Little Voice

  World!

Tues 5 July – Newcastle upon Tyne - Malaga

(Fly – 6.30 – Arrive 10.30 local time)

Tip to self. Next time you are going away, double check everything BEFORE you are in the taxi…

Having to turn the taxi round half way to the airport and bomb back home to get driving licences is quite frankly a pain in the arse!

Spain is a longer flight away than I recall but by and by we descended into the blazing sunshine and my zip off trousers were promptly zipped off! As our luggage was the last to emerge from the conveyer belt thing – we were the last to leave the luggage hall and mooch down to the car hire place.

Having pre-booked our car, this stage was thankfully hassle free and ten minutes later we were pressing various buttons oohing and aahing at the air conditioning “Oh look it’s got a CD player etc” (We’re just simple souls and simple miracles delight us!) and eventually we gingering emerged into Spain traffic flow concentrating furiously on not driving on the left and rubbernecking with whiplash ferocity to try and see what all the other traffic was up to.

Our plan was fiendishly simple. Fly to Spain, take tent, hire car – go travelling… We’d earmarked some general places where we thought it might be nice to stay and, well, what could possibly go wrong???

Well there’s knowing where you are going and KNOWING where you are going. Coz if you don’t know WHERE it is, you don’t REALLY know where you are going. Get it?

So after briefly getting lost in the hell-hole of Torremolinos we scooted down the coastal road for a bit, wondering whether we had driven past where we wanted to be and more-over wondering exactly where that was. Eventually lunch seemed like a good idea and we decided to stop worrying about the where’s and concentrate on the wine for the evening… provided that we found the where – we wound want to be… savvy?

Sitting looking out over the Mediterranean, we thoughtfully munched our sandwiches and asked of ourselves the age old adage lost souls everywhere beg: Why the buggery-pants didn’t we bring better maps and directions!!!?

Then God happened.

We parked up and decided (for reasons unknown) to have a bit of a walk going on the premise that being lost on foot might be more productive than being lost in the car – How dumb can you get?

And then we found where we were meant to be!!! – Puerto Capopino. We didn’t even known where we were exactly – never mind where we wanted to be… And that my friends, is how God looks after dumb animals.

Then we simply had to find the car, which we had lost in finding our destination… We knew where it was – but we couldn’t find WHERE where was… see? Some fantastic Spanish road layouts meant we walked literally for an hour to get back to the car – which was less than half a mile away! but it’s nice explore isn’t it!

Actually it isn’t when you have a manky foot (I spent the first couple of days getting over blood poisoning in my foot and the two things you want to avoid with blood poisoning are heat and excessive walking – so hobbling round in the midday sun WASN’T so nice after all!

However, I digress.

We pitched camp and the first of those beers was opened and downed before you could say – whatever it is the Spanish say instead of cheers. Cheers probably.

A swim and chill later and we had the joy of watching a leathery old man – maybe in his 50 /60’s wandering round in what I can only describe as red sack attached to his winky… ah – these crazy Europeans! – unless it was sunburn???

An hour later and we descended towards the nearby marina and beach and partook in a leisurely stroll through the waves along a beach… a beach where increasingly people were wearing nothing… Pretty soon we were surrounded by sun-baked testicles and chubby leathery willy’s dozing blissfully on their masters thighs! Why is it only gnarled and tree-bark-skinned old gits who seem so comfortable whipping out their whatnots? And it was pretty much all men as well. Nairy a thingy or a whatnot in sight!... time to go...


Wed 6 July

Rhonda

There’s something weird about waking up in a stranger place than you were expecting. So I don’t know if it was the waking up in a tent – in Spain or waking up in Spain - in a tent but it was certainly weird!

Not that we woke up early as was planned however! It was almost ten when I cranked open my gum filled eyes and peered gormlessly into the smiling sunshine. Gil meanwhile continued her buzz-sore snore through her on subconscious dreamscape!

After a shower and hitting Gil overt the head with mallet to wake her up, we spilled into the car and headed for Rhonda.

Rhonda is about an 80km drive long the coast and then up into the mountains. Truth be told it was something of a relief to leave the tourist track of the seaside at Marbella and strike North into the inviting looking hills.

The Road to Rhonda is a winding and precipitous route curling round and up into the mountains with eager haste. Before long you are enveloped in mountains and driving begins to require more serious concentration!

Getting stuck behind a huge heavy truck, groaning it’s way through the hills didn’t help, neither did the loony-bin idiot drivers who kept whirling round blind corners straight into our path – little buggers – but bye and bye we crested the roads summit and began the gentle descent to the White city of Rhonda.

Bluffing our way through the traffic (Rhonda’s roads are pretty small therefore a little traffic goes a long way) we found a car park where the spaces were so tightly packed that you had exit the car via the sunroof, probably, and ventured out into the roaring sunshine.

Our entrance to the city saw us drive across a bridge spanning what we presumed was the Gorge for which Rhonda is famous – so with that simple naivety that ignorance brings – we bumbled off in that rough direction.

