As we took off from Malaga airport and looked down at the coastline, it was clear to see how the floods had turned the sea brown with mud an debris washed of the land. And it was also becoming clear how devastating the flooding had been in the Valencia region on the East coast of Spain. As I write (Thursday evening – two days on) the death toll is 158, and may still go up. This picture, sourced from Instagram, conveys the power and devastation of the torrents of water that flowed through Spain on Tuesday:
and there are countless images and videos like that. As I said in my earlier post, we never felt unsafe, but we were just lucky and in a region that, whilst badly affected, was nowhere near as badly hit as the Valencia region. Having seen the water racing through gullys, across fields, alongside (and, sometimes, across) roads, we witnessed the untamable power of these flash floods. My heart and thoughts are with the people of Spain at this time. For once, I am grateful to be back in England, but I look forward to one day returning to Spain, we still have so much to see and do there.
It began last night, when we were in bed in Ronda, and then thunder started to rumble. The thunder claps were immense, loud and long, and after the roar you could hear the heavy rain falling outside. We had a bus to catch at 10 am, to take us to Malaga, and we arrived at the bus station cold, wet and bedraggled. But the bus was warm and on time,and we set off in pouring rain, happy to be leaving Ronda, although we both had loved the city.
The rain continued to pour, and we saw gullys flowing with muddy water alongside the road. We were in the middle of a major weather system.
The further we went, the bigger those streams became, until they were torrents of muddy water, sweeping through the fields, and occasionally spilling onto the road.
And then we came to a halt, at the back of a long line of traffic. We weren’t moving forward, nothing was coming the other way. It all seemed a bit ominous. And the rain continued to fall. A police car passed us, travelling on the (empty) wrong side of the road, and 5 minutes later, a stream of vehicles passed us travelling in the other direction. Then we edged forward, and stopped. Then started, and stopped. Eventually we reached the front of the queue and the reason for our delay became apparent …
An hour later than expected, we rolled into Malaga bus station, relieved to be at our destination. At no time did we feel in danger, and it was a bit of an adventure, but it was an “edge of your seat” journey, rather than the planned relaxing passage through the mountainous countryside, marvelling at the scenery.
And still it rained – no longer heavy rain, but rain non-the-less, as we made our way to the train station, and then onto Benalmadena.
We dropped our bags in our hotel for the night and, as the rain had finally stopped – or so we thought – we headed out to have a quick look round in case the rain returned, as forecast.
We’d not gone one hundred metres when the rain drops began to fall. With umbrellas up, we pressed on but if truth be told, a little dis-spirited, we’d have both happily headed back to the UK at this point.
We reached the sea front and sky began to brighten
And before long we were sat having a coffee in the sunshine, and shedding the multitude of layers we’d been wearing since arriving in chilly Ronda two days ago.
We wandered up the sea front – it was clear Benalmadena had also taken a hammering in the recent rains – enjoying the change in temperature, light and sense of well-being. Reaching the habour, we turned and re-traced our steps, all the time growing in appreciation of this seaside town, glad we hadn’t already gone home, and glad that our final memories of our Andalusian adventure would be made warmed by the sun and against the background of blue sky.
We sat outside for our last supper, as day became night, becoming bewitched by beautiful Benalmadena.
Sitting down to write my blog each evening is a good thing: it provides a record for me to read and re-live our adventures when we’re back at home, it might provide you, dear reader, an insight into- and possibly some inspiration? – to our travels, and it forces me to gather my thoughts, and reflect back on what we have done. A today, that is, perhaps, particularly important.
Its been cold, unseasonably cold, and this evening it has rained, and it would be easy for this – like the leaden grey colds in the sky – overshadow the day. But despite it being only 9 degrees when we left the apartment at 9 am, and edged its way up to a “high” of 12 degrees by 2 pm, we’ve seen and done a lot.
