Near Granada, part 2

Europe » Spain » Andalusia » Granada
October 25th 2005

Published: October 25th 2005

Oct. 17 Altea
It is really a gift to have such time together as a family. It isn't that everything is all peaches and cream (it is remarkable how well Manya and Koby can be getting along most of the day, and then one small incident can get them both to say how much they hate each other and what an idiot s/he "always" is). But after almost two months on the road, there are inside jokes (probably too many which involve bodily functions), memories of favorite restaurants, hotels, lunch spots, etc., and loads of times that entail lots of laughter, or just pleasant strolling after dinner along some beachfront promenade. Surely too few families have these times together and hopefully these will render fond memories for us all for a long time to come.
Yesterday was a fine bike day, especially given my trepidation about feeling ill. We left the exceptionally cheerful hostel by 10 and found untraveled flat roads past more orange and clementine groves which are so common that I forget to even mention their prevalence. This took us 30 km to a pastry stop at a backerei in an area where Spanish seemed a secondary language to every other tourist tongue. The place we stopped turned out to be Dutch, and everyone but us at the cafe spoke Dutch. I imagine there were other restaurants that catered to Germans or Brits, and it was just the Dutch owners who attracted the Dutch clientele. We left this break with my first flat of the trip, and once that was repaired, we began to head into more hilly country off the coast, as the coastal route involved an even bigger mountain right near the water.
This was relatively easy climbing and again welcome after so much flatlands. We remained fairly high above the sea up through lunch, taken on the deck of a closed furniture store--the kind of unexciting but comfortable spot we haven't stopped at for a while as we have mostly eaten on the beach or in a park. I needed the rest and I welcomed the wall to lean up against and sprawl while I ate.
After a slight bit more climbing, we descended rapidly to Calp, towards the enormous rock island off the coast that is being eclipsed by the countless high rise apartments developed along the coastline. We immediately climbed out of the town and away from the Costa Blanca overdevelopment and I had just enough energy to get to the top of the low pass before mercifully descending into Altea for the final 8 km of the 79 km day. Altea, too, is set among rock cliffs along the shore and steep rock mountains on its inland side. It is a scenic change to see vertical relief although we hope the riding doesn't involve too much going over this more rugged terrain.
A pint of Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough (miracles do happen) helped rejuvenate me enough to get to this kind of plush hotel on the beach, where I promptly fell asleep to help what I hope is a continuing recovery from being sick.
We crossed the 2000 km barrier yesterday and are palatably close to Granada. This brings mixed feelings about pushing ourselves to be done with biking, or going slower to enjoy the last of the riding and the sea. Still not sure if our intended route is all ridable, since there is a 40km section that looks like it is on the toll road on which I am not sure they allow bikes, I feel we should just continue on apace, and see what happens as we go. It has been nice to have rest days lately that largely resulted from some longer days earlier, but it is also nice to get into some rhythm of riding too.

Oct 18 Alicante
Once again mired in frustration in trying to connect to wireless. Our hotel has wireless and gave me the key number, but after an hour last night and another hour this morning trying everything I can think of to connect-- no luck. Even if I didn't feel I wanted to get this posted, just wasting this amount of time would be annoying. I wish I knew if this was a problem with the computer itself or my use of it or something about configurations or encryption. I guess I will try contacting Dell, but they were not too helpful in the past when I talked to them.
If not for this, our time here would be quite pleasant. Yesterday was again supposed to be an easy day, supposedly only about 50 km to here.
It turned out to be more like 65, but even this would have been fine if I wasn't feeling weak still. It was very humid as well, so the last 20 km took most of my concentration. Besides this fatigue, there was excitement in the day first from biking through Benidorm, which was a remarkably crowded land of tourists (40000 beds in one place) and fish and chip shops and loads of other indications that this was a land transplanted and not Spain. It was amazing simply that this many Brits all were on holiday in mid October, and that they all choose this least appealing of locales (Manya kept commenting how this was not Spain and why would people travel to a place they couldn't experience Spain or learn Spanish).
But the real excitement of Benidorm came a few km out of town when we came upon an open karting course. Koby had been wanting to try this kart racing since seeing a brochure for this a couple weeks ago. We have passed numerous closed karting sites and watched enough racing on tv to further whet his appetite. We watched adults rip around the course at seemingly incredible speeds, squealing around turns, but seemingly unable to roll these mini formula 1 cars that are so low to the ground and so wide in wheelbase as to be safer than it looked. For kids, they had smaller cars with single engines which seemed fast out of the gate but proved suitably restrained for parents but still fun enough for the kids. Manya waited until Koby tested the waters, and then joined in for a couple 10 minute rounds herself. This all took us a couple hours, and after a start near noon from Altea, we were left with a bit of a push to Alicante before dinner.
We got to the beaches of Alicante by 5 or so, and this was a flat and easy near end to the riding day, but then it was still about 5 km in the city boundaries to the main center. But we quickly found a hotel, convincing the receptionist that we could "squeeze" in a triple room (which was bigger than many rooms we have had elsewhere). We found one of those cheap local tapas bars where they let you speak Spanish but can understand English well enough to get the right food to you and that made this town seem all the more pleasant.