A shaded and pleasant little plaza brought us to an impressive view point looking out across the plains and fields far below (Rhonda – by virtue of being built on a gorge is elevated above most of its immediate surroundings. In the mid-day heat the only thing stirring was crickets and fool-hardy English tourists and it was beautiful!

One thing that amused me was the strength of the air currents which were so hot that a spring on the edge of the cliff below us was sprinkling me with water because the air currents were so hot that they defied gravity! Therefore, posing for my photo – I was lightly doused in water falling from below!

Following the cliff-top route round, we turned towards the town and the other side of the divide came into view presenting us with the famous gorge of Rhonda.

Not having any idea what to expect, I was absolutely stunned. The gorge is one of the most stunning pieces of geological phenomena I’ve ever seen. The drop is sheer, huge and spectacular. Basically Ronda sits like the top of a huge multi-tiered wedding cake and the gorge looks like a massive knife has cut out a substantial sliver for the greediest guest!

At first glimpse even under the midday blaze, I couldn’t make out the bottom of the gorge and computing just how deep it is took a few seconds. With realisation came a certain amount of awe as the full magnitude of the view became apparent – then came delight as I just gazed out across the ravine where Lesser Kestrels and Crags Martins dive bombed each other and floated with ethereal nonchalance on the hot air streams circling from the valley floor. It took a while to pull ourselves away from such a stunning view – that something so spectacular and naturally beautiful is right in the middle of a town (the gorge separates Rhonda into two halves) was almost too difficult to believe. You are looking down on a mind-turning geological phenomenon and nature reserve to boot while the midday rush hour trundles past just behind you. Having finally having torn ourselves away from the view, we proceeded to lose ourselves in the back street stalls and bazaars, but hunger was getting the better of our exploring natures – and it has to be said, our patience. So obviously being hungry and increasingly grumpy (neither of us like being approached by those skulking waiting who pounce when you are just perusing the menus!) we couldn’t find anywhere we both liked the look of for lunch! – Eventually we had one of those – ‘Oh let’s just go here’ decisions and duly dumped ourselves in the welcoming shade of a café overlooking the main plaza.

Having never had rabbit before I opted for some poor mongrel vermin which judging by the tired and greying flesh hanging off its coat-hanger bones must have been Peter Rabbit’s trailer-park poor cousin! – poor bastard!

We then ventured on a walk with the noble intention of finding tat to maul and possibly buy. Of course we failed on the purchasing front but we did manage to cover miles beneath the midday sun! I looked in dozens of shops for a hat coz I am currently hatless in a hat-filled world! So tried on around eight and a half thousand hats but couldn’t find THE one!

So the rest of the afternoon was passed rapidly dehydrating but happily so nevertheless.

We returned to gawp at the gorge and even went inside the bridge spanning it to get the most of the view – and also to be inside a bridge, which was pretty cool!

After a quick sit and a row, sorry discussion about whether to call in to some reserve on the way back (we didn’t), we set off back to camp. Once out of the town I pulled over to give Gil a chance to do some driving.

Now given that she has never driven before I’m guessing that she was maybe a little nervous – and I was just making things worse! – You know ‘helpful’ pieces of advice like “Left… no other left… do have the slightest idea what you are doing? – Look out for that pebble! Ahhhh - you’re going to kill us all, please save me, stop biting the steering wheel…”

Eventually she yelled: ‘Bugger this, YOU drive!’ to which, in the time honoured tradition of arguments everywhere, I refused insisting I wanted to look for birds!!!...

A fairly quiet drive ensued but eventually we resumed conciliatory terms! – Especially when I spied some vultures and eagles and begged her to pull over – which given the bastard traffic desperate to overtake on the most precipitous of corners wasn’t such a bad thing!

Nasty traffic outside Marbella aside, we got back to the site chilled and speaking again and ready for a beer! We adjourned to the bar to look at maps and plan the next couple of days while re-hydrating with Spain’s finest and coldest beer. We then repaired to the internet rooms to book some trips for the next few days and try and figure out where we would be sleeping tomorrow night… however answers to the latter issue were apparently beyond the ken of digital media communications!

Oh yeah – I got shouted at by the bar man for daring to take one of the chairs into the chair-less internet room – However I had just drunk a pint of ice cold beer very fast so I marched up to the bar and asked in what was probably slightly arsy tones what they expected their guests to sit on while using the pc’s. He finally acquiesced to my idea of using a chair from a pretty much deserted bar but only if I brought it back… and there was me planning to eat it!


Thurs 7 July

Malaga – Tarifa

It never ceases to amaze me with camping – one minute you are set up with your tent, gubbins, beer etc then half an hour later, the car is packed, rubbish disposed of and as you leave your site no-one would ever know you’d been there!

We hit the road and then the motorway and powered our way down towards the most southerly tip of Spain, Tariffa. The motorway was lovely and quiet and with not the slightest clue what the speed limit was we belted blythly on – with vague doubts about exactly where we were going but comfortable enough with the knowledge of a town name and that it was probably around somewhere!

After a couple of hours, we were passing signs for Gibraltar and as we crested a hill littered with 100’s of windmills all spinning wildly in the strong Mediterranean breeze we dropped down towards the town of Tariffa, the most southerly part of mainland Europe.