It began (after breakfast of tostada con tomate, of course!) we headed up to see a bit of street art we had spotted yesterday from our bus as we drove into the city:
And then, across the wall, was a collection painted on a wall alongside a busy road:
A selection of them individually:
After the modern, it was back to the old. We went to the Casa del Ray Moro (House of the Moorish King) (10 euros each) in the main so we could see the “water mine” and descend to a platform on the river. We descended 169 feet, on stone stairs in an old tower/shaft
and emerged onto a small platform on the river. It was picturesque and I would have said peaceful but we were visiting at the same time as a French couple (no problem) and three Americans. Problem. They did not stop talking, and they have no volume control. I couldn’t help but hear, in detail, about one of their’s difficulties in getting a visa. Self-awareness? Nada.
We ascended all 200 ish stairs back to the top, and then continued our ambles, taking in the ambience of this beautiful city. After lunch, the cold was beginning to seep into our bones, and curtailed our rambles. Back at the apartment, I snuck in a siesta, before we headed out back into the gathering gloom, and cold. We found somewhere to eat – inside! – and whilst we ate, rain began to fall. We lingered a little longer, ordering coffee, and timed our exit well – the rain had stopped, so we headed to see the bridge lit up, and grab a couple of photos.
We didn’t loiter, as more rain was forecast, and it duly arrived when we were a few minutes from home. Even the Ale Hop cow needed an umbrella!
A damp, cold end to the day, but looking back, we’ve done a lot. Good job I’ve blogged about it to jog my memory.
Today we moved from Nerja to Ronda – two bus journeys: Nerja to Malaga, then Malaga to Ronda, and a huge change in scenery and temperature. We woke to blue skies in Nerja and, although a little chilly as we headed out of our apartment at 9 am, it was warm in the sunshine, and by the time we arrived in Malaga and had a coffee between busses, we were once again basking in the sunshine. We then headed about 100 km north-east to Ronda, enjoying the scenery of the mountains on our two hour bus journey, and we’ve enjoyed everything about the town, except for the temperature – es un poco frio (a bit cold!) The long trousers have been on, along with fleeces, gillets and snoods! It was about 12 degrees when we arrived mid afternoon, and had fallen to about 9 degrees once the sun had set and we sat outside to dine! (It must be said, however, the food was fantastic – the best of the trip – and we were sat by an outdoor heater)
But it has been worth the low temperatures – Ronda is fantastic. You come for the bridge – the iconic new bridge , completed in 1793 – but for me it has been the breathtaking scenery of the Sierra de las Nieves national park that can be seen from this cliff top town that has been the highlight.
We crossed the new bridge, and then walked the path down from the town so you could look back up at the bridge, and then climbed our way back up the path – quite the ascent, we were shedding layers and reached the top in just our T-shirts! – before crossing back into the town via the old bridge and meandering our way along the most picturesque paths over looking the river gorge below.
We found a public park with a walk way that skirted the edge of the enormous rock formation on which Ronda sits and had our breath taken by the views across the plain to the distant mountains.
But that’s not all the city has to offer. It is the “birthplace” of modern bullfighting (to be fair, not something I’d personally be proud of) with a bullring we may explore tomorrow
and some street art we spotted as we drove in on the bus. We went back to find two of the pieces (at the bus station, where we got off the bus) and there are a few more we may seek out tomorrow.
Given that we’ve spent about 3 and a half hours on busses, we seem to have had a busy day, walked far and seen a lot. Ronda has impressed on many levels.
Today was our last day in Nerja, and we woke to blue skies, but a stiff (strong?) wind. We decided to explore, on foot, the coast to the west of the town, and headed off along a long beach, walking into the wind, and passing a significant number of people walking in the other direction. The sea was choppy, with waves breaking on the shore line – the weather definitely felt different from the previous few days.
However, with the blue sky above our heads, and the sun bathing us in a brilliant light, it was a pleasant, if blustery 1.5km walk along the sea front. When out of the wind, the sunshine was warm, but, on arriving at a collection of hotels and apartments at the end of the beach, it did very much have an end of season feel to the place.