Oct 18: Playa Flamenco
This is the life--a 4 star hotel, Champions League soccer on the telie, eating Ben and Jerry's Vermonster (yes, somehow the best flavor of B & J lives on here and not the US), the waves lapping up on the beach outside, and, happily, our last evening along the coast. We had planned to head down the coast another two days--about 140 km--but after riding 70 km across the dry flat plains on the too busy N332, and coming upon the tourist land of Torrevieja with its sad looking empty streets, and having a helpful shopowner tell us the road gets really hilly from here along the coast (and still on the main highway), we are ready to go inland.
Why one part of the coast is totally developed and another not is hard to figure out. Some places look slightly more scenic, but mostly this is the look of new buildings giving some sense of life to the land which is so dry almost everywhere. South of Alicante, there is almost no real beach development for 30 miles, despite its proximity to an airport that brings over 2 million visitors a year through its gates.
This hotel where we are staying seems a breeding ground for Spanish real estate sales. Apparently, these agents chauffeur their ready to retire British clients around all day in their company car looking at properties and then plant the future landowners here for the night (who pays?) to talk about their finds with other similarly aged and similar looking Brits with slight paunches, red faces from either sun or beer, and a happy look to be out of dreary England and on the verge of some kind of new life in sunny Spain.
On one hand, it is very easy to understand this move for the Brits. To get away from the damp cold, as well as a life of the working world, for the warmth of Spain seems a no brainer. And apparently, they set up refugee communities here with all the comforts of home--dart leagues, cable TV broadcasting football matches, loads of dreary pubs, mediocre food, towns where English is at least as common as Spanish, loads of other similar emigrants seeking the same as them. At the same time, it all seems a bit odd. Maybe it is really no odder than retirement communities in Florida, but there seems to be some semblance of colonialism or at least cultural submersion as the English empire infiltrates the colorful native culture of Spain.
And there are some serious questions about this development from an environmental and economic perspective. Ignoring the possibility of a worldwide speculative real estate bubble (who has all this money to be buying so many properties?), the development that is going on everywhere seems to have no limits. The developers either own the government or are the government. We have read commentaries in English proclaiming how local politicians profit generously from the so called urbanization (apparently able to legally take up to 70% of someone's land as well as charging service fees for the overall development of an area). Where they build, they seem to build on every possible strip of land, except some weird little few hundred meters they designate as a park. Everything else--hillside, waterfront, flatlands, etc. is planted with high-rise blocks much like the ones just down the road. And maybe more significant than the effects on the land are the impact on water, or the lack thereof. Spain is basically a very dry country that has suffered from some form of drought every year for decades. Add to this hundreds of thousands of new residents and it is hard to imagine where the water will come from. Finally, what is the impact on the health care system to become home t so many older residents? Does t his become Spain's responsibility, or the EU's or some kind of private service? Or do these retirees return home for medical care, although this probably doesn't work so well in emergency situations.
(An interesting sidenote: I learned that the EU has an agreement between nations on health care, etc. Every EU citizen has an identity card they carry at all times that entitles them to services like health care anywhere in the EU. The costs are then worked out between countries, and I imagine, all medical records are available wherever you are with your card. Much of the protest to identity cards in the US involves having medical records open that would hurt your ability to get insurance. Here, since insurance is universal, medical records can be open so that you can get quality care wherever.)