With the typical luck of naivety, we cruised straight into a parking space and got out to stretch legs and look for the Tourist Information place.

The Tourist Info was less than a five minute walk from where we were parked. However we strode the length and breadth of the sodding town to find it! Really, it took us two hours and a breakfast to get there!

Tarrifa is an old fashioned town in the finest sense of the phrase – the OLD town lies encased within the city walls, which protect the old houses, town-hall, churches and castle. The walled area of the town is maybe 2 square miles but as it lies at sea level and is saturated with building AND has the weirdest street lay out you can imagine, it’s pretty un-navigable to the virgin tourist!

Had we not been so tired and lost I’m sure we’d have found the old town utterly quaint! – As it was – we just wanted a huge modern map – preferably with an all day breakfast caff attached.

Got a lovely view of a Lesser Kestrel though – flitting along the castle walls!.

Next to our breakfast caff was a whale-watching booking place so while we were there we decided to book a trip for the afternoon so at least we had some kind of agenda to look forward to for the rest of the day.

By the time we finally fell into the Tourist Information we were both thoroughly brassed off, tired, unsure and wishing we hadn’t come up with this damn fool idea about doing everything ourselves because we were beginning to see the floor in our fiendish plan… you have to do everything yourself! And when you don’t know where the thing is that you have to do yourself and what the words people keep telling you mean - it gets a little frustrating!

We got some camping addresses and returned to the car to try and get some digs, calling off on the way out of the town at a supermarket for some essential beer, wine, crisp and bread supplies. – Though I was really disappointed with the supermarket…! – I was hoping for something exotic and grandiose – something extravagant, flamboyant and Mediterranean … and what I got was more like Netto’s or Aldi.

A couple of miles down the road we found some possible camping places and opted for what turned out to be the nicer of the two. The drive however was complicated by a pair of storks which flew over the car and therefore obviously warranted my full attention because I’ve never seen Storks before and being a bird bore I was in raptures… which as I was driving was creating some attention priority issues!

We parked up and were pleasantly surprised by how nice and how cheap the site was.

Within 15 minutes the tent was up, the beer in it’s beer bucket, the clothesline assembled and a certain Gill and John in a far healthier frame of mind than they had been, one hour previously - Of course lying in the sun- dappled shade, slugging back, an ice cold beer – can have that kind of effect!

We took a walk round the site which was lush – but not as lush as the fantastic Olive grove (it wasn’t actually an olive grove as such but it should have been and if I say olive grove, you have some idea what I’m talking about. To say that we walked through a nice stunted fir-type-tree grove is to lose some of the romantic feel of my memories) that separated the enclosure from the sea shore… A wander through some gates and you were treading on a carpet of soft leaves freshly fallen from the enchanting – if not enchanted – grove, giving solace from the sun and wind while offering delicious views of the sea and in the distance – the towering wall of North Africa’s Atlas mountains.

We wandered down the shore and without too much prompting, found ourselves waste deep in the Med. Once in the water, it wasn’t long before I reached for my snorkel mask and immersed myself in the underwater world of the Med.

The tide was pretty choppy and the currents were stronger than I’m used to – but one of the best things about snorkling is that you don’t have to fight the tide. Just float, look down, take it all in – and don’t forget to breath!

Flying on the sea-surface, I found myself gliding over sharp, jagged rocks – housing small communities of fish. It was whilst watching the fish that I figured to stop trying to swim against the current and just go with the flow… it seemed to be suiting them ok!

So it was – as ever with joining the underwater world, that time raced by and by the time I lurched, drunk with happiness from the sea, we were nearly running late!

Fabulous!

An hour or so later and we returned to Tarrifa to continue our fruitless search for a hat for me (I just can’t find the right sodding hat – I keep seeing nearly hats but not THE hat – and I’m afraid I will only accept THE hat) and to mooch around the plaza, waiting for our whale watching time to come around. A cool beer in the sun always helps but knowing we had a 2 – 3 hour event with no toilets at hand (A wazz over the back of the boat would probably result in some stares… not to mention bad trouser stains!) meant that it was just the one!

Gil investigated a few back-alley stalls (non which had any good hats) until we made for the whale watching meet point – and from there on to the boat.

It should be pointed out here that I was pretty much gibbering with nerves. I’d never seen a whale before and my longing to do so and consequent fear of disappointment in case of a no show was really churning me up! – When I went to the Hebredes once, a whale surfaced right next to our liner… but I was in the bloody toilets!!! – so I was more than excited about the next couple of hours

My nervousness, however, was compounded somewhat by my British-ness…. Allow me to explain.

In my world, one boards a vehicle, a boat perhaps, selects and takes ones seat and there stays – to enjoy whatever sights may occur. One does not board a vehicle, a boat perhaps, and clamber up and down the alleyway knocking and nudging people, rubbernecking recklessly, without consideration of ones fellow travellers, slipping and sliding and in some instances falling pretty heavily in a vain attempt to be everywhere at once… I think I feel a letter to ‘Points of View’ coming on.

