13/2003 - Costa Plastica to Orgiva
19th February 2004
Hola Amigos!
We have a number of serious complaints about our current Camping, which, in all fairness, we should share with you.
- the people on the campsite, both 'guests' and those running it, are far too friendly;
- it is very distracting having such beautiful hills right in front of the sinks when trying to do the washing up;
- it is far too easy to volunteer to cook the dinner again, since it's a treat chopping veg and cooking under the stars and moon;
- the sun is extremely warm at times, warranting Warp Factor 15 sunscreen;
- cicadas insist on posing pertly on the oranges growing on the small tree at one edge of our pitch;
- the adjacent olive tree, with suitably gnarled and interesting trunk befitting its apparent age, drops olives - plink, plink - onto the van roof (and we fear roots being put down in the filth up there);
- the stars are so unbelievably prolific and twinkly at night, we now have terrible cricks in our necks standing gazing at them;
- the adjacent restaurant, run by the Camping owners and much used by locals, serves ridiculously delicious food and wafts tempting smells as one passes by;
- the birdsong is incessant and at times is a harmonious cacophony.
We could go on, but we don't want to reveal what moaning minnies we have become since arriving here in Las Alpujarras. We better tell you a bit of how we got here before we get overwhelmed by self pity (!).
So there we were, setting sail (not quite literally) along the coast from Mojacar, destination inland Orgiva, having had a great couple of days as Fruitbats turned Beachcombing Bums.
That day's drive gave us some tremendous variety in scenery. It started well - almost immediately the road from Mojacar to Carboneras turned into a bucking, twisting switchback along the sides of some awesome hills. Fortunately it was a good, solid, well surfaced road with plenty of precipice-side metal barriers in appropriate places, since it was perilous in its hairpin bends, sudden ascents and descents (Jeni's just had to go and lie down whilst reliving this!).
But scenic? Scenic? That would be an understatement. It gave us simply glorious views out over the coastline, little isolated bays down below and beyond to the Cabo de Gata Parque Natural. This is a huge protected area of coast and hills, which is not exactly undiscovered, but is certainly undeveloped and pretty wild. If you like your Spain natural and want to be near the coast, this could be for you. On the far side of the Cabo de Gata is another important area of dunes and saltings, which is guaranteed to get bird-watchers into a frenzy of Twitcher excitement. The salt extraction there apparently has a fine pedigree, going back to the first millennium BC when the Phoenicians controlled the water which entered the marshes, to create pools for the extraction of salt. The flamingos seem to be cool with the current day arrangements, anyway.
So a good start to the journey. Those of you who know this area of Spain will be aware that soon after that treat, we were back up onto the main road and into the heart of what's variously known as the Costa Plastica or Plasticulture Country (and probably other derogatory names). Cashing in (literally) on their abundant natural resource, the sunshine, this is one of the areas of Spain which stocks northern European supermarkets with out-of-season fruit and veg. On our travels, we've heard lots of people moaning about the ugliness of the vast areas of polythene canopies propped up with eucalyptus supports, but we defy them to say they're never eaten Spanish cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and so on over the winter months.
Our Director of the Fascinating Facts Department would like to crave your indulgence for a moment or two to add some info which we found interesting, surprising and reminded us of the real world somewhat. This is a very dry area, of course, and 20-25 years ago was reputedly a bit of a barren wilderness, but what enabled the boom in year-round crop production was the invention of the drip-feed irrigation system. (Still with us?!) That, together with a bit of gene tinkering in the form of biological engineering - creating made-to-order, designer vegetables and flowers - has made a few people very rich and brought employment and relative wealth to many more. A once-small town, El Ejido, has been at the centre of the boom - it was modestly sized 20 years ago and is now almost city sized (though it's still a dot on most maps!) - and people talk about El Ejido's Eldorado - the crop of gold (literally). It's attracted workers from all over Spain and over 10,000 people from Morocco and other African countries, many of whom both live and work in appalling conditions.
