4/24 Seville (walked 3 miles)
I have never, ever seen such a contrast between two banks of a river. As we crossed the bridge over the Guadiana River, we left small, impoverished, old and worn out Portugal to the modern world of Spain. Immediately, we noticed a huge difference in infrastructure; the highway system of Andalusia is easily the newest and nicest I’ve ever seen in my travels. The terrain changed from weed infested hills to manicured fields and green houses for miles and miles. The olive trees were bigger, the wheat taller and greener and the farm buildings of substantial size and in reasonable condition. It was like comparing night and day.
When our bus started to enter the Seville metropolitan area, I couldn’t help but think, “This is nice. I could live here!” A beautiful red, two lane bike path followed the road for miles, with bikers and walkers everywhere. Large, cookie cutter developments dotted the sides of the freeway, with newer Spanish country style homes. Soon suburban shopping malls, and then huge factories intermixed with small businesses, flew by out the bus’ window.
The old city of Seville is probably the most beautiful, people friendly metropolitan area I’ve visited. We wandered down the streets, which were filled with thousands of people sitting in outdoor cafes, strolling about with arms interlocked and stopping to snap photographs of the many urban landmarks. The city’s gothic cathedral is reputed to be one of the largest in the world; with its jutting spires, domes and steeples colorfully lit up against the black sky, it was way beyond the Magic Kingdom of Disneyland.
It was fiesta week in the city, so many of the women were wearing the traditional long, colorful Flamenco dresses, with their long black hair up in a bun and a flower gracing the side of their head. Quite frankly, they were gorgeous. I stopped many begging to photograph them.
Unfortunately, the maze like streets got the best of us in the end. Just when we realized that we were tired and wanted our hotel, we looked each other cluelessly. As I looked down on the tourist map with my 60 year old eyes, and with my glasses safely back in the hotel room, I realized that I was going to be no help in finding our way back to our hotel. We walked in an absolute panic for minutes, never making any progress in finding our way home. Finally, a series of kind Spaniards took pity on on us and even walked us part of the way back to the mediocre, but at this point, much loved Abril Hotel.
4/24 Ronda (walked 4 miles)
Unfortunately, room number two at the Abril Hotel is right behind the front desk, and double unfortunately, the other hotel residents all came home well after midnight, all banging the front door closed and acknowledging the night clerk. Sleep did not come easily or in great quantity, so the early breakfast hour nearly incapacitated us for the remainder of the day.
We retraced our steps in again seeing the highlights of the old city, especially marveling at the magnificent cathedral, women in full traditional dress and the many horse/carriage combinations, where the drivers all seemed in competition for the most elaborate Spanish costume.
The bus ride to Ronda was very green, with rolling fields of winter wheat and beans interspersed with an occasional olive grove. As we grew closer, the road narrowed and zigzagged up the steep canyon walls of the mountain range, the Macizo de Libar. We looked at each other at this point and gave the thumbs up. Spain was far exceeding our expectations.
By the time we found our hotel, Kim and I were starving. Our desk clerk, Lola, gave us a map a first grader could follow, but we were both so brain dead that we walked in a big circle through the cobblestoned streets for the first 20 minutes. Finally, we found the tourist office, where the woman behind the desk once again gave us directions and closed with, “Be careful out there!” It must have been obvious that we were mentally toast.
Our efforts finally took us to Casa Maria, where we had our first experience with tapas. It was a $59 six course meal where every bite was exquisite. We left very full and in a much better mood than when we had arrived. Everything, from the flavored toast to scallops and ultimately, the New York strip, was incredible.
4/25 Ronda (4 miles walked)
Ronda is a cute little tourist town located on a cliff overlooking a beautiful mountain valley. From the rim of the cliff, the tourist gawks down upon farmer’s fields, all neatly separated by stone walls, scattered small villages and blissful cattle and sheep working the green pastures.
A small creek has carved a deep gorge through the city, and the “new bridge” over it, which is over two centuries old, is both an engineering marvel and a photographer’s delight.
Thousands of tourists mill about the narrow streets of Ronda each day. It’s like Jackson, Wyoming, or West Yellowstone at high season, only that everything is much more compressed in Ronda. The streets are narrow, sidewalks barely are wide enough for one person in places, and everyone wants to be in the same “cool” places to see the big views. Traffic is bumper to bumper through the little village, which along with the huge crowds, makes it a noisy, intense experience for the unsuspecting traveler.