So yeah – we took our seats and everyone else just bombed around like kids of the bus! – Fortunately however I had a cunning trump card… I’m 6 ft, broad and once someone has been rude to me, I have no problem returning their inconsideration! After an hour or so some bottle nosed dolphins were spotted off to starboard (probly) and we saw our first catch!

The dolphins were in good form, surfacing regularly and giving us all a fantastic experience. We were even treated to a couple of leaps from the water – obviously play time!

Then off to the left we saw a pod of Pilot Whales. Ahhhh dream come true! A family of about 5 or 6 was lounging around near the surface, casually surfacing for air and was seemingly un-phased by the boat being so near.

Another few minutes and we chanced on another set of Pilots – this time engrossed in feeding – their movements were much more deliberate and work based. With some determination, these mammals were moving around with far more purpose (no pun intended) and some of the sights we got of these were a little more spectacular in as much as the movements were faster and more rapacious.

Of course given the antics of our co-travellers there was a pretty comical tide of people flowing and ebbing from one side of the boat to the other, according to where the sightings were – but like I said, being big means that idiot people bounce off me when they come careering towards me!

As the trip closed and the boat headed back to the mainland, there were a couple of sea-sick casualties and one lad who put a dent in one of the seats with a spectacularly full-on head-butt after losing his footing bouncing up and down the gangways! – put a big ole smile on my face that one.

Once back on land and having got used to the floor not swaying every-which way any more, we repaired to a tapas bar for beer, yummy nosh, surprising good music and a friendly barman who INSISTED we have a taquilla on the house… well if you insist...

We trundled back to the campsite and after a shower and a beer settled down to cap off a weird old day… Filled with travel, hassle, relief, beauty, wonder, fantastic wildlife… yep this little sojourn maybe a pain in the Med when we don’t know what we are doing, but it is also throwing up some wonderful memories!


Friday 9 July

Tarifa – Gibraltar

Woke up in the watery dawn light to the sound of my phone vibrating in announcement of an incoming text.

My friend Ni, sending me a beautiful if somewhat unexpected text telling me that she was ok, not to worry about her that she loved me and times like these make you realise who your friends are…

It’s things like that, which suddenly wake you right up…

Then, straight away Andrew the knacka texted me with the worlds most vexing message – bearing in mind the previous message: ‘Did you hear what happened in London?’ – No further explanation or context just the one simple question with added ellipse…

Bastard!

Ni lives in London.

What had happened???

So I spent the next half hour calling, texting and trying to find out what had happened. Turns out that sick bastards back home, had been murdering innocents in the name of spite and hatred or something equalling indefensible.

Once up and reassured about events back home, we headed for the disputed UK territory of Gibraltar.

The drive was interesting… or should I say, stressful? – Getting to Gibraltar wasn’t such a problem - it was finding somewhere to park – The general route layout was less than accommodating and finding anywhere to park that didn’t involve a two hour wait in queues was looking hugely unlikely.

In the end we headed for the nearby Spanish city of Algeciras and parked on the edge of a huge plaza and walked over the airstrip and passport control into Gibraltar. We were a little unsure and uneasy at leaving the car such a long way from where we were – but when all said and done – what was our alternative? – Que cera cera! Trust to fortune!

The trek over the UK colony of Gibraltar was longer than I recall and I was bursting for a whiz by the time we walked through the old town walls and alighted on the main Plaza. Oddly enough I couldn’t find the toilets so in the end we walked up and down the main street with mercantile whims threatening to overrule our planned excursions and natural needs… in the end we dived into ‘The Gib’ which reported to be Gibraltar’s oldest pub, ordered our food and got stuck into the newspapers, talking about the events back home.

One huge wee, a power-cut and an all-day breakfast later and we had formulated our plan

Then I led Gillian right round the houses on our way to the cable-car to get to the Gibraltar summit and national park – so we were knackered by the time we got there! We then had to endure a family full of awful French people… my boss keeps telling me to write more concisely… maybe the word awful there is unnecessary… everyone knows the French are awful anyway… even the French are starting to suspect…

So… Anyway we shared OUR car – Brits in our Own homeland (apart from we knicked it off the Spanish and refuse to return it to them regardless of the fact it’s 1000 miles from Blighty and physically attached to Spain) – with these… these…. French ‘people’ who were really rude to the guide in the cable car, either talking over him or ignoring him – when he was trying to explain some park rules.

But ahahahahahahaha – Gil and I paid attention to him, answered his questions and asked a few of our own – which he seemed to appreciate. When we got off the cable-car he reminded us not to feed or interact with the apes (I’ll explain in a minute) and off they buggered. Just then, couple of apes jumped down from the roof and mooched around on the off-chance of some food scraps – they know to tap the guides for food even though the public aren’t allowed to feed them. The French ‘people’ started oohing and ahhing and taking photo’s etc then the guide gave me some pasta and told me to go head and feed the apes.

Not that the apes needed any encouragement – as soon as they saw the food they were clambering up my legs and arms and grabbing the food - most rudely! This was repeated a couple of times and I must confess it was lovely to be able to interact with them a little, especially as officially – any interaction with the apes is forbidden… and the bloody French people could only watch - Nur nur!