As a result of all this, land in the Almeria area is at a premium as it's fiercely fought over for tourist development and agricultural production, making it amongst the most expensive per acre in Spain. Many of the Plasticultura Millionnaires moor their yachts and have expensive homes in and around Almerimar down on the coast. So if conspicuous consumption sticks in the craw, give that resort a wide berth, if you'll pardon the pun.
Not surprisingly, there's now lots of concern about the social impact of the industry and the ecological consequences of draining the area's scarce water resources, which has been done by tapping artesian wells to a great depth.
So; yet another reason to go back to the knobbly, local-grown, seasonal fruit and veg from the markets, folks. There's an additional crisis of conscience to add to your next shopping trolley, eh?! Didn't mean to depress you, but we found it quite sobering (and guilt-making).
We'll just pop the Director of Fascinating Facts back in the box for now, and continue our journey. We came off the main road and into Adra around lunchtime. All the books say that Adra is an unlovely little industrial town, but we just happened to strike lucky, and squeezed VeeJay down the main shopping street to end up right on the attractive, working fishing harbour at the point we needed a coffee, bread and cheese stop. Perfect. We mention this not to burden you with every detail, but simply because it was one of those unexpectedly idyllic hours that touched all the senses. We sat on the harbour wall, warmed by the sun with the tangy smell of sea, fish and just a hint of diesel, hearing the gulls, the sea, the breeze jangling the metal rigging, the voices of people unloading the catch from the boats, the taste of fresh bread and coffee - shut your eyes, you're there too, aren't you?!
Thus on along the coast where the main road narrows from its earlier dual carriageway and becomes another hill-hugging, twist-turny-all-abouty, tunnels-through-the-hills effort for considerable distances almost all the way between Adra and Motril where we turned inland. And, heading north, through the first awe-inspiring gorge, higher into the hills, along the side of a huge valley with a massive new EU-funded dam and suddenly there's the Guadelfeo river valley bed and across it on the hillside, the town of Orgiva.
We've been here before together and Jeni's spent many a blissful holiday in the area in over the years, so we knew exactly where the little Camping was on the road up towards the town. What we weren't in the slightest prepared for was that little tiny turn off the familiar road brought us straight into Fruitbat heaven. Any of you who know Las Alpujarras and the Sierra Nevada area will surely have been bowled over by the beauty, and this little site is nestling in amongst all that. Views to little white villages high up on the hills, snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada visible on one side, the tumbling river just a couple of hundred metres down the hill, a little small-holding to the other side where daily the owner tends his beans, artichokes, lemon, orange and olive trees shadowed by his faithful cat - truly magnificent. What a find! You can tell from the list of complaints we started out with, that there's an awful lot to moan about. [Jeni is somewhat overwrought here as you can tell, so I'd better call Matron. Anything to stop a repeat of the episode when, in public, she gazed into my eyes, up to the hills and began to sing 'Take my hand, I'm a Fruitbat in Paradise !' D.]
So up we pitched and in we settled at least, we thought, for a few days. This'll do nicely thank you.
Thursday being market day in Orgiva it was essential for us to rouse ourselves early(ish) (let's not get too stressed, eh?!) and toil up the hill on the bikes to town. And a bit of a slog it was too - five minutes in a car, 25 minutes for Jeni and Isadora Trike, and much of that with Dave pushing! Up past the little tile shop, the olive oil factory, twisty-turning round the bends. Two thirds of the way up we passed a group of three or four elderly guys sitting on a wall in the sun, continental-style, watching the world go up and down the hill. Great roars of encouragement from them as thigh muscles throbbed, faces were red with effort and we tried to look as dignified as possible wobbling past. (Not in the slightest bit dignified, as you might imagine. And this was the first of several times they would see us thus.)
