When we left, Chris and Sarah were preparing for a bike trip and Barbara was happily listening to music and liberating the irrigation trenches between the olive trees. The sky was blue, the air was still and crisp – it was a perfect day to be setting out on an excursion.
Chris had given us an ordinance map, with the warning that essential items, such as paths, were not accurate, but it provided a sense of security and an aid if assistance was to be necessary. We had also taken our bearings from the terrace, built at roof height at the back of the house, from which we could see the arches of the bridge, the mountain we were heading for and the town. It looked a piece of cake.
The river was running shallow and fast, bubbling brown and white over rocks, with a much wider bed showing that at one time it was a force to be reckoned with. We followed our instructions, and managed to end up in a farm yard where some dogs challenged us and an elderly lady paused in her fire wood collecting to see who her visitors were. She assured us that there was no way up the valley from her property, and that we would have to cross the river at the bridge to go in that direction. It was a case of the question and answer not quite fitting, since she interpreted Keith´s wave of his arm as meaning a different ultimate goal to the one it meant to us. Either that or she had not left her farm for a very long time, because not far from the lane leading to her place we crossed over some rocks and water and ended up on a track going just where we wanted.
Just ahead of us were Sarah and Chris, doing some bike maintenance, and so we stopped for a chat and had to confess to having been lost in the first hour of our whole day outing. We talked about the quality of life for the elderly who can continue in a family setting, as the lady we had met was, with the support of a family who has members at home during the day. She was contributing to the running of the place, even if she could no longer do many of the things that might be needed if she was living alone. Chris and Sarah observed that in Spain elderly and disabled people were more likely to be with family than in England. We thought that Australia was probably similar to England.
Armed with a new set of instructions, we set off again towards a stand of euclypts in the distance. The many gum trees that we have seen in Spain have been River Red gums, so sometimes we can pretend to be at home for five minutes as we walk through them. They are grown for building, particularly for use as roof beams. Traditional homes here have flat roofs and large roof beams, and the beams are often round and can be seen from the interior of the rooms. Chris and Sarah have an external roofing material that looks like a mix of sand, dirt and fine pebbles, which is spread out on the roof. The rain compacts it and it does not allow any water through, but the heat cracks it so it has to be attended to every year before the rainy season begins.
This time we did so well that we ended up with no way to reach a public thoroughfare other than to walk warily past the barking farm dogs, and then beside the irrigation channels through the fields. Perhaps the 'until you can't go any further' wasn't meant to be taken quite as literally as we took it. We did get a very close-up look at the irrigation trenches and metal gates, the olives, crops, ploughed fields and some canine teeth, and soon we were on a road.
The road led us between olive and orange farms where people were harvesting olives with sticks, knocking the black fruit onto the mats spread out below. I had foolishly tasted a raw olive at Chris and Sarah's and would not recommend it for anyone. Apparently after twenty days of soaking and water changing, that taste is modified into the delicious olive as we know it, and then you choose to store them in oil, brine or vinegar. A man working around his trees greeted us and plied us with oranges, picking more and more off his tree to fill my bag. They were absolutely delicious, being a little tangy. From then on our progress was marked by little piles of orange peel.
The mountains rise steeply from the plains near the river, and this end of the valley funnelled into the gully where, higher up, the river was dammed. As we zigzagged up the mountain track, we rose above a patchwork of crops and trees, with avocados and bananas being grown in a perfect micro-climate between the valley frosts and the exposed mountain heights.
There was nothing much in the way of trees growing naturally on the mountains, with the lower ones having low heath-like shrubs and lots of aromatic rosemary and lavender. Alyssum was also growing wild, creating a pretty lacy edging in some places. The road had been cut into the hill, with an amazing narrow part remaining at one spot on the down side. It looked as if it might all go over if you leant on it.
On and on we walked, finding a little track across the mountain side with GR42 in it and the red and white signs that had been our focus on the GR65 in France. We ignored it and continued upward, to a point where it was possible to see into two valleys.
Houses up here are not so remote, but life would be isolated on a daily basis. We enjoyed our picnic lunch, and then followed my curiosity a little further to see a beautiful large house that looked as if it had grown and been added to over time.
Later we saw a more extreme example of this, with a few old very low roofed residential rooms, attached to an extensive newer section and finally to a modern looking house. They ran across and then down the block and could have accommodated a large extended family easily.
We returned to Orgiva via a short cross-country foot track, then by a road a little way up the mountain, where we could see a patchwork of crops way below and terraces of olive trees on either side.
The water from the mountain is harvested in little channels and fed out across terraces that are supported by rock walls. The amount of work that has been done over the centuries is staggering. A day later we were to have a discussion with a German girl working in a Spanish National Park, where the consequences of agricultural reaping of water that would have entered the river systems naturally have been disastrous. She talked about the impact of such water reaping at international level, and predicted water wars for countries which share rivers, but where damming and redistribution of water has meant great losses downstream.