Oct 19
The plush hotel, rainy morning, and last time on the coast (as well as the endless coverage of Champions League soccer (made especially enjoyable by the edited coverage of previously played games where they fit 90 minutes of soccer into about 45 minutes of non stop action)) proved too tempting, so we are here for what we think will be our last non riding day before our final 6 days to Granada.
It's hard to figure where all these beachcombers come from, or how they are all on holiday in mid October (it turns out it is mid term break in much of Europe, one of three two week vacations they have in the school year). In truth, it isn't all that many people, but the beach got pretty full when the afternoon sun and blue sky shone, and although many were English, there also seemed many Dutch, German, and Scandinavians as well. Maybe this is the normal number who take off peak holidays and take their kids out of school.
The real fascination at this hotel is the Glengary Glenross feel of the Ambasol real estate agents (the ultimate in Spanish property sales) hovering through the halls. Dressed in the company royal blue, driving the company issued Renault Megene blue and orange cars "as seen on TV", they are the consummate smooth operators corralling their willing prey into property purchases. We haven't discerned all the details, but we think the deal is that British couples are flown down here and put up in this nice hotel under the agreement to be shown properties for some number of days. In the morning, the lobby is full with dozens of agents, plotting strategy and joking it up in their snaky salesman way, armed with binder filled with potential sales. After overeating at breakfast, the Brit couples arrive for their daily tour, the agents courting their assigned charges, graciously greeting to create a bond of kinship, then escorting the pair to the car, husband invariably in the front passenger seat, wife in the back. I learned the whole trip is paid for by Ambasol, from the plane flight down to Spain to the hotel room to meals (all highly discounted for Ambasol who is purchasing this all in quantity and can fill up a few hundred room hotel at times), out of money made on sales commissions. While I thought their commission might exceed the norm, apparently there is no fixed commission rate here. Still, this becomes a captive audience by dint of circumstance--a foreign country, perceived difficulty of locating competing agents (who are, really, everywhere), complicated legal issues, and, probably most importantly, the bonds established between potential buyer and well trained sellers who thrive off this chummy arrangement. And, in the end, about 95% of those who come down here buy a place, making this a salesman's paradise.
Not surprisingly, the salespeople don't worry about any bigger picture. When asked about a real estate bubble, they said no one talks about this. And water? They said there is a big reservoir nearby, fed by the mountains across the country in Galacia. And health care is Spain's responsibility, but this is a fair trade off, the salesperson thought, for all the money these outsiders are bringing to Spain. Perhaps it is?

Oct 20 Fuente Alamo
Leaving the coast, we have entered a very different Spain. Gone are all the touches of tourism, including such niceties as hotels or restaurants with any regularity. We are in serious farm country, first passing lemon groves closer to the sea and then once a bit inland, artichoke fields, cabbage, almond trees or just large tracts of dry, dry dirt for our 75 km of riding.
This is an area few tourists visit (as we learned by riding up and down the streets of this town looking for a hotel of which there were none in this somewhat sizable town), but it is good to see a more "normal" part of Spain, and we have found a pleasant enough trucker hotel just out on the highway where we had nothing to do after arriving at 5 but to stay in our rooms and read and such, as all that is nearby is fields and the road.
Some small notes about Spain: 1) Beer and wine cost about the same as water in restaurants and less than soda. This probably pleases many visitors. 2) Roundabouts are everywhere, and the kids wonder constantly why these aren't more common in US. They are way more effective than stop lights for traffic flow and it is hard to understand why we don't use them more except for some type of obstinance about not thinking of the idea ourselves. 3: They always have dessert first, then ask if you want coffee, and they are always surprised we don't want coffee--and then they never bring the bill unless you ask, encouraging hanging out. Even if you do ask (and Koby has gotten quite active in trying to flag down waiters), they are in no rush to get you to pay or free up a table. 4: They let you ride bikes (or take tractors, ride horse, or walk) on the interstate. This can be a savior when there is no other road (which happened for us for 10 km today, to Koby's utter dismay), but does seem a bit surprising. Actually, aside from the noise from the speeding vehicles, it seems pretty safe as the shoulder is very wide and you get sucked along with the traffic.

Oct 22: Puerto Lumbroso
Another basic Spanish town most tourists never would see. In fact, all the hotels in town but this oddly located Parador (the official classy hotels of the Spanish government) are closed. One seemed to be doing renovations, one had a sign along with its restaurant but no one inside had heard of the hotel part, one was simply demolished and replaced by a pile of rubble.
Our riding crossed more agricultural land, interrupted by opportunities to watch herds of sheep led by shepherds to find the rare greenery to graze upon. Fortunately, there is vertical relief hereabouts with these dry mountains rising up on either side, very reminiscent of Nevada perhaps, and indicating why there is a park nearby called Little Hollywood where they filmed some American western decades ago and still live off this reputation.
Hit it right at dinner and found the popular spot in town at the Bocadillo Jamon (Ham Sandwich) Restaurant. Serving sandwiches that put Subway to shame, they basically fill a whole baguette with that great dried Spanish ham or some other of about 100 meat choices for 3 euros. How these folks down a loaf of bread in one sitting is beyond me, but it certainly didn't seem worth it to get the half sandwich for 50 cents less, and the place filled right up with those ready to hunker down to another meal deal.