A few hardy souls were braving the beach, but the space and emptiness was notable, if peaceful and relaxing. The few restaurants that we encountered had closed for the season, and it became apparent that the reason we passed so many people heading in the other direction was because they were heading towards Nerja, with its bustle and business, and cafes, restaurants and shops still open. Travelling in late October, most Med resorts will be shutting down, with all the tourists having gone home for another year, but Nerja is big enough to still be going strong on the 26th October.
We did come off the beach to explore a watch tower over looking the sea – an interesting ten minute diversion, but you couldn’t get into, or up the tower.
“The Old Tower of Macaca”
We then headed back to Nerja along the same beachfront we had walked earlier, this time, with the wind at our backs, our fleeces came off and it was warm in enough to walk in just a T-shirt. Back in “town” we had some lunch in a sea front cafe, and the coffee in a cafe in the square – this was out of the wind, and in the sun, and I took the opportunity to practise my Spanish on the waiter and by reading the paper.
I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to have a last swim, so we headed to the same beach we had visited yesterday: being a little further along the coast in the other (easterly ) direction, and being a small cove behind rocks, it was more sheltered and warm, but the sea was still rough and wavy. But it was great fun swimming out and then being swept in by the breakers and for twenty minutes I (and another couple of middle aged men) was seven years old again, enjoying the power of the sea.
In the evening we went out to eat – it was still light as we sat down, but chose a table near a wall and under a portico to afford some shelter from the wind which was still strong and cold. It was dark by the time we had finished and paid the bill, and decided on an amble to the Balcon de Eroupa to take in the vista one last time, but as we stepped out we felt a few drops – it had begun to rain. Change of plan, and a purposeful walk home, the rain was not heavy – yet – but soon after we got back it was pouring.
With the American Presidential election less than two weeks away, it is hard to escape the race to White House in the news cycle, but today we did our best, escaping to the white houses of the pretty village of Frigiliana, a small, and very pretty “pueblo” or village, nestled in the hills about 5 miles north of Nerja.
We hopped on the local bus – 1.30 euros each – for the 10 minute journey and hopped off to begin exploring. Not really knowing where to go or what to do, we headed off in what seemed a good direction, which took us to the new town, and some spectacular views over the mountains and dried up river bed beyond the city boundaries.
We then found the tourist information office, got ourselves a (free) map, plotted a route and headed off into the old town. Although we didn’t get far before we stopped for coffee, churros and a chill. Black coffee is the fuel for our travel adventures and in our three days in Andalusia it has been hot, strong, and cheap – perfecto! Re-energised, we began our amble along picturesquely pretty streets, all houses painted white, often adorned with pots and plants.
Along the way, the route was punctuated with mosaic pictures telling a story in image and words. I did my best to translate them, they were tricky, but I did get the general sense that they were telling the story of the conflict in these regions between the Christians and the Muslims in centuries gone by.
My not to be trusted translation skills also suggested that, according to our map, there was a sculpture celebrating the “three cultures” to be found. Navigating to this point, I found the “Mill house” – casa del molino – and a grinding wheel on a plinth, but that couldn’t be it, surely. Then I spotted this:
… and I saw the light! A sculpture depicting the crescent moon of Islam, a Star of David, and a cross – the three cultures, it made sense to me. And seeing the plaque, my thinking was confirmed …
“Three Cultures, Two Sculptors, and One God.” by Perry Oliver and Robert Harding. There was more artwork to be found in the town – we visited the working gallery of Klaus Hinkel whose work is clearly inspired by the town
and later on found another gallery display some interesting work (sadly I don’t have any info about this gallery, or the artists, or the art they created, other than “I liked it”) The first photo below is a sculpture made of wool – instantly recognisable as a painting I can’t name! – and the second a stunning eye made from small cuts of fabric.
