Lost. Well, nearly ...

November 1, 2009

Late for breakfast again. I asked Suzanna, the owner of the hostal, if she was thinking of installing a wireless internet router so that guests could get internet access in their rooms. She told us that many guests wouldn't want wireless access to the internet in their rooms because the walls are too thick (true) and because of "electro-smog"... This must be German guests who have claimed this as a threat, because it's not generally something I notice the British talking about. But I wonder how many people really don't want internet access on holiday nowadays?

My wife was feeling top-class today, back to form and pushing us ever forward, out the room and off into the deep hot valleys to hike. But that didn't stop me forgetting to screw up the lid on my water bottle that I lay on the bed ready to pack. The water poured out before I could notice, soaking the duvet and mattress. Should we even bother to protest to the cleaning lady and manager "it's not pee, I promise"? They'll never believe us. I wouldn't. Our patio is slowly lowering the whole tone of the place, with plastic bags full of food scattered around, clothes hanging out over chairs and a mattress, sheets and duvet all drying on the terrace.

The hike was one of the best to be had in this area, and we were quickly in "Ooh, look at that view!" territory. Stunning.



The photos here are a feeble attempt to capture the grandeur of craggy cliffs, deep blue skies, cork trees and winding rivers extending off to a horizon of sun-drenched mountains (keep going, Ed.)



Yet around 5 pm we realised we were starting to get lost as we crossed the dried river bed but failed to reconcile the long path up through the pines with what the map clearly stated. So let me warn future hikers : don't trust these Topografico maps. They don't offer the same precision as good old Ordnance Survey maps - hiking obviously doesn't have as strong a tradition as in the UK, but more to the point - the military in Spain apparently dug their heels in when it came to letting its citizens know where they were walking. Sod the military, they are nothing but trouble in any country. Maybe not Denmark and Sweden, where I saw the conscripts wearing hairnets in the hippy days. That's how we like our soldiers to look - soft. Down with macho unless it's an image I am cultivating, in which case: "Hi, tough guy!"



We were running out of daylight fast. And the map we were clinging onto was less map, more map-ish. This put a dampener on our adventure. If we took time out now to eat our sandwiches we could be stuck in the forest, while still close enough to civilisation for a rescue team to be justified in laughing in our faces. So we stuffed the food down and retraced our steps at a steady clip. Then as over-confidence set in I started yakking, told a funny story and promptly slipped between two rocks and it bloody hurt. I was that close to breaking my right arm. That close. And I got a lump come up that grew to the size of a homunculus. I watched it nervously as it swelled and thought "this is it - helicopter rescue and amputation." I soldiered bravely on (with hairnet, of course) and made it back to the village just as darkness threatened to leave us stranded amidst the nocturnal funnel web spiders. Yes, them again.



I interrupt to sing a song of praise for Spanish food - not because it's particularly good, it's far too greasy, battered this, battered that, and non-fried vegetables a rarity) - but because it's always piping hot and the plates and bowls are heated. Hats off to burnt tongues.

Tomorrow we are off to Tarifa, but only if we can get that great Moorish-style room with its high ceilings at the Casa Amarilla opposite the groovy cafe. The town has a beatnik feel to it, and the views over the Straits of Gibraltar to Africa are beautiful. Nay, breath-taking.

Click here for my Flickr photos of Andalusia