The day was nothing special. We walked around, ate tapas and then walked around more. The only thing positive - we had a really nice room at Hotel Ronda.
4/26 Zahara (walked 3 miles)
The 100% of precipitation came with a vengeance. Since it was a travel day, with a 45 Euro taxi ride to Zahara, we really didn’t mind it.
The clouds broke up a bit during the afternoon, and Kim and I trekked up the steep streets of Zahara to the old keep of the castle overlooking the village. The setting is magnificent, as you look down on the red roofs of the village, a glowing green countryside, and the baby blue waters of the Embalse de Zahara, a large reservoir.
Al Lago, our hotel, has one of the best restaurants we’ve experienced on our trip. We shared a Moroccan lamb and couscous for lunch, and loved the baked chicken we devoured for dinner.
Even though it was a marginal day, of rain and high wind, we had fun.
4/27 Zahara (walked 6 miles)
We woke up to a gray, over cast day with the wind whipping the trees outside our window relentlessly. After a decent Continental breakfast, Kim and I did the short hike to an overlook of the valley, which dead ended at a farmer’s gate delineating his property. We did see the much advertised Griffon Vultures high above us, and the views were pleasant, but it wasn’t fabulous by any means.
We then set out to follow the “Walk of the Griffin Vulture,” which meant carefully reading and following instructions. Since these have never been an area of strength for me, I relied on Kim’s guidance to get us beyond the city limits. Unfortunately, high water in the rain swollen creek stopped us in our tracks before we really got started. We retreated to the hotel, where I absolutely destroyed Kim in two games of Gin Rummy.
Dinner was probably the highlight of the day, as we had a wonderful paella and leek salad. So far, eating has been my favorite part of the Spain experience.
4/28 Zahara (walked 8 miles)
“Walk between the olive groves aiming for the three Eucalyptus trees for 300 M. You’ll be walking to the right of a large white house and to the left of the telegraph wires,” indicated the verbiage of our pirated self guided trekker instructions. The only problem is that we are in Spain, where olive groves are as common as mosquitos in Alaska and every house is white. You could stand in one spot, and in doing a 360 degree turn, spot bunches of Eucalyptus trees in all directions.
In all truth, following the instructions ended up being a really enjoyable challenge, like an endless scavenger hunt filled with feelings of frustration and exasperation, and ultimately, an intense feeling of triumph when you successfully found your way.
The day was perfect, about 70 degrees with barely a wisp of wind. The vibrant yellows, blues, oranges, pinks, reds and whites of the wild flowers exploded in every direction. They, coupled with the aquamarine waters of the lake and the small mountain peaks, made Zahara a very special place.
Upon returning to the village after an eight mile circuitous wander up and down the steep hills of the Andalusia region, we retired to Al Lago’s patio bar, where we met two trekking Brits, Bob and Phyllis. It was fun listening to them as they described the political situation in the UK, in that it mirrored the insanity of our gridlock between the Republicans and Democrats in the United States.
Dinner was once again a great way to end a perfect day. My pepper steak and Kim’s pork cheeks were fabulous. Hell, we’re even getting used to eating at 8:00 P.M.
4/29 Zahara (6 miles walking)
I really didn’t have all that high of expectations for our 20 Euro permitted hike into the Garganta Verde, and once again, I was totally wrong. It was probably the single coolest thing we’ve done on this trip to Europe.
When we got to the trailhead, we met a young couple from Pittsburg who had already completed the hike, but until we started our ascent, we would not see another soul. As we worked our way down the steep, rock strewn trail, all of a sudden a flock of 6-8 Bald Eagle sized Griffon Vultures rose up next to the trail and literally buzzed over the top of our heads at a distance of 10 feet. You could hear the air funneling through their wings as they flew by us. We sat down on the trail to watch them, and they made huge, swooping loops above to watch us. Finally, they grew bored with us and disappeared beyond the rim of the canyon. The trail became steeper and steeper, with long steps down in places. My 60 year old knees screamed with every carefully placed step.