Frigiliana was a delight to visit. There are a couple of hiking routes (I think – we didn’t do any of these) that run from Frigiliana to Nerja, one is 7km and one (GR249 stage 5) 14km that would make a good day for the fit and adventurous. I’d get the bus to Frigiliana and walk to Nerja – that way you’d be going downhill! But after traipsing the Caminito del Ray yesterday, our aching limbs prompted us to get the bus back into town.
Back in town, we headed to the beach – the other side from where we went two days ago – and had myself another swim. The water was still “refreshing” (code for a little cold!) but was so clear. Swimming along the coast, I went past some rocks and discovered and explored a couple of other coves. It was a lovely place to swim – although possibly pipped by Kimilos, one of the best places I have swum all year.
It was up early today to catch a 9am bus (and 9am is early when on holiday, and certainly in Spanish time!) for a trip to the Caminito del Ray – Pathway of the King – a hike through the mountains to the north of Malaga along what was once a pathway through a gorge, used by workers to access and service a hydro-electric plant built at the start of the 1900s.
The King of the day – Alfonso XIII – opened a reservoir built to hold water for the plant, and the route, a treacherous walkway along the cliff-side, was named in his honour. By the 1990s, an underwater pipe had replaced the canal through which the water flowed, negating the need for maintenance of the canal and the pathway fell into disuse, except by local climbers and adventurers. Sadly, in the early 2000’s three young locals used a wire as a zip-line to traverse the gorge (as many had done before them, but not three at the same time) The wire failed, the three perished. The locals demanded that the walkways be made safe and, following a lot of work, and a lot of money, the Caminito del Ray was reopened to the public in circa 2014, and is now a major tourist destination.
We (paid for and) joined an organised trip that picked us up in Nerja, and took us – via several other pick up spots, and the pretty white Andalusian village of Ardales – to the Caminito.
I think you can do the Caminito independently, but getting there without a hire car isn’t easy, and when there I think you have to have pre-booked a slot – going as part of an organised tour did prove to be a good option – everything was organised and easy.
Having de-bussed at the northern end of the route, we had to walk through rock tunnel and woodland for about 15 minutes before the official start of the walk begins. Here, you are issued your mandatory helmet, and receive a safety briefing, before hitting the path. We had two guides, so our coach load split into two groups – one German speaking group, the other English speaking. But we could choose to head off on our own – no chance to get lost, you “just” follow the path. Becky and I chose to do this, allowing us to go at our own pace and find some space between us and our other hikers, but the guides were excellent and interesting, and staying with them would have been no bad thing.
The walk was fantastic – suitably adventurous, but never feeling unsafe. At times you proceeded along a wooden walkway suspended from the side of the cliff, overhanging the river rushing a hundred feet below your feet, other times it was a wide stony path through woodland, still high above the water. At all times the views were spectacular.
We saw mountain goats:
And to my delight, I looked up, and against the azure blue sky, I saw, soaring majestically, vultures, a whole flock of vultures – 20, 30 or more of them silhouetted against a perfect sky.
As a boy growing up in the ’70s and early ’80s, vultures often featured in comics and cartoons, typically circling a poor soul about to meet their imminent doom in a parched desert landscape. If you saw a vulture, your days were numbered, these birds biding their time until your ultimate demise, when they would then feast on your lifeless body – so not a sight you’d want to see! But as I grew older, I realised they had become a comedic short hand to mean you were in dire straits, and in reality they were harmless, magnificent majestic birds to be seen soaring the heights were the weather was good. I really was delighted to see them.
As the pathway reached its conclusion, there was one last challenge to face – crossing a wire bridge strung across the gorge, high above the water below. The weather had been beautiful – warm, but not too hot, but at this point, funnelled by the cliff walls, a strong wind was blowing, to make the crossing just that little bit more “adventurous!”
Having crossed the bridge, and with the risk of falling stone or bashing your head against a rock diminishing, we were soon able to take of our helmets, although their was still a further 1.5km walk to the end of the route, and a rest area with toilets, seats, and food kiosks. We caught our breath, enjoyed a late lunch and relaxed as we waited for the rest of our party to finish their journey.