The Apes are a species of tailless monkeys called Barbary Macaques. They are found in Morocco and Algeria and those in Gibraltar are the only free-living monkeys in Europe (no one knows for sure how they got here). For this reason, tourists are not allowed to feed to apes as they are classed as a wild animal despite their familiarity with humans and as such they must be able to fend for themselves without relying wholly on tourist handouts.

We got our interactive guide doodahs and toured the rock at our ease.

Gibraltar is a monstrous Rock jutting out of the Spain’s southern-most (almost) tip, rising just shy of half a kilometre into the sky. It is noticeably cooler up here and whisps of cloud occasionally obscure the view out towards the Med and in the distance, Africa.

Down towards the mainland the expansive harbour (the Gibraltar straights are the point at which the Mediterranean is at its narrowest and as it is the only route out to the Atlantic, it is one of the most important docks in the world) looked like some children’s model than the heart of sea bound industry for Europe. The angle of view means that the rock’s lower environs obscure the view of the town from the summit, thus heightening the feelings of remoteness at the summit.

Within seconds of our wandering, a female ape with a little baby clinging to her stomach came and sat right in front of us, nibbling on some food and doubtless on the lookout for more! The little fella can’t have been more than a few days old, and was serenely hanging on for dear life while his mum bounded and bounced around the compound. It was noticeable that she seemed to be keeping out of the way of a some of the larger males… who have been know to kill youngsters. Walking on, just at the absolute summit of the ruins, atop the rocks, a couple of apes came acrobating towards us, tumbling and cart-wheeling in a mesmerising blur of fur and fun all around us!

Suddenly, one of them clambered up my arm and perched atop my shoulders, idly pulling my hair and fidgeting with my head like a monarch lethargically toying with a favoured serf! - much to the amusement of Gil and other passers-by who all went diving for their cameras… See… you are told not to interact with the animals but what the hell can you do when they use you as a convenient post??? – So I just stood still – admittedly lapping up every nanosecond of this bizarre encounter - and waited to see what would happen next

The ape was quite settled on my shoulders and showed no signs of leaving, indeed it seemed quite engrossed. Gill levelled up to get some shots and laughed and cooed ‘ Aww look – what a picture – Awwww’… Then the ape flawlessly opened the rucksack I had on my back and pulled out a carrier bag. Gils cooing quickly turned to: "Oi give that back you little bastard!" and then of course our Ronnie Biggs was off! The ape was quite settled on my shoulders and showed no signs of leaving, indeed it seemed quite engrossed. Gill levelled up to get some shots and laughed and cooed ‘ Aww look – what a picture – Awwww’…

The apes have learned that tourist’s carrier bags generally contain food, so if they can knick one – they will do – and gorge themselves on whatever treats they find. To be fair, a Barbary Macaque isn’t to be blamed for not knowing the difference between say a pork pie and Gils swimsuit, probably which explains why it was trying to eat it… lycra and easy eating – not a good match…

Gil was hell-bent of getting her swimsuit back however (despite the fact that these apes are known to have a nasty temper on them and would probably happily bite a finger off – and despite me saying we could get another one dirt cheap back in the town) she wasn’t going to let a monkey get the better of her – make your own punch-lines… One of Gils lunges to retrieve her admittedly un-appealing lunch-time snack resulted in both party’s barring fangs at each other… I don’t know who was more shocked! In the end, the ape gave up on the swimsuit but not before leaving it about 20ft up a tree! Eventually one of the wardens came and got it back and Gil and her swimsuit where reunited. Still, it’s nice to give everyone else a laugh and life IS made of stories, right? Having had our fill of adventures at the mountain summit, we headed towards one of Gibraltar’s best kept secrets, St Michaels Caves. On our way down to the caves I was accosted again by some furry friends. This time I was the allotted site of a play fight!

Ding ding!

Two apes came scampering off a nearby wall and both scurried up either side of me and proceeded to have a boxing bout (a play one I presume) over my shoulders, with my head only occasionally getting in the way. After a quick but intense 20 second round, the bell went and the opponents bounded to a nearby tree to continue their sparring… But not before a passing family had taken loads of photo’s (I’m starting to feel quite the star!)

Finally we made it to the caves and we were safe (from assault from apes at least!)

The caves themselves are simply amazing.

The Cathedral Caves were for years believed to be bottomless, thus giving birth to the story that Gibraltar was linked to Africa by a subterranean passage over 15 miles (24 Km) long under the Straits of Gibraltar.

The cave consists of an Upper Hall with 5 connecting passages and rocks between 40ft (12.2m) and 150ft (45.7m) to a smaller hall. Beyond this, a series of narrow halls leads to a further succession of chambers, reaching depths of some 250ft (62.5m) below the entrance. During World War II the cave was prepared as an emergency hospital, but was never used as such.