It was a relief when we finally found the bottom, a dry creek bed with house sized boulders. Kim and I slowly worked our way downstream, where we found a huge alcove, quasi-cave filled with moss covered black spires protruding from the floor. At the this point, the sun’s rays were just starting to hit small pockets of the canyon’s floor, making an almost spotlight affect and and providing a vivid contrast to the dark canyon walls surrounding us. I scurried around with my cheap Panasonic Lumix shooting the canyon from various angles, capturing the surreal Utah like orange opening of the narrow slot canyon.
Yes, the floor of the canyon was beautiful, but the absolute din from the thousands of singing birds echoing off the walls made it seem like a cathedral with the organ and choir fully engaged.
Our last meal at Al Lago was wild boar, which was once again amazing. Al Lago may not be a cheap option for traveling Spain, but I’ve loved it for the food, extremely comfortable rooms and helpful staff. Mona, the owner, has really tried to make our stay pleasant.
4/30 Grazalema (walked 9 miles)
We made it! After suffering some angst about the big walk from Zahara to Grazamela, we found that it was nothing to really be concerned about.
Amazingly, our 9:20 A.M. departure time was pretty close to the plan, and as we walked away from Al Lago for the last time, we found the most perfect day in the history of the world. We ripped through the valley in less than an hour and were soon climbing a quiet rural road that wrapped around the northeast side of Monte Prieto, a large mountain serving as a barrier between the two villages.
As we worked our way around to the back side of the range, we looked down on distant white villages, olive groves and small farms. We encountered two docile donkeys feeding along the road, a large flock of panicked sheep, who ran away from us like we were Wyoming wolves, and an ancient farmer couple wandering around outside their home, who seemed like they were right out of Life Magazine. However, we didn’t see one car until we intersected with the highway and walked its shoulder for a short time.
As we descended a small pass and worked our way back up the mountain to our right, we looked down on a tiny white village sitting at the base of protruding “A” shaped limestone peak, the Reloj. Nestled into a narrow mountain valley, Grazalema easily wins the award for most picturesque community of the trip. As has been the case with all of the Spanish communities we’ve visited, it is neat, clean and well kept.
Grazalema is a functioning white village, in that real people live there who carry on real lives. When the church bell tolled each evening, you would see a steady throng of people walking down the steep, narrow streets for the service. Adjacent to the main square sits an amazingly detailed statue of the running of the bulls. The only difference is that the city doesn’t kill the bull upon closure of the activity; the Grazalema bull is retired to pasture for his hard work. The old men of the village amble down the steep streets to meet on the park benches near the central square. They spend the day there, watching the steady infusion of Spanish tourists looking for a parking space in the minuscule lot.
We love our hotel, the Mejorana, with its large patio, huge sitting room and comfortable rooms. The owners, Andres and Anna, go out of their way to insure your happiness. Andres has prepared a thorough hiking book of the area that is handed to each guest as he/she arrives.
5/1 Grazalema (walked 6 miles)
Kim woke with a wicked head ache and hadn’t had the best sleep the previous night; however, she persevered in doing yet another hike.
We climbed up a steep, rock littered trail into a mountain valley separating El Roj from the rest of the Simancon Range. Since it was so beautiful, we took our time and stopped frequently to rest and enjoy our surroundings. Initially, the trail took us through a pine forest until it plateaued at a large meadow, where we found a few happy cows enclosed in a rock walled compound. The trees started to thin out and soon we were navigating large steps, surrounded by huge limestone boulders and the narrowing walls of the mountains on each side of the trail. At the top of the pass, we wondered about on various trails, and then opted to take a longer route back to town at the end of the day.
This walk, alpine in nature, was probably the single best activity of the trip. It was beautiful, the day was hot, but not oppressive, and Kim’s health rebounded to normal as the day wore on.
We retreated to the hotel’s patio after the hike, where sat in the shade drinking beer and eating Grazalema cheese and crackers. It was all pretty damned optimal.
5/2 Grazalema (walked 7 miles)
Nothing has been easy on this trip, and today was no different. Andres, the owner of our hotel, provided instructions that we couldn’t mess up, and Kim and I soon found ourselves striding up the steep grade of the Grazamela-Zahara highway. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday and we quickly found out that others had the same plan, but they were on motorcycles, in cars or huffing and puffing up the hill on their bikes. The narrow road is a minor league “Going to the Sun” or “Beartooth Highway,” with scenic pullouts and a mirador (viewing platform) on top of the pass.