Isadora attracted great attention and another man coming down the hill wanted to know how much she'd cost, where we'd got her from, while he stood gazing admiringly at her as he struggled back down the hill with full baskets from his market expedition. You need to picture this encounter, with us trying to understand, and respond to, his heavily-accented Spanish with international mime and gesture supporting both sides of the conversation. Get the drift? Well, finally, we made it up to the top end of town to the market, Jeni in a somewhat sweaty, exhausted but triumphant condition (Dave naturally was much more suave and cool - how does he do it?!).
Now think about the things we've said about Spanish markets so far and multiply them to a factor of 10 or thereabouts. Then you get an idea of what Orgiva on a Thursday is like. Being the main market centre of the western Alpujarras, it genuinely does bring everyone from the surrounding hills and valleys into town to sell, to buy, to meet, to swap, to barter, to do their official business or to gawp. There are communities of South American and North African people in the area and they set up stalls, New Age travellers and hippies selling jewellery and crafts on street corners, as well as all the usual, typical Spanish market fare.
But it's the people you'd go to see, even if you didn't need a new bedspread, a polyester two-piece, a bulk bra, a pair of cheap plastic trainers or a basket-full of fruit and veg. Like the gaggle of women who brought one side of the market perambulations to a complete halt as they cooed and chucked at a bemused looking toddler in a pram pushed by a young woman of their acquaintance; the knot of older men on the benches in the centre of the stalls themselves watching as humanity thronged past; the posse of three stout women dressed in black, shoulder to shoulder, scattering the crowds as they marched forward in perfect synchronicity, shopping trolley artillery dragged behind them - all those little vignettes we just get enthralled by.
Jeni went off to buy some oranges from an elderly guy who strangely resembled the gnarled trunk of an olive tree himself. He just had his dozen or so plastic crates of oranges and a couple of other barrels to the side. In the middle of trying to stop him filling a whole sack with oranges and saying about 4 or 5 kilos was fine, a middle-aged woman came along and - if you'll pardon the indelicacy - started to sample his walnuts. She took a couple from the barrel and crushed them underfoot (who needs Ikea nutcrackers, eh?!) then tasted them. He launched into a string of what could either have been invective or might have been a greeting of a long-lost relative - certainly it was a colourful exchange with plenty of arm waving and raised voices. It's moments like those we'd like to parcel up and send as attachments to these Bulletins. Anyway, Jeni eventually concluded her deal on the E2 orange mountain, we finished our shopping (including the half kilo of strawberries which we noted was slightly cheaper than a 100 gram punnet might have been in Tescos in Eastbourne, but had the Director of Fascinating Facts a-twitch) and headed to a nearby café for a much needed Café con Leche and to people-watch some more.
Finally, our business done, Isadora's basket laden and even Dave's little bungeed-on yellow plastic crate full to busting, we turned the wheels towards 'home'. And wheeeeeeeeeeeee !! Downhill all the way - flashing past the men still sitting on their wall who roared approval and waved their walking sticks gleefully as we shot past, we raced round one bend, then the other, tyre rubber smoking on the tarmac - wheee! Over her shoulder Jeni shouted 'Look at that, we're going straight into the embrace of hills'. Dave: 'If your brakes fail, you'll be there sooner than you hoped!'. Ah, ever the practical one. Well, quite a freewheel. No wonder the guy we met on the way up thought Isadora would be a good way of getting his shopping home!
As you may remember, we were supposed to be here, not only to revisit the beauty of the area, but also to get stuck into some hard work for Star, our friend who lives in Tijola, a hamlet out on the other side of Orgiva. So over she came to the Camping on Saturday, where we enjoyed a tasty lunch at the Restaurant El Camping catching up with news and hearing the hot local gossip. Then we headed back to her place in her car to assess whether it would be possible to squeeze the Lorry between two houses, inch it up the steep stony track and shoehorn it onto the nice level terrace on the hillside behind, ready to plug in to the electric in the tumbledown outhouse, and get ourselves working.
Well, would we manage it? Only time, and the next Bulletin, will tell ... !
Love and hugs to you all from Fruitbat heaven,
Dave y Jeni
xx