Whilst blasting an alternative entrance to the cave, a further series of deeply descending chambers ending in a mini lake were discovered and named Lower St. Michael's Cave. The Cathedral Cave makes a unique auditorium for concerts, ballets, drama and presentations. A centuries old stalagmite that was too heavy for its ceiling moorings and fell on its side lies like a dead leviathan at the far end of the chamber. The piece of crystalline debris has been cross-sectioned to show the internal working of a stalagmite and is fascinating. However to close in on the singular is to miss the wonder of the entirety of the complex. St Michaels is an amazing panorama. A secret palace like the hall of the mountain king, the huge cavernous rooms ring with antiquity and age. The hushed awe-filled whispers of tourists rise up the mountain top ceilings and chase each other round the gravitorally challenged stalagmites into infinity! A natural stage has been developed to include an expansive auditorium and looks like the BEST place in the world to see a concert! By and by, the wonder of the caves had to give way to time constraints and shopping whims and we emerged, blinking and sunblind back into the balmy sunshine world. We wound our way down to the half way point of the mountain with a couple of Macaques for company and waited for the earth-bound cable-car with duly went right past us without stopping!

All things considered, neither of us are queue-ers and the prospects of waiting for another bypass didn’t appeal so we girdled our loins and took up the long slog back to the town on foot. Despite being a real puller on the knees and some mild annoyance at having our time compromised, the walk was a lush way to explore the mountain and to take in the different sights, the various levels of the hill afforded. Eventually, after a final winding of ways through the laberynthine back streets and steps of the town’s houses, we broke back into the main mercantile street and duly assumed the role of shopper!

With a couple of carrier bags and tired legs we finally headed back to the border. But then it happened. I saw IT. The hat. No, MY hat. There in a shop. Just hanging there, waiting. For me. My hat. Of course everyone thought it was a hoot watching me near sublime hysteria over a hat. But it IS the dogs bollocks, the badgers nadgers, the trannies fanny and dare I suggest really rather good…

It makes me look like a cross between Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt… only better. Probly.

Anyway – after re-tracing our steps back to Espagne we trundled our weary but satisfied way back to Tarifa… me wearing my ace hat.

Once back at the campsite, I went straight to the beach to catch the last of the light, underwater with my friends the fish for an hour before, with the suns goodnight, we had a night without travel and happily re-ran the day over some lush paella… I’ve been trying my best to eat as much ‘Spanish food’ as possible over here coz when you are abroad I feel it’s a shame not to try to absorb as much of the culture as possible.

Brits abroad tend to ask for chicken and chips wherever they go and it just seems a shame to miss out on new experience, but it seems that everywhere you go here, all you see on the menu’s is soss, egg and chips!

Anyway – yeah Paella – mmmmmmmmmm! And then we opted for an early-ish night after a brief wander by the beach as tomorrow we return to our hobo agenda…


Sat 10 July

Tarifa - Antequera

Up early and after our ‘now you see it (our camp-site that is) now you don’t’ trick, we were back on the road for all of, say 10 minutes.

Gil decided she wanted to get some photos of the 100’s of windmills that dominate the hilltop skyline above Tariffa, so just as we got comfy in the car we had to get out in the force 37 gale to take bloody photo’s. Women!

Our drive to Antequera saw us striking off into the hills – back up towards Rhonda and then beyond onto the Seville plains. The journey was long, hot and beautiful.

Leaving behind the cool blue duvet of water that is the Med, we soon found ourselves winding through the mountain passes up towards the sky! The land eventually levelled out at what seemed an impossible height and we charged along the plateaux south of Seville. This is known to be the hottest area of Spain and the temperature was easily in the 100s. Praise the Lord for air-con!

Outside, huge sunflower fields swooshed past as we flew along near empty roads occasionally passing the kind of sleepy village or town that would make a traditional romantic sick! It was a good 300km and a bum numbing 5 hours before we left the motorway and cruised into the mountain-range town of Antequera.

                         

Curious as we were to investigate the area and maybe find a place to sleep! – toilet duties and food shopping took presidence.

The bloody security guard in the huge supermarket waited for me to get right to the other side of the supermarket before he told me to go back and put a shirt on. Grrr-eye-oooohhh the-little- ooooohhhhh- a fffffffffffff!!!!.

I went stomping back to the car whipped out my shirt. Fastened one button –as wonky as possible and barged past him to go and find Gill inside! – I really am a grumpy old bastard aren’t I?

Leaving the supermarket and the town we didn’t have the slightest idea where we were headed. We had a campsite name and two differing map references with only our unsure naivety as a control. Thus it was that God, once more, sheltered us under her protective wing and armed with only blind ignorance and bumbling ineptness we drove straight to the campsite and booked ourselves in for the night!

Though the site seemed ok, there were a lot of ants around so I was pretty anal about not eating food near the tent etc. Then of course there was the strong wind and the fact that a) - we don’t have many guy-lines and b)- we don’t have any tent pegs that aren’t bent to buggery! So we did what any normal person would do… we cleared off to go adventuring!

Our first port of call was a huge oasis home to 100s of flamingos.

Note to self: huge watering holes full of flamingos do not in fact hold flamingos when Spain is in the throws of one of its worst ever droughts. The huge watering hole had about as many flamingos in it as my toilet.

Kay… what next?...