Once we made the top, we quickly engaged in our horrible Spanish with one of the throng of serious road cyclists we had been seeing. He was young, handsome and had already ridden 50 miles over many mountain passes and still had about 20 miles to go. He made me feel wimpy, as I typically complain about doing Snow Canyon or the Wall up Gunlock. He was a “Lance Armstrong,” while me......”Blanche Armweak.”
Kim and I walked a 2-3 mile alpine loop at the top of the pass, which provided phenomenal 360 degree views into the valleys below. Peonies were budding out on the green hillside and a flock of sheep grazed on the pinnacle of the mountain. It was nearly the “Sound of Music.”
It was moving in on siesta time, when all shuts down in the little villages, so we streaked back to Grazalema with visions of another picnic. Thanks be to Jesus, we made it to the meat market down the street and purchased the best picnic supplies yet. It was razor thin cuts of cured pork, a large chunk of goat cheese, a jar of olives, potato chips, and of course, the staple of all picnics worldwide, beer.
Following our inhalation of the picnic supplies, I took a quick dive in the ice cold pool. It had been another great day in Spain.
5/3 Montejaque (11.5 miles walked)
Ok, I’ll probably never win any awards for my map reading skills. Once again we were horribly lost and the blame sat squarely on my shoulders.
I all started with out host at the Mejorana Hotel, Andres, who gave us a never fail set of directions along with a map to follow.
Kim and I set out early to beat the oppressive heat and humidity. Following the plan closely, we turned off the highway onto a gravel road and immediately started looking for the second road to our right, which clearly followed a series of three houses. We walked and walked, stumbling by a mammoth bull laying inches off the road at one point, and never found our turn. Finally, I spotted the first road and then shortly after, coerced a reticent Kim to follow me up a grassed over zigzagging path up to the top of a ridge line. “I don’t think this is right, David,” Kim stated. “We’re too far past the city sewer ponds.”
Soon we were standing in the yard of two toothless Spanish hillbillies, one the mother and the other her tubby daughter. “Hola,” I exclaimed. “Donde es el path to Montejaque?” I motioned with my arm to the southeast, where there clearly was no path, but a barrier of barbwire fencing and 100 years of rusted out junk piled up.
Both passionately implored us to turn around and head back towards Grazalema, even going so far as to walk us out of their yard and again point to the northwest.
Knowing better than their sage advice, I insisted that they didn’t understand that anyone could be so stupid to to walk between villages when one could take a bus or taxi. I strong armed Kim into continuing down the road looking for our golden trail to paradise.
When we finally topped a small hill and could see that the road we were walking had dead ended, I, for the first time, realized I was defeated. A group of young mountain climbers were camping there, and one, who was English, communicated that we were indeed at the end of the road and that we had missed our turn.
We turned around and headed back, now adding an extra three kilometers to an already long day. Good fortune came when we ran into a middle aged Spanish couple out for a walk. He looked at our map, shook his head and then walked back with us towards Grazamela.
Finally, we came to a spot where the weeds and grass had been beaten down a bit off to the side of the road. A weathered post surrounded by tall weeds stood partially hidden. The sign indicating it was the “road” to paradise had obviously fallen off years ago.
Our kind Spanish man indicated that we should follow it, as this was the road Andres had outlined for us with our bright yellow pen. The path started off innocently, but soon became a 60 degree climb up a rock strewn path covered by an enormous volume of sheep shit. I felt all three cups of coffee, all the water and Gatoraide that I had ingested in the last week, stream from my pores in seconds. The path became more tangled and steeper, with bigger rocks to climb around or over. When we finally found the top, we were standing in front of a restaurant, where we each guzzled down a pop in seconds.
The rest of the day, which ended up being a long, 11.5 mile and approximately 2000 feet in elevation pain, was rather mundane. We walked along side a muddy, swampy river that the cattle had essentially destroyed, through dark cork forests and then a large, grassy valley.
By the end, we were both tired and hurting, as our feet ached from the rocks and uneven terrain. More than anything, I think the oppressive humidity finished us - leaving us grouchy and snapping at each other. Thankfully, cold beer was waiting for us in Montejaque. Without it.... divorce.
