Motorhome News from Europe 10

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Motorhome News from Europe 10.

Spain November 2004
Return to British soil: Fascinating Gibraltar, Estepona, delightful Ronda, breathtaking Grazalema Natural Park, Zahara de la Sierra, Alora, Antequera and Laguna de Fuente de Pietra.


Our journey this week has taken us from Tarifa, the southernmost point of mainland Europe, eastwards to Gibraltar - fast (in an hour or so) along the Costa del Sol beyond Estepona and then northwards to Ronda in the mountains. We then headed east and north through Alora with Antequera in our sights. A week of walking, stunning scenery, wildlife, and just a small pinch of culture. Well, you can only take so much culture, can’t you?



We left Jimena, 30km north of Algeciras, heading for Gibraltar in the hope of seeing it in sunshine after yesterday’s rain delayed our trip. I guess we were going mainly because you can’t just drive past this British outpost, can you?

Gibraltar appeared on the horizon as we came down from San Roque; a huge grey, cardboard cut-out camel, its vertical ends rising from the sea, erect and severe. It’s out of place, stuck out here where the Atlantic meets the Med, but it’s a friendly place; just across the runway past curt Spanish and English Customs and as English as Brighton. We parked at Safeway’s for the day and filled up with tea bags, pork pies, real sausages and pickled onions - and diesel at 43.9p per litre!
The cable car doesn’t go up to the lookout on Sundays, so we took the taxi tour to see the Straits across to Africa, to the massive caverns where they hold concerts amongst the ‘tites and ‘mites, then a quick stop to meet the famous apes from a point overlooking the hundreds of ships in the harbour. Janice was silent for much of the trip, doubtless somewhat depressed that M & S was closed!
This year is the tercentenary of British rule here. Next year, 2005, it’s the turn of Nelson and Trafalgar,a true Norfolkman, celebrating the bicentenary of a that memorable victory. Nelson died a short way from the sandy shore here, and many of his men, who also gave their lives for our country in this fierce battle, are buried here in the Trafalgar cemetery. We sat for a while on the beach, listening to history washing on the waves, looking out to sea with our backs to the lighthouse. They don't celebrate Trafalgar Day in Spain. Strange that!

Spanish customs took a cursory look for contraband in Smiley on our way out through the border-post before we left for a long fast drive along the Costa del Sol as far as Marbella, then north, climbing the winding road up to Ronda against the nose-to-tail weekend traffic off home to the coast for another weeks work.



It’s just a mile or so from this great campsite to the fortified town of Ronda, famous for its bullring, the great ravine running through its centre, and flamenco. Those who have seen it, rave about it, including Orsen Wells, Ernest Hemmingway and David's little brother, Michael, to name but a few. Ronda is two towns for the price of one; the old Muslim town to the south of the river, divided from the new by a huge gorge 100m deep, joined by a single road bridge at the top. The old town is rich in churches, a convent, lovely balconies and twisting streets. The ‘newer’ town is built on a grid, with fine shops, a grand square and a memorable 18th Century bullring. I’m not certain that I would go; but if you’re interested, bullfights are held here in September. It’s a lovely experience to stand in the centre of the ring and shout, “Ole!” By the way, Todd has a new friend called Ron (from Ronda) to talk to now. Don’t miss Ronda if you’re ever this way. (Real sausages from Gib for tea and still reading Sunday’s Times (£2.35 in English money!).



A hazy sky bode well for the day and we headed for the Grazalema Natural Park to the west of Ronda, with the promise of more vultures and spectacular scenery. We were not to be disappointed. This is the Spain we came to see; away from the ever popular and crowded coastline to the hilltop villages high in the mountains, where most of the houses are still in Spanish hands, the cafes and bars belong to the locals and the church is still alive. This is a popular destination for Spaniards and visitors alike, a picture book far from the mad, incessant rush of modern life. The road climbs through the rolling agricultural valleys now flecked with golden poplars, to the wild and rugged grey limestone of the hills, planted precipitously with cork oak to the very top, where griffon vultures, twenty and more seen at one time, and one lone black vulture circle overhead; and where bandits famously once roamed.



Our journey took us first to the beautiful village of Zahara de la Sierra, perched on a hillside above a blue reservoir, cool and serene in the bright sky nearly 2000 ft above sea level. This sparkling village is squeaky clean, set on the very edge of the natural park and whitewashed this very morning in readiness for our visit. We sat in the tiny square drinking coffee and watched the world go by, surrounded by steep narrow paved streets, immaculate white porches, ornate balconies bedecked with flowers, and fountains in the tiny square with a church at either end. We spoke in whispers as we walked through the town, the way that you do when entering a church. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that before. They are putting new electrical cables to all of the houses, and re-cobbling part of the main street and an announcement over the town Tannoy from the top of the church probably said something like, ‘We apologise to David and Janice for any inconvenience this work may cause.’ They make their living from tourism today, supplementing their income from woollen scarves and shawls, olive oil, apricot liqueur, cheese, and cork of course. The properties here would suggest a high standard of living, but it might be hiding behind tourism investment from the government or the EU.