Ah yes – geology! – birds may comes and go but stunning views across the Spanish country-side from the mountain-top reserve of El Torqual can’t go anywhere can they? – Ooooh unless there’s some low lying cloud…

The half hour drive from the dried up crater purporting to house huge pink birds to the geologically astonishing reserve of El Torqual saw us leave behind the flat and firmly embrace the vertical. The reserve sits in the mountain range that glowers over the town of Antequera and it is stunning! The geology of the rock formations in the reserve is curious to say the least. Millennia of rain falls and wind have carved a strange effect on the rocks near the mountain top and they sit like huge towers of hamburgers – one on top of the other some up to 20 or so stories high. All around the alien landscape is dominated by these strange formations, seemingly defying all reason (and I’m not sure I have to know why they are the way they are – sometime just to appreciate something is enough!)

We parked up a couple of times to explore the area but then Gil said she was feeling weary and would like to go back. We turned the car round and headed back to base but I didn’t want to!!! Childish petulance can be an intriguing phenomenon. In the end we compromised. I got my own way and Gil let it go!

But I’m so please she did!

First off, as we returned to the car park where there were a variety of walks to do I spied a vulture soaring on the mountain thermals. As quick as it was there however it disappeared into the mist like some illusion! Then after almost losing our camera (it somehow fell out of Gils bag and these two Germans where shouting after us: ‘Hello – Hello – HELLO!!! – HEY WOAH COME BACK ! - YOU DROPPED YOUR CAMERA!’ and we were ignoring them until we finally realised they ere trying to help us!) we undertook a little walk – Gill needing a little cagouling… “We might see some pussycats!!!” Again though I’m so pleased we did, the walk itself was reason enough. The rock formations are just amazing and every new twist and turn brought a new sight and spectacle to wow us! Admittedly I did get us lost a little bit but even that was a blessing… well I think so…

As we retraced our steps from a dead end – we investigated separate routes to re-find the path – from a across the clearing I heard Gil exclaim in surprise.
‘What is it?’ I asked
‘A snake – I think’ she replied.

Like a shot I ran through the brambles and spitefully thorny bushes to where she was stood and there crossing her path was an adder. About 2 ft long with distinctive viper diamond back markings down its spine, our serpentine friend was slithering quite demurely through his day when we came along.
‘Oh wow!’ I whispered, flushed with excitement – ‘How cool is THAT?’
‘Cool?? – I nearly stood on the bloody thing!’ Gil rapped back!

And admittedly a bite from a freshly trodden on poisonous snake probably isn’t what we came to Spain for, but to see something like that was just such an honourable treat!

Despite the rest of the trek being breathtakingly beautiful I was on cloud 9 for the rest of the day because of our encounter with that snake.

At the end of the walk we had to pass a school outing – who we could hear LONG before we saw the – all shouting their heads off and generally doing what children do.

Of course being kids, they instantly starting gibbering at us and as I was feeling good I gibbered back. As soon as they tumbled we were British the talk was all football! – Man U this, Liverpool (European champions don’t forget) and of course Newcastle ‘Shearer, Owen’… bless ‘em. The kids, not the bloody footballers!

Then we were back at the campsite and ready for a beer and a rest! And a bite eat on the site to avoid any more driving.

It was a pisser then, to find out that they weren’t serving food and we could either have crisps or go back into town!

Bum!

However after such a long and tiring day, we were both ready for a bite to eat so Gil decided she would drive u into Antequera and we’d get a take away pizza.

So obviously we had to walk the length and breadth of the town for ages before finally deciding on one delightful looking establishment! Considering Gil was the one wanting to cry off earlier in the afternoon, it was she who orchestrated and carried out our lightning raid on the town!

Once we’d acquired our nosebag we hot-rodded it back to the campsite and sat in our rapidly steaming up car eating yummy pizza and occasionally groaning with smug contentment!

Night-night…


Sun 11 July

Antequera - Granada

Up with the lark once more and we were back on the road before you could say ‘Stop the car I want a wee wee’… Which was why we had to stop the car.

The route South and East from Antequera to Granada is less imperial and impressive than the majestic plains of yesterday but missing out on the thrills of yesterday’s sight was more than compensated for by the thrill of hitting a skid at 120 km when wanting to come off the motorway…

Fresh pants for Mr Hayton please!

The journey to the palaces and gardens of Al Hambra outside Granada was remarkable for the fact that we went straight there without any deviation. We travelled 200 miles in a country we didn’t know and went directly from A to B without any problems. Personally I find that VERY weird!

I have to say, I had not the slightest idea what to expect from this trip. Gil had said she wanted to go so I was just along for the ride. Some big palace in a big garden or whatever… Whatever.

Once parked we dis-embarked and collected our tickets beneath the rapacious heat of the mid-day sun. My new hat proved a phenomenal success by the way – truly an inspired acquisition.

The Alhambra Palace sits regally atop a seemingly insurmountable hill (unless you use the road), glowering out over the ancient city of Granada with the River Darro surging along at it’s base. Protected by mountains and surrounded by woods the Alhambra has overlooked the city for over 500 years

The complex was originally designed as a military area and became the residence for royalty in the middle of the thirteenth century. The citadel comprises royal residential quarters, court complexes, and a mosque. It was established by Ibn al-Ahmar, founder of the Nasrid dynasty, and was continued by his successors in the fourteenth century.