Many houses were built right on the edge of the road, white stone buildings with terraces covered in grapes, now just skeletons, but promising beautiful summer shade. Many places in Órgiva have been bought by Northern Europeans, many of them English and some in response to books about the area by an English author, Chris Stewart, who lives here. It would make an interesting study to see the impact of a large ex-pat community on an area. The rise in house prices would be one but there would be many others at a more subtle level. Equally, it would be interesting to hear the experiences of all the ex-pats.
It seemed a long last stretch, but finally we were in the outskirts of Órgiva and on our way down to the supermarket. It wasn't yet open, so we had a belated wedding anniversary hot chocolate while we waited. It took both the town's supermarkets to supply us with ingredients, but with help from an Englishman, who advised the market the next day as the best solution, we set off home, fully laden. I wore the puff pastry under my jumper to hasten its defrosting, and I recommend it as very effective when you are pressed for time.
Unfortunately we missed a turn on the way home, but when we reached the river, we knew where we were courtesy of yesterday's ramblings, and we were not really lost. We cooked up a storm and in an hour were serving up a lovely meal to the family of Chris, Sarah and Oliver, helper Barbara and us two couch surfers.
After tea we left Oliver home to his own devices and the rest of us walked up to the town for birthday drinks for Chris. Our eyes adjusted, and it was fun and invigorating marching up together in the dark. We were the butt of a few jokes due to our amazing ability to get lost. We spent a very pleasant evening in a bar having a few drinks with Chris's friends Martin and Pete, who were interesting conversationalists and very friendly and pleasant company. Feeding the world and the pluses and minuses of the coal mining eras for the community were two of the topics explored.
The time flew, and it was quite late when we set off on the return journey. I had been joking with Chris that he had 'special powers', and he had agreed but not divulged what they were. We had learnt from Sarah today that he can make a bicycle stand up without touching it, a fake special power when you hear about the miraculously placed rocks. To me his special powers are apparent in his relationships with his friends and most impressive of all, in his ability to quieten an enormous barking dog and put his fingers through the fence to stroke him, coming out with hand intact. What a talent that would be to have on a pilgrimage through wild dog country.
It was very late when we checked our emails, with nothing from Australia. We would never make it for the direct bus to Málaga at 8.15 so we decided to go back to Granada and then south from there, at the more respectable and warmer time of 10.30.
Sometimes it looks like Australia with so many red gums. They seem to like the south of Spain and some were a good 40 metres tall.
Defying the huge swing towards modernisation and westernisation, a lone goatherd leads a flock up the mountain.
Chris had given us an ordinance map, with the warning that essential items, such as paths, were not accurate, but it provided a sense of security and an aid if assistance was to be necessary. We had also taken our bearings from the terrace, built at roof height at the back of the house, from which we could see the arches of the bridge, the mountain we were heading for and the town. It looked a piece of cake.The river was running shallow and fast, bubbling brown and white over rocks, with a much wider bed showing that at one time it was a force to be reckoned with. We followed our instructions, and managed to end up in a farm yard where some dogs challenged us and an elderly lady paused in her fire wood collecting to see who her visitors were. She assured us that there was no way up the valley from her property, and that we would have to cross the river at the bridge to go in that direction. It was a case of the question and answer not quite fitting, since she interpreted Keith´s wave of his arm as meaning a different ultimate goal to the one it meant to us. Either that or she had not left her farm for a very long time, because not far from the lane leading to her place we crossed over some rocks and water and ended up on a track going just where we wanted.
Just ahead of us were Sarah and Chris, doing some bike maintenance, and so we stopped for a chat and had to confess to having been lost in the first hour of our whole day outing. We talked about the quality of life for the elderly who can continue in a family setting, as the lady we had met was, with the support of a family who has members at home during the day. She was contributing to the running of the place, even if she could no longer do many of the things that might be needed if she was living alone. Chris and Sarah observed that in Spain elderly and disabled people were more likely to be with family than in England. We thought that Australia was probably similar to England.
Armed with a new set of instructions, we set off again towards a stand of euclypts in the distance. The many gum trees that we have seen in Spain have been River Red gums, so sometimes we can pretend to be at home for five minutes as we walk through them. They are grown for building, particularly for use as roof beams. Traditional homes here have flat roofs and large roof beams, and the beams are often round and can be seen from the interior of the rooms. Chris and Sarah have an external roofing material that looks like a mix of sand, dirt and fine pebbles, which is spread out on the roof. The rain compacts it and it does not allow any water through, but the heat cracks it so it has to be attended to every year before the rainy season begins.