The walk itself was about 2 and a half hours (although we didn’t time it, and you can go at your own pace) and the journey time to and from Nerja was about an hour and half. A long day, but a fantastic day – if you get the chance I recommend your follow in the footsteps of Kings and walk the Caminito del Ray (and don’t forget to look up, to see those vultures!)
It was after an uneventful flight that landed on time, albeit late in the evening/night (10pm local time) that our problems began. Swiftly exiting the plane, we headed along corridor and through passage, before arriving at Passport Control. Or not quite at Passport Control – more correctly at the back of a very, very long queue to get to the front of Passport Control. Had we still been Europeans, we could have joined a long, but quick moving queue, but no, since a disastrous day in 2016, we are no longer Europeans so instead had to join a longer, slower moving queue. An hour and ten minutes later, we finally emerged from the purgatory of immigration control and onto the sanctity of Spanish soil, to begin our Andalusian adventure. Join us on our journey across the Costa del Sol.
It was dark, late and we were tired as we got in our taxi to take us on the 45 minute trip to our home for the next few days – Nerja. As we barrelled along the smooth, speedy road taking us east of Malaga, a beautiful big orange moon greeted us and guided us to our destination. We arrived after midnight to find our apartment clean, quiet and comfortable and soon climbed into bed, dreaming of the day to come.
We woke to blue skies and sunshine, and an instant feeling that any hiccups along the way were a price to pay for the privilege of a few days away. Getting our bearings, we headed out, but soon stopped for breakfast – tostada con tomate, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. Delicious! To be honest, we don’t rate Spanish cuisine too highly, but tostada con tomate is the best breakfast in the world! As we chomped on our toast, lavished with olive oil and pulped tomatoes, it was obvious that we were “fresh off the boat” – we were the ones sat in full sunshine, all the other patrons were, perhaps more sensibly, sat in the shade. After months of grey sky and rain at home, blue sky and sunshine seemed like such a treat.
We began to explore – down to the Balcon de Europa to see the sea and take in the vista, then through the pretty streets and squares, stopping again for more coffee. Now “localized” Becky sought the shade, but I still sat in the sun, soaking up the rays and luxuriating in the warm glow.
Before long, we found ourselves walking along the beach front, and I could resist no longer.
It was time for a dip.
The water was inviting, but as soon as you dipped a toe in, you realised looks can be deceptive – it was not warm, in fact a little chilly. But I had my trunks on by now, so I headed out to sea, but by the time it was thigh height my resolve was wavering. I paused. I waited, and paused again. Eventually, though, I took the plunge and was in, swimming a few vigorous strokes to resist the clawing cold. I have some friends who go cold water swimming in the lakes and sea back home in the UK – how do they do it, I thought?
But soon I got used to the water, the sun was shinning, and I swam happily up and down the shoreline.
I was back in my happy place, swimming in the sea. Heaven.
Once out, like an iguana, I basked on some rocks to warm up before we continued along the beach front. We encountered the “Fountain of Europe” – a sculpture – that first piqued my interest, and then left me a little sad.
A stone circle with the names of cities of Andalusia carved into its base, from which a tower of blocks rose, each block carved with the name of a country – England, Germany, Greece, Belgium to name a few of the nine nations named. Reading the “blurb” that went with the sculpture, it told that it was built to mark the fraternity of nations that share a similar culture, democracy, and outlook. It was erected in 1986 to mark Spain joining the EU. It does sadden me that we, the UK, are no longer part of the EU, and the short sighted folly that caused us to leave.
But I wont let that ruin my visit. I have been practising my Spanish on unsuspecting, but very forgiving, locals. Now, most of the the time, I can make myself understood, and understand any replies, and being able to a least “attempt” to use the language does add another dimension to my holiday experience.
Nerja hasn’t disappointed: pretty, compact, busy but not overcrowded, a happy few days await, and I am sure I’ll be back in my happy place – the sea – before too long.