Oct 24 Baza
Two days from Granada. We could have made it only one, but having put ourselves in position for this with a 90 km ride yesterday, a strong headwind this morning (probably only about the 3rd real headwindy day amazingly enough) and getting up into the heart of the Sierra Nevada mountains made us decide to take it just a bit slower. So 45 km today, and about 50 tomorrow before a final 70 or so to Granada.
Yesterday was a day of diverse riding. We started out of Puerto Lamrosa on the newly paved N340 and were pleased to find a rural road (not shown on maps) that ran alongside the autovia, thus saving us a 20 km detour to avoid the highway. But this road went from nice pavement to bumpy pavement to dirt to mud in about 3 km. Looking through an underpass, though, showed another paved road on the other side of the autovia, and this turned out to be an ideal road traveling slightly downhill along dried fields with long views of the distant mountains. And just when this merged with the autovia to Koby's protests, a group of 7 fast bikers approached, belying Koby's claim that he has never seen a biker on the interstate. We jumped on these guys' wheels, which mostly seemed to impress them, although riding two abreast in a pack on the highway (with one guy riding no handed while he made a phone call) seemed maybe a bit dangerous. We survived these couple kilometers until getting back on the frontage road, and then we continued to drop elevation and cruise on to Huercal-Oveda along with the peloton, zipping off the first 22 km of the day.
After loading up on a snack of fresh orange juice and chocolate covered donuts, we wandered about to eventually backtrack a bit to find the "shortcut" road towards Granada. This started out as a nice barren stretch of high desert riding, then after the hard to pronounce little village of Albajulajas, the road seemed to disappear. Asking directions of one of t he lone souls in town, we gathered something about going down the hill, along the canal, under (or over the bridge) and continue down. Even had they been speaking English, it would be hard to visualize the road ending in a few dirt tracks that laced above, around, and below an arch bridge that seemed to be for trains. We chose the under route that followed the river bed (literally running where the river would be if and when it has water). We have been on much worse roads on this trip, and this went gently downhill, and when we saw a car approaching and then a motorcycle, this seemed like it was probably the right way, amazingly enough. After a couple km, we saw the bridge of a real paved road ahead, and this put us on the A334 which would carry us 83 km through the Valley of Almanzora to Baza. This well paved road traversed more desperately dry land, although the continued building of new housing seemed to indicate lots of people didn't see this as problematic.
Finding a small patch of shade for lunch, we sat down with the flies and relaxed, being watched casually by a small group of local kids. They had the ubiquitous stacks of soccer cards, so Koby and Manya went into the bar and bought a couple packs that have kept them amused since. We tried talking with the kids in Spanish and weren't doing too bad, until the one said, "I am from England." I don't know why he didn't say this earlier, but this allowed us to gain a bit more insight into the new immigrants from the north. This family, with 3 boys ages 4-11, had moved from London 5 years ago. The mother had been a hairdresser in England, but owned a restaurant here, serving fancy French food to mostly Brits. The oldest boy said he had 8 other British kids in his class at school, although the school was all in Spanish. The kids seemed pretty binational, having favorite football teams in Spain and England, having no favorite for the world cup, speaking either language fluently. Their parents, however, don't really speak Spanish or watch Spanish tv, but are happy to be away from the cold and wet of England for the sun and warmth of Spain.
I felt the strongest I have in a while, even with the hot, dry weather, and we got the benefit of a bit of tailwind as we rode the more hilly terrain of Andulucia. Not sure where there would be a place to stay, we decided to continue on so that we were close enough to Baza to give us options today. Finding no hotels, and having reached our pre determined limit, we went to search for camping spots near Tijola, atown that seemed most noteworthy for the loudness of the boys' motorbikes and the number of teens hanging out on the streets.
Having crossed into a more lush region (although this is a relative measure as the ground here was parched dirt too, but there were some evergreens that made the hills appear more fertile), we found what would have been a lovely park except for the piles of garbage and prevalence of outdoor bathrooms as indicated by piles of old toilet paper. Still, we found a great piece of flat ground to watch the sunset and leave our things while we went back downhill to town for dinner.
Again, we faced the challenge of finding a popular restaurant just a bit before the regular dinner hour. Following the recommendation of the man at the candy shop, we ended up in this little bar across the street with no menu and had another great meal of surprises, from the fried eggplant to ham zapaterilla (little shoe?). As we ate, watching boring local news (readying the TV since same channel had the Barcelona soccer game on in 3 hours), the place filled up once again confirming our luck in finding the local favorite for dinner.
Spain has been great for the kids' eating. Manya loves Spanish tortillas (basically potato quiche) and potatoes bravas (french fries with spicy ketchup) and Koby is almost totally happy eating omelets, fried eggs or grilled cheese that we can get just about everywhere.
Our campsite was ideal, save the security light that came on at 11 and the few minutes of rain that now seem guaranteed when we decide to camp. But with this free site, we had our cheapest day of the trip--about 40 euros total, well below the 140-200 we have probably been averaging.
After packing up, we returned to town to find breakfast, and joined the crowd spilling out the door of the churreria to get our churros and chocolate to carry us at least the first 20 km or so until we could find something more substantial.
The air had a real nip of fall in it as we cycled into the wind and up and up the very quiet Sunday streets. It would have been great riding without the wind, but it was more scenic as we were amongst 1-2000 meter peaks. We got to Baza by 1:00, but the wind, and the 50km to Guadix, probably over some more hills, seemed too much to do after the long day yesterday. So we rest in the hotel, the kids trading soccer cards, writing in journal, reading, and enjoying the last of our days on the bike part of the trip.

