first full day saw us hop on the bus for an initial explore of the city. Tickets for the Alhambra need to be booked in advance (and entry to the Nasrid Palaces is only by timed entry that you choose when booking) and although we arrived on a Wednesday, the fist tickets available were for the Saturday afternoon – a lesson learnt! Day one then was for us to explore the city at our leisure – and what a treat it was.

Although Granada is understandably heaving with tourists in the popular areas, it doesn’t take much to get off the tourist track and wander round what is a grand city, with a mix of wide boulevards and narrow lanes allowing plenty of shade and cool.

This didn’t stop us from climbing up the hill to see the bits of the Alhambra that are free. It’s a truly amazing place and although it has been much restored over the ages, it is an impressive sight, and the steady tread of the tourist throngs doesn’t diminish its scale and beauty.

As it’s set on a hill overlooking a valley to the old gypsy quarter (the Albaycin) there are some spectacular and amusing moments – such as groups of tourists taking photos of each other from the miradors on each side of the valley as part of capturing their views!

Day two saw us ease back into a mixture of chores (the build up of dirty clothes has to be tackled at some point!) and a walk to the local village – where a coffee can be had for as little as €1 of a massive 1Kg of meat and a bottle of wine to share for €20 (we stuck to the coffee!).

Although it’s only a 20 minute walk to the village, it’s uphill on the way back and it was getting hotter than we’d been used to so far – so the pool at the campsite called out for a testing – perfect!

We’d also been joined on the adjacent pitch by a lovely couple from Bristol (Anne and Martin) who were heading in the direction we’d just come from on the eastern coast. It’s not that often we find such like-minded travellers and it was a treat listening to their travel tales over the next couple of nights.

Day three saw our timed-ticket visit to the Alhambra. We caught the bus and got off at the edge of the Albaycin district to get the view of the Alhambra we’d seen other tourists enjoying when we were on the Alhambra side. You can’t beat a proper cliché!

The barrio is a pleasant mix of small lanes and houses with a liberal smattering of restaurants plying for trade - and all advertising the same Flamenco spectacular – apparently good fun and on the outskirts of town.

The views across the valley to the Alhambra are worth the throngs and give an altogether different feel to the scale of the walls.

As we’d walked the hill up to the Alhambra before, we thought we’d treat ourselves to the shuttle bus after we’d topped up on double empanadillas for lunch. This may not have been such a good plan, as when combined with the fetid heat of the sardine-like crammed bus, poor Mrs B suffered a fainting fit – much to the alarm of the multi national passengers – and yours truly! Aided by a liberal splashing of much water from a variety of passengers, including a lovely Ukrainian family who I managed to thank in my schoolboy Russian, Mrs B came round just as the bus reached the entrance to the Alhambra. Luckily, we didn’t need to call the Cruz Roja as I’m not sure Mrs B would have fitted in the ambulance…

Although we went in, she was in no fit state to make the Nasrid Palace timed entry, so we spent a pleasant couple of hours lounging on a bench in the cool of the beautiful gardens in the ‘Generalife’ part of the grounds.

As the afternoon cooled, we made our way back to the bus stop to get back to the campsite – just making the last bus back! So we might just have to return to Granada in the future to see the inside bits of the Alhambra – and maybe a bit of walking in the Alpujarras and other bits of the Sierra Nevada! It’s certainly an area of Spain that warrants a decent amount of time to explore.

Next stop – Córdoba!

S.

Danger, Jabalí!

We arrived back in Oliva, just south of Valencia a week ago.  I say back, since, for those readers who don't know us, we were owners of a holiday home here for almost 13 years, and we miss the place a bit!

We headed down to Camping Olé on the long, sandy, dune backed beach where we whiled away many a happy day in the past, hoping for a spell of warm weather and some beach lounging, as well as catching up with old friends.