The palace is famed for its Moorish arched, columnar, and domical forms as well as the belief defying mosaics which rendered even an philistine pleb like me speechless with wonder…

Let me explain…

Spain was conquered in 714 A.D. by Muslim armies (after being conquered by, among others, Romans and Visigoths – in fact when you think about it – when it comes to being hard the Spanish are pretty rubbish…) During the 800 years until Spain was re-conquered by Christians, the Muslims greatly influenced the culture of Spain.

In the middle ages, when little mathematics and science were being done in the rest of Europe, Spain was an intellectual centre (not like now!!). The Alhambra palace is lavishly decorated with stone and wood carvings and tile patterns on most of the ceilings, walls, and floors. Islamic art does not use representations of living beings, but heavily uses geometric patterns, especially symmetric (repeating) patterns. There are different buildings and places to investigate in the Alhambera including:

The Mexuar, where the sultans conducted the everyday administration and business,

The Serello – the Hall of the Ambassadors, which is the largest and one of the finest rooms in the Royal Palace. It is a perfect square, with a stunning wooden dome, decorated to symbolize the seven heavens. This hall was the staging ground for Sultan Boabdil's signing of Granada's surrender to the Catholic king and queen, as well as the place where King Fernando later the same year discussed the voyage of Columbus to find the sea route to India.

And finally…

The Harem of Alhambra is linked from the Lions' Court, and consists of a selection of rooms. To the south of the court is the Hall of the Abencerrajes which boasts an awe-inspiring ceiling, possibly the most stunning in the entire Alhambra. It is 16-sided with stalactite decorations, lit by windows in the dome itself, with light that is reflected by the fountain on the floor.

The adjoining Hall of the Two Sisters is equally dumbfounding with a ceiling made up of more than 5,000 honeycomb cells.

(note – As Gil is a plagiarism expert – I should point out that much of the previous 3 paragraphs are paraphrased from www.lexicorient.com) – The facts are their’s,  the wonder – my own!

All things considered I found the Palaces at Alhambra to be utterly amazing and all the more so for not having a clue what to expect! The whole complex was huge enough to be able to lose yourself from the substantial crowd while not becoming completely lost! And sitting in the blazing sun, eating ice cream and knocking back an ice cold beer – in my fantastic hat amid this fantastic spectacle of architecture, beauty and happiness… - ah happy days! Once gorged on the beauty of Alhambra to bursting point, we returned to the car and continued out journey to the evenings destination… only slightly mortified by the fact that the car was virtually running on petrol fumes and prayers. Fortune smiled once more though and we pulled into a petrol station just as the petrol gauge entered the ‘Oh shit’ stage! Considerably cheered by the fact that we could now physically continue our travels he headed east back towards the coast. The drive down from the high plains back to sea level saw us descending through some spectacular landscapes making me wish we had more time to explore.

The Sierra Nevada Mountains looked so impressive and magnificent that it was all I could do not to make straight for them… maybe next time.

We headed down to the delightfully named Mordis – failed to spy any Tolkeinian characters – and headed onto our final nights resting place, Nerja.

The campsite, it must be said, was a bit of a shit-hole, but then once piece of ground is as good as another I guess! – Oh – and non of the facilities were working. This was definitely and job for … ALCOHOL!!!

Actually that plan was buggered coz we were just too far from the town centre to walk! – so with the campsite less than tempting we set up camp, then buggered off into the town in the car a.s.a.p!

Nerja is a nice sized town – a bit touristy – but then what did I expect!!!
We wandered down to the beach and enjoyed a hearty paddle and a couple of God-sent beers – which I can still remember now – they were so good!

We returned back to the concrete jungle and after getting changed in the car, I met Gil in town for a mooch around the shops and to argue over where to eat!

We finally found somewhere and after glowering at a pair of old people who were thinking of knicking our table! We sat and almost immediately a dreadful Spanish band struck up, shattering the welcoming gentle hubbub of relaxed chatter with its demanding and occasionally off-key row! Aye aye!  - So when they came round offering copies of their CD I eagerly perused the menu with frightening concentration until they’d buggered off.

Once back at the campsite we had a quick haggle with the campsite owners to pay in advance and to be allowed to leave (they normally didn’t open the gate until 7 and we are due at the airport for 8!) Once all chores were done, we opened our last bottle of wine – a celebratory bottle of cava which ejaculated the cork so forcefully I don’t know that it ever came down! – Kapow!

One bottle of wine later and as we snuggled into the tent I let go a colon cough that damn near blew the fly-sheet off! – Gillian gave me a sever telling off.. Hello??? She’s a bloody vegetarian!!! – pot, kettle and black springs to mind…


Monday 12 July

Malaga - Yem

The Morning was a blur of a mild hangover, and final packing of bags (for the last week we’ve had the luxury of just hoying our stuff in the boot!

Gil drove to the airport and somehow we weren’t pulled up for the bloody huge scratch and dent down the side of the car we picked up on the first day and a hop, skip and jump later we were back in Blighty!

We’d been back about an hour when Mat and Jody called round asking if I fancied a pint… ah well if you insist…
 

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