Oct 25 Guadix
Two months exactly since leaving home and we are at a very special place for our last night on the bike trip. Our cave hotel looks out at the Sierra Nevada, with Spain's highest peak, Mulhacen, sticking up like the edge of key, in the background. Closer to us looks like the badlands, with steep clay mounds eroded by rivulets forming odd shapes and shadows. And our "room" is literally a cave, like over 2000 houses hereabouts, vestiges of over 500 years ago when the Muslims hid out in these hills before the reconquest of Granada. Apparently it is very easy to dig out the clay that typifies this area, so the exiles dug caves that have since become homes to the poor of the area first, and now have become trendy and chic for the more well to do. It is really quite unusual to see these white chimney tubes sticking out of the ground everywhere, indicating that there must be rooms below well back from the house front, which is merely a vertical clay wall painted white with a door and window cut in the hillside. Everything else, for most of the houses, is back underground, scraped away like snow tunnels and painted white to keep out the moisture of the earth.
Our hotel is a bit outside the main cave barrio, on this small road out of town. A bargain still, we are paying 75€ for this lovely and clean cave with two big rooms and a bathroom, high class sheets and toiletries, a pool inside a greenhouse that was hot enough evenfor me to swim, and even breakfast--and this great view over the uninhabited big mountains. Really an excellent find to end the bike phase of our trip.
Our penultimate day of biking was also delightful. Affirming our decision not to push ourselves into the wind yesterday, we awoke to more clear skies, but a chill in the air we could see when breathing. The wind had died down and even switched to a slight tailwind, and we left Baza up and up for a few km on a small road out of town that eventually met up, at its high point, with the autovia that was mercifully uncrowded. Having a wide shoulder that Koby fortunately mistook as a bikelane to ease his concerns, we stayed up high along the hillside, paralleling a national park on one side and overlooking other ridges off over rolling open plains on the other. About 15 kmn from Guadix, the road started downhill, and we really cruised into town here, hitting speeds over 70 km/hr on the smooth pavement and finishing the 56 km before lunch.
This is, in Koby's words, "a great city," small enough to get around easily but with these neat cave houses and a stunning cathedral and imposing Alcahzaba (old fortress) anchoring the town. These, and some other old buildings, are probably worth visiting, but after seeing the cave museum and finding this fine hotel (all quite uphill from town), we preferred to hang out at the pool, walk to the mirador (view spot) and enjoy dinner here rather than stay on the move.
We feel lucky to be finishing the trip in scenic terrain with vertical relief. As much as the coast is nice riding for a tandem and even scenic in spots, we are more mountain people, so riding these last few days surrounded by vertical relief has been a treat. Although the vast openness of it all and the subtle colors are impossible to capture in pictures, it is very pleasant for us and we look forward to this last day to Granada on a road we are told is great for bikes, quiet, and, after climbing the first 20 km, will end with the last 20 being downhill to hopefully leave the fondest of memories of this phase of our travels.

Copyright Notice: All Rights Reserved