True to form, Oliva delivered the sunshine but also the wind, one of the reasons this stretch of coast is relatively undeveloped, and we hunkered down behind our windbreak to catch some rays and watch the dozens of kitesurfers and windsurfers zipping across the sea.  We even spotted a kite hydrofoil, the first we've ever seen in action.  One of our campsite neighbours was a keen kite flyer (in the traditional sense) and we were treated to a daily display of all sorts of kites and spinners, both on the pitch next door and on the beach.

We were about 5 or 6kms out of town here, so decided to cycle in for market day on our trusty folders, against the wind both ways of course - and pick up some delicious treats - olives, freshly roasted almonds in their shells, raf tomatoes and local cherries, just coming into season.

After a refuel of café con leche and pea and onion empanadillas (little olive oil pastry pasties) we pedalled back to camp to plan the next few days.

Next day saw us heading off across the Pego-Oliva marjal (marshland) on the bikes to visit Font Salada, a small hamlet of houses clustered around a natural spring water pool, fed by water which trickles through the rocks of St Pere 'mountain' - in reality a small hill, the area where we used to own our little casa.

As we crossed the N332, past the chupa chupa girls and onto the marjal, a purple heron burst out of the reeds above our heads - beautiful! And we began pedalling across a wide track between the bamboo, swishing and swaying in the wind.  It was idyllic.

A few moments later there was a great commotion and crashing sound in the rushes alongside us and the unmistakable sound of snorting.  It was a pig!! A very large pig by the sound of it.  Wild boar, or jabali are found in the mountains and forests of Spain, but we'd never heard of them here.  Feeling slightly panicked in case it came charging out at us, I began to pedal faster, much to Mr B's amusement, whist all the while the sound of rushes being crushed underfoot continued alongside.  I was convinced it was tracking us!

Fortunately this stretch of unmade roadway is relatively short and a few minutes later we emerged unscathed onto the small bridge and houses by the road leading to the font and one of our favourite swimming spots. 

With a sense of relief, we headed off to our old house where we'd been invited to see the renovation work.  What a difference! With new windows and the main living area knocked through, the old casa is looking quite transformed.  Chatting with the new owner, we heard that he too had had a close encounter with the wild boars when a family came ambling past his fence and up the hill to scratch their backs on some nearby trees.  He told us the adult was huge!

That night, safely back at the campsite, we tucked into a huge seafood platter and salad at the campsite restaurant, looking out across the dunes to the sea. Bliss.

And so the past few days have passed, with days on the beach and evening barbecues, it has been a treat to finally be eating outdoors.  The weather in Spain this year has been slow to warm everywhere we've heard, but is coming good at last, in one of our favourite places in the world.

Soon it will be time to move on and head off for some 'proper' sightseeing, to Granada and the famous Alhambra.  We have a long drive ahead.

Albarracín – all to ourselves…

After a short drive through the clouds that had dropped down to see us as we headed further inland and higher into the mountains to see ‘Spain’s most beautiful town’ we arrived at our campsite (Ciudad de Albarracín) just as the rain set in. Luckily, the campsite had anticipated this and laid on free wifi from all pitches and lashings of hot water in the showers. Not quite what we’d anticipated when we left the UK for Spain, but it could have been a lot worse…

We woke after a peaceful night’s sleep to a day that promised a 100% chance of rain – and a ‘tormenta’ (storm) to add insult to injury, but as the sky looked like it might stay dry long enough for the 2km dash into the old walled town, we decided to don our wet weather gear and give it a go.

The old town is dominated by a massive walled fortification that rises up the mountain side.

Originally an independent Islamic taifa, or state, and then a Christian kingdom before being absorbed into the province of Aragon, the old town has been extensively and carefully restored, with a consistent use of a red/pink tinted rendering (Yeso – my favourite Spanish building material from years of working on our house in Spain) blending the really old with the ‘recent’ old.

No doubt the promise of a tormenta had put most visitors off and for a lot of our wanderings we had the place pretty much to ourselves – except for the cats….

The small number of people we did bump into were Spanish – leaving us wondering where all the other northern Europeans from the campsite had gone to….

The town is not that big and after a pretty scary walk along the top of the battlements (my favourite bit being a 50m dash across a fairly narrow walkway with nothing either side – except a 10m drop) and a mooch around the fascinating narrow, winding streets, we decided to head for lunch in one of the restaurants with panoramic views across the town.