The fig trees are now bright yellow alongside the steep winding roads, against the grey-green broom, the shimmering gorse, the rare Spanish Fir and the stark outline of the mountains. Sparkling goldfinches sweep across the treetops before us in huge flocks, heading for Gibraltar and the North African coast. We sneaked a second look at the slightly larger town of Grazalema before the sun set in a dazzling display of orange across the whole sky against the deep blue backdrop of a summer’s evening in November. This lovely town reflects our experience in Zahara, spotless and shimmering white, but with proportionately wider streets and squares - and a garage, to support its 2,500 population. This is a truly lovely area and I suspect we may be here for a little longer.

The sun rose above the morning mist early on Wednesday, sizzling the ants by 9.30, through a crisp blue backdrop beyond the mountain frieze. The Sierra de las Nieves rises to the east of Ronda through a barren and desolate landscape; but beyond the ridge, as though passing to Act 1 - Scene 2, the landscape turns to green; wall to wall olive trees dotted across the hilltops like dominoes shuffled on the table. I’m now confused about olive green. Here we have dusty green olive, blue green olive, bright green olive, dark green olive - in broad brushstrokes on the canvas. Our walk of the day took us from the tiny town of Tolox (30 km north of Marbella), high into the afforested mountains on the lookout for vultures and the elusive Blue rock Thrush - our latest challenge now that the Bustards are in the bag. We did see a thrush, and the Blue rock is the only one likely to be here this late in the year, but we can’t be certain enough - so we’re still looking! The Sierras are not of Alps proportions, but for all that, the eagle eye view across to the Sierra Nevada 120km to the east is breathtaking. We love the mountains and we had this one to ourselves for nearly three hours.

There were places on our route northwards towards Antequera where there were so many olive trees it is seemingly impossible that there are enough people in Spain to pick them all, yet more fields are being planted across vast areas here in the south. The growth in demand for ‘healthy’ fats like olive is doubtless helping to boost demand, but we have to hope that fashions don’t change too fast for this country of great hope. Our journey ended today at Laguna de Fuente de Pietra. We just had to come here, it’s second only to the Camargue for breeding Great Flamingoes in Europe, though they are not likely to be here in any numbers until January. Still, we’ll see in the morning.


It’s morning; early. We’re the first off site, the sun is up there doing its work and the clouds have gone off somewhere else for the day. There is a chill wind sweeping across from the plains to the east and we’re wearing our jackets for the first time, but there are Flamingos here, about 200 of them, playing croquet with Alice in the shallow brackish water. We’re always thrilled by the sight of this ungainly bird, though nothing will ever match the spectacle on Lake Naivasha in Kenya, where close on a million of them gather in a pink line a mile long! We were not to be kept waiting long for another stunning surprise, as a hundred or so cranes took flight ahead of us as we drove around the lagoon! This is one of Janice’s top 10 birds and this has ‘made her day’.

There were three or four families of Brits on the site last night. They seem to have been here for some time and there are ‘Se Vende’ signs on their caravans suggesting that they have bought properties here and are now ready to move in. It’s a nice enough town, but I’m not sure I would want to live up here in a town much like any other. They’ve brought their kids too. I suppose they will learn how to pick olives at school. It’ll soon be a bit like living in Essex.

The olive fields stretch to the horizon to the north, interspersed with vines for our Christmas bottle of Sherry, now bright yellow in the autumn sun. This is the agricultural belt of the south and our road leads us on through endless shades of brown ploughed fields blanketing the hillsides, rolling without trees or hedges to the mountains beyond. They were ploughing on steep hillsides with caterpillar- tracked tractors yesterday! The impact of the ever-changing panoramas here will stay with me forever. This inner Spain I could not have imagined if I had dreamed forever, and it will be treasured. We had planned to seek out another ‘birding’ spot today looking for the rare white-headed duck, but it looks as though the local farmer has removed the sign to the lagoon whilst olive picking is in progress, and we can’t find it! There’s a realistic chance that we could make Cordoba tonight, so we’ll head for the mountains to the north before tea - can’t wait; we’ve got real Yorkshire tea now!

Janice and David
The grey Haired Nomads

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Photos

Gibraltar
....a huge cardboard cut-out camel, grey on the horizon.

'At last,' she cried. 'M&S!'
Home from home....

Ronda
Delightful Ronda

Ronda
The bullring. 'Ole!'

Grazalema Natural Park
... this is truly Spain

Flamingoes
..a long way off, seen through the telescope.

Zahara de la Sierra
We spoke in whispers as we walked through the town, the way that you do when entering a church......

Zahara de la Sierra
....whitewashed this very morning in readiness for our visit. We sat in the tiny square drinking coffee and watched the world go by, surrounded by steep narrow paved streets, immaculate white porches, ornate balconies bedecked with flowers

Poser!
David at rest.

Cotton- fields
Nearby, we spotted a flock of cranes

Gibraltar
across the runway...