5/4 Montejaque (walked 5 miles)
After the monster day that nearly finished both of us, we elected to do a tamer walk. The man at the tourist office prescribed a visit to the Cueva de Hundidero, an underground cavern where the paltry flow of the Rio Campobucho goes subterranean for several miles before emerging near the village of Benaojan.
We actually walked MA-8403, a very narrow, winding highway to get to the entrance of the cavern, which is located right next to a large dam that doesn’t hold water, due to the porous character of the limestone floor of the reservoir. The walk itself was stunning, as the cavern is located in a narrow valley surrounded by rugged limestone mountains. A wide variety of flowers lined the highway, making the visuals extremely pleasant.
Once we worked our way down the steep path, actually an endless stairway, to the valley’s floor, we found a gaping 25 foot high opening in a rock wall, which was the beginning of spelunking adventure. A large sign in Spanish told us it was illegal to enter the cave and had the word, “peligro,” which means danger, in large red letters.
We only wandered in a short distance, where one would really start to need a decent headlamp. However, in the zone between the black beyond the well lit entrance, we found a beautiful example of nature’s art. The walls were a vivid contrast of mossy greens, blue clay, browns and blacks. It was a very nice way to spend a down day in our Portugal/Spain exercising marathon.
5/5 Montejaque (walked 12 miles)
Our day was spent on long walk up the Libor Valley via Europe Track 3, which was nothing more than an isolated country road.
It was a steady climb out of the Montejaque, as we gained approximately 2800 feet during our 12 mile ramble. The track takes you up a narrow valley, which is surrounded by small limestone peaks on both sides. Initially, we saw huge gardens being tended by men pulling weeds. As we gained elevation, it became pasture land for sheep, horses, cows, and for the first time on our trip, we saw pigs raised in a large fenced enclosure.
It was pretty, with a brilliant green contrasting with the gray limestone mountains, and huge fields of poppies mixed with daisies and peonies adding extra color. However, the real bonus of the day came with taking a long break, where we watched four soaring Griffon Vultures hunting lambs in the pasture below. The lambs stayed very close to their mothers, as both were in constant motion while grazing. If the mom got too far away, the fragile lamb would bleat out a high pitched “ba-baa-aa.” Mom would answer in a deeper tone and then the baby would scramble towards the sound at full speed.
5/6 Ronda (walked 7 miles)
Our Portugal/Spain adventure came to a close with our walk from Montejaque to Ronda. Since we knew it was going to be a shorter day, we literally took our time and smelled the flowers.
It seemed to be appropriate that the culminating day of this “wild flower extravaganza” would have the best flowers of the trip. After we had climbed the pass out of Montejaque and started the descent on the other side of the mountain, we found two large fields on the hillside that were solid yellow with a smattering of red. It was unbelievable. We stopped and parked ourselves in the middle of it all, even though my allergies were absolutely going crazy.
The rest of the day was rather anti-climatic, as we had been to Ronda and were not so impressed with its overpowering hoards of tourists milling about. Since we were bored, we took the scenic cobblestone trail off the face of the cliff to the valley floor. Initially, we shared it with quite a few “shutter snappers,” but as we continued down, we found ourselves alone. Obviously, your average tourist wanted no part of the steep walk back up to the old city.
Kim and I loved our time in Spain. Other than a couple of days of rain and cold, and maybe two days where it was a bit too toasty for our frail Wyoming bodies, it was a perfect Spring climate.
We found the country to be a happy, progressive place, where people made eye contact and greeted you with a smile.
I don’t think it’s a wealthy country, but it’s not poor either. People live a different lifestyle than Americans. They tend to live in smaller, older homes than Americans, and they drive smaller cars than we do. However, it all makes sense, as a big SUV wouldn’t fit in most of the streets of the small villages. The bottom line is Spain is a top tier nation and
the average Spaniard lives well.
The countryside was void of litter and ugly billboards. I know that summers are hot and dry, and that things brown out. However, our Andalusia couldn’t have been greener or more beautiful.
Overall, Kim and I agree that this was one of our best trips ever. We had some rough days due to sleep deprivation, which can really suck the joy out of travel, but overall, it was truly a wonderful experience.