Two hours later, and after a bottle of red to wash down our mountain-meat platters, we headed for the scenic walk back to the campsite along the river – the ‘via fluvia’. This was great fun and a classic example of Spanish ingenuity – where the river (the Guadalaviar, which gives a boundary to the town) had eroded the path over the years, elevated walkways had been built to enable a proper ‘paseo’ to be taken – the walk (often of an evening) that brings the locals of a town out for a natter and a stroll.

By now the sun had shown itself and we ended the walk back to the campsite with some fabulous views of the town. And as soon as we got back in the van, the tormenta arrived with a vengeance – what a lucky escape!

So, ‘Spain’s most beautiful town’? I’ll keep my powder dry for now but it was certainly spectacular and a real treat to see without the throngs of tourists we’d thought might be there when we originally added it to our itinerary.

Next stop – the coast!

S.

A walk in the clouds . . .

. . . and a cycle ride on our trusty little folding bicycles. 

After a mellow few days soaking up the sunshine on the coast and with weather forecasts looking dull, cloudy and even a little damp, we thought we’d make for the interior, heading for the hills north of Sagunto (itself a worthwhile visit if you're ever this way, with its impressive hilltop Roman city towering over the orange groves below), but we've visited before, so onto new territory and a little town called Navajas, perfectly situated on the 'Via Verde de los Ojos Negros', one of the old railway tracks of which there are many all over Spain, that have been converted into walking, cycling and horse-riding routes, see: 

www.viasverdes.com 

for more info.

This one, which runs from Teruel, used to transport iron ore to the port of Sagunto on the coast and is perfect for a couple of days enjoying the great outdoors. Navajas is an old spa town, boasting some beautiful eighteenth century mansions from its heyday, when wealthy Valencians used to come here to escape the heat of the city.  It made for an interesting stroll from the campsite into the plaza, with its 400 year old elm tree and Friday market - serendipitously timed for us the next morning! 

From the town, there's a riverside walk past several springs and small waterfalls to the Salta de la Novia (or bride's leap, after a local legend of a young bride who plunged to her death here) where the water comes thundering down some 30m from the cliff top into a series of pools where you can swim, in temperatures a little warmer than we had maybe, and put me in mind of more exotic locations. It's really rather spectacular.

 

Next day, after stocking up at the market with the delicious local olives, bitter with wild thyme, we took a meandering walk along the Via Verde to Altura, by way of a small contemporary aqueduct and picnic area, built recently as a social project and a pleasant area to pause awhile.

Next day was set aside for a bike ride to Jerica, in the opposite direction.  It's a beautiful cycle of about 7kms, passing by the Regago reservoir and dam en route.   

As we arrived at a viewpoint on the edge of the town we found a small tourist info in a renovated signal box, with the sounds of flamenco guitar and vocals emanating from within.  We waited a few minutes, admiring the scenery and enjoying the music, before going inside to find two old boys with a guitar and an almost empty bottle of red wine, clearly getting into pre lunch mode, one of whom was the tourist info official!  As well as directions into town, we also learned a little history about the railway, built with engineering help from the British apparently, and running alongside the main RENFE rail line.

Jerica itself is a lovely spot, and we managed to arrive on their market day, always good in small towns as everything else is open too.

We had an impromptu lesson in the baker’s, learning the difference between panaderias, which just sell bread and savouries, and pastellerias, which sell sweet pastries and cakes, after making the mistake of asking for sweet tarts in a bakery!  The woman in the panaderia was very patient! (Although we’re sure we’ve frequented many a dual purpose establishment). We ate our tuna and tomato empanadillas (from the panaderia of course) in a little square outside the museum, with views across the valley, before cycling back up the hill to the via verde and our temporary home at Camping Altomira.  Supper tonight was to be in the campsite restaurant, seated somewhat prosaically next to the cigarette machine and under the telly, to eat what was probably the saltiest paella I've ever tasted.  The jamon, cheese and garlicky tomato starter was delicious however.