This time we did so well that we ended up with no way to reach a public thoroughfare other than to walk warily past the barking farm dogs, and then beside the irrigation channels through the fields. Perhaps the 'until you can't go any further' wasn't meant to be taken quite as literally as we took it. We did get a very close-up look at the irrigation trenches and metal gates, the olives, crops, ploughed fields and some canine teeth, and soon we were on a road.The road led us between olive and orange farms where people were harvesting olives with sticks, knocking the black fruit onto the mats spread out below. I had foolishly tasted a raw olive at Chris and Sarah's and would not recommend it for anyone. Apparently after twenty days of soaking and water changing, that taste is modified into the delicious olive as we know it, and then you choose to store them in oil, brine or vinegar. A man working around his trees greeted us and plied us with oranges, picking more and more off his tree to fill my bag. They were absolutely delicious, being a little tangy. From then on our progress was marked by little piles of orange peel.
The mountains rise steeply from the plains near the river, and this end of the valley funnelled into the gully where, higher up, the river was dammed. As we zigzagged up the mountain track, we rose above a patchwork of crops and trees, with avocados and bananas being grown in a perfect micro-climate between the valley frosts and the exposed mountain heights.There was nothing much in the way of trees growing naturally on the mountains, with the lower ones having low heath-like shrubs and lots of aromatic rosemary and lavender. Alyssum was also growing wild, creating a pretty lacy edging in some places. The road had been cut into the hill, with an amazing narrow part remaining at one spot on the down side. It looked as if it might all go over if you leant on it.
On and on we walked, finding a little track across the mountain side with GR42 in it and the red and white signs that had been our focus on the GR65 in France. We ignored it and continued upward, to a point where it was possible to see into two valleys.
Houses up here are not so remote, but life would be isolated on a daily basis. We enjoyed our picnic lunch, and then followed my curiosity a little further to see a beautiful large house that looked as if it had grown and been added to over time.
Later we saw a more extreme example of this, with a few old very low roofed residential rooms, attached to an extensive newer section and finally to a modern looking house. They ran across and then down the block and could have accommodated a large extended family easily.
We returned to Orgiva via a short cross-country foot track, then by a road a little way up the mountain, where we could see a patchwork of crops way below and terraces of olive trees on either side.
The water from the mountain is harvested in little channels and fed out across terraces that are supported by rock walls. The amount of work that has been done over the centuries is staggering. A day later we were to have a discussion with a German girl working in a Spanish National Park, where the consequences of agricultural reaping of water that would have entered the river systems naturally have been disastrous. She talked about the impact of such water reaping at international level, and predicted water wars for countries which share rivers, but where damming and redistribution of water has meant great losses downstream.Many houses were built right on the edge of the road, white stone buildings with terraces covered in grapes, now just skeletons, but promising beautiful summer shade. Many places in Órgiva have been bought by Northern Europeans, many of them English and some in response to books about the area by an English author, Chris Stewart, who lives here. It would make an interesting study to see the impact of a large ex-pat community on an area. The rise in house prices would be one but there would be many others at a more subtle level. Equally, it would be interesting to hear the experiences of all the ex-pats.
It seemed a long last stretch, but finally we were in the outskirts of Órgiva and on our way down to the supermarket. It wasn't yet open, so we had a belated wedding anniversary hot chocolate while we waited. It took both the town's supermarkets to supply us with ingredients, but with help from an Englishman, who advised the market the next day as the best solution, we set off home, fully laden. I wore the puff pastry under my jumper to hasten its defrosting, and I recommend it as very effective when you are pressed for time.Unfortunately we missed a turn on the way home, but when we reached the river, we knew where we were courtesy of yesterday's ramblings, and we were not really lost. We cooked up a storm and in an hour were serving up a lovely meal to the family of Chris, Sarah and Oliver, helper Barbara and us two couch surfers.
After tea we left Oliver home to his own devices and the rest of us walked up to the town for birthday drinks for Chris. Our eyes adjusted, and it was fun and invigorating marching up together in the dark. We were the butt of a few jokes due to our amazing ability to get lost. We spent a very pleasant evening in a bar having a few drinks with Chris's friends Martin and Pete, who were interesting conversationalists and very friendly and pleasant company. Feeding the world and the pluses and minuses of the coal mining eras for the community were two of the topics explored.
The time flew, and it was quite late when we set off on the return journey. I had been joking with Chris that he had 'special powers', and he had agreed but not divulged what they were. We had learnt from Sarah today that he can make a bicycle stand up without touching it, a fake special power when you hear about the miraculously placed rocks. To me his special powers are apparent in his relationships with his friends and most impressive of all, in his ability to quieten an enormous barking dog and put his fingers through the fence to stroke him, coming out with hand intact. What a talent that would be to have on a pilgrimage through wild dog country.It was very late when we checked our emails, with nothing from Australia. We would never make it for the direct bus to Málaga at 8.15 so we decided to go back to Granada and then south from there, at the more respectable and warmer time of 10.30.
Sometimes it looks like Australia with so many red gums. They seem to like the south of Spain and some were a good 40 metres tall.
Defying the huge swing towards modernisation and westernisation, a lone goatherd leads a flock up the mountain.
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