We just made it back to the van before the heavens opened and the red wine haze of sleep descended.

Tomorrow, we're off to Albarracin, 'the most beautiful town in Spain'.  We shall see.

Over the hills and (not far) away

We set off for the trip to get us to Spain on what has become a well travelled path: to Toulouse, then via Foix to the route up the Puymorens pass over the Pyrenees just south of Andorra, down the other side to Seu d’Urgell where we then head south west to reach the coast at Amposta.

We made it to a familiar camperstop at Les Cabannes (just €4 for 24 hours parking) in the foothills of the French Pyrenees by early evening, with the sky and surrounding mountain tops towering ominous and grey above – as usual!

Morning came though, and with it the bluest of Pyrenean skies we have seen in a while. This made the journey up and over the pass an absolute joy, with snow capped mountains all around.

I love this part of the trip. Much as I adore France, for me there’s a real sense of arrival, almost like coming home, as we enter Spain via Puigcerda. Usually it’s a straightforward drive through Bourg Madame on the French side into Spain with not much of a discernible border other than a change from French to Catalá – this time, and a reflection of recent troubles across Europe, the border was heavily guarded by machine-gun toting Policia Nacional, all, of course, sporting reflective aviator-style sun glasses as well!

Stocking up with fresh fruit and veg at (very much cheaper) Spanish prices in the Catalá signed Carrefour supermarket just on the outskirts of town is a delight. Not just to reflect on a famous French brand being given a fiercely autonomous Spanish regional twist, but particularly as much of what was double the cost in France was imported from Spain anyway!

Usually we break the trip at a free camperstop at Asco (famous for its riverside nuclear power station) but we made such good time that we decided to head on to the coast for a free overnighter by the sea at one of our favourite places on this bit of the coast; Alcossebre.

The journey from the French border brought with it the usual contrasts: gone were the French blokes peeing at the roadside with Gallic nonchalance, instead, a series of empty plastic chairs and parasols, sometimes with their ‘chupa chupa’ owners waiting for passing trade; gone were the neat and tidy manicured towns and villages with hardly a person in sight during the middle of the day, and instead there were places that were a little less neat, but vibrant with people out on the streets or, more usually, lounging outside cafes and bars in the sunshine. Diesel is also cheaper over the border at less than €1 a litre J. It used to be the case that the roads were a point of contrast too, but this bit of the journey has benefitted from EU investment and the trip along the beautiful river Ebro to the delta at the coast is on mainly fast, new and for much of the time, pretty empty dual carriageway roads. It certainly beats the coastal route along the Med we used to take with a choice of the slow (and dangerous) N roads, or the fast (and expensive) autopistas.

We reached the coast at eight o’clock and settled in for what we hoped would be the beginning of the customary sun-soaked idyll of Alcossebre: only to be woken by heavy rain in the night and a forecast of thunderstorms L. Morning brought sunny skies to our free overnighter however, and we headed off to find a pitch at one of the best equipped campsites we have ever stayed on – Playa Tropicana.

It’s quite funny really, as we used to free camp near here regularly years ago and poured scorn on the neat and tidy rows of northern Europeans soaking up the sun by the pool at the camp site. Now, we’ve joined them and just love the luxy treat this is before we head off on the next part of the journey: south towards Andalucia and Portugal.

We still do free camp here for the odd (usually first) night, as it’s a beautiful bit of coastline, which is great for walking and cycling.

 

 

This bit of the Spanish coast is not at all over developed – indeed it’s clear to see where there are bits of infrastructure that have been put in and then not followed up further south at Torrenostra, where plots lie empty and the link road to the new airport for Castelló remains eerily empty much of the time. The airport is yet to be used but was recently bought by the Chinese as a freight hub. Perhaps next time we pass this way it may have changed dramatically….

After five nights and days with wall-to-wall sunshine, we’ll eventually make a break for the hills on Thursday to start the first of our hopefully many forays into new and uncharted explorations – into the Sierra d’Espadá, west of Castelló.

S.