The Alpujarras is a mountainous region located on the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada, an hour’s drive from Granada.  This area was the last hiding place of the Moors, once Boabdil surrendered the city of Granada to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella a long, long time ago (January 2, 1492, to be exact).  It was here we brought Tia S. who had come to visit us for a couple of weeks.

Tia S. with Sobrina A.

Steep mountain slopes, hairpin turns, a narrow river valley, farms, villages and small towns, Spaniards and ex-pat Brits, the smell of weed, the shimmer of olive groves, and the gurgle of acequias:  these were a few of our favorite things in the Alpujarras.  

On a clear day, you can see the Mediterranean Sea.

We found a great place to stay at an organic olive orchard!

The towns of Bubión, Pampaneira, and Capileira stack the hillside.

One day we hiked the wooded trails that led to the summit of Mulhacén, the highest peak of the Sierra Nevada at 11,413 feet.  We stuck to the lower elevations, passing fruit orchards and farms, stone houses, and meandering acequias.  These irrigation channels, first introduced by the Arabs of northern Africa during their heyday in the Iberian peninsula, are a communal form of water distribution still in use over a thousand years later.  At this point, we are undetermined whether you are bored or interested in this topic.  You can always use the “Reply” button to let us know. 

Water from the top flows toward the bottom.

Over 1300 years old!

Combined age qualifies for AARP membership.

This acequia led to….

this holding pool, which led to….

this gathering for a picnic.

From friends in the Albayzin, we heard of a walk to an ancient Roman bridge from the village of Ferreirola.  The town is easy enough to get to if you have a car, but you will most likely get lost along the way, no matter what.

Old pomegranate trees.

Old as the hills…..

Young and old.

Old Roman bridge in the distance.

Tia S. con sus sobrinos.

We stayed in a stone house that featured a swimming pool, three large and lazy dogs, thirty-four chickens, lots of olive trees and an acequia outside our door.  The nearest town was Órgiva, population 6,500.  Besides brownies, tofu burgers and a road race that shut down all access into and out of the town for over an hour, we noted poetry on the city walls as well.

All roads lead to other roads.

Ayuntamiento.

Heading toward Main Street.

Tourists.

Day of the Book.

What follows are all the photos from the Alpujarras that we wanted to include, but that did not fit in the above narrative.

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A week later, we headed to the Costa de Almería.  All year we had heard of the wonders of Cabo de Gata from our neighbors Laura and Antonio.  Now a national park, this area escaped the bull dozers of the Costa del Sol and remains, for all intents and purposes, an almost unspoiled slice of the Mediterranean Coast.  We traveled there with Tia. S. to spoil it just a little bit.  We drove a polluting vehicle, drank water from plastic bottles, and contributed to coastal erosion by hiking the lava promontories, but we did so with a tone of remorse, thereby neutralizing our guilty consciences.  A. and J., unencumbered by adult concerns like finding a place to stay, arranging a rental car, and making sure the pizza did not include ham, simply enjoyed the experience.

Unspoiled.

This could have been….

this: Costa del Sol.

Boy, are they spoiled!

The biggest town in Cabo de Gata is San José.   From there we began a hike that skirted cliffs and dropped down into secluded coves.  Destination: Playa de Mónsul.

We walked along the ledge to Cala de Los Amarrillos, crossed the beach at Playa de Los Genoveses, climbed up the cliffs and back down to Cala Chica del Barronal, and made our way along the narrow strip past Cala Grande to Playa de Barronal.

Heading out to Fondeadero del Morrón (Anchorage of the Sweet Red Pepper).

View of Cala de Los Amarillos.

Agaves in bloom.

More of same.

No one was ready to go in just yet,…

but we did take our shoes off.

Down to Cala de Los Amarillos. It seems almost every cove has this name.

This was scarier than it looks.

D. agrees to have her picture taken by a stranger.

Last one in….!

Good timing: tide is out.

This particular mujer followed us the whole way.

Approaching Cala Chica.

Una chica con el pelo gris y marrón.

Las flores en piedra.

Playa del Barronal.

Freedom.

They went in with their bathing suits on.

Ola petrificada de Mónsul.

We made it!

They made it!

Hitchhiking back to San José was not a problem.

Many hours and naked people later, we arrived.  It was then we realized that the car was 10 kilometers away as el cuervo flies, in a parking lot in the center of San José.  While M. hitchhiked back to town, friends from Granada — who had made the trip to San José for the weekend — drove along the rutted road to meet us at Playa de Mónsul where our kids gamboled on the beautiful beach.

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The next day we visited Las Negras, a small fishing village that now caters to many a tourist, Spanish, German, and British.   From Las Negras we walked the 6+ miles to Cale San Pedro, a beach accessible only on foot or by boat.  This has not prevented many a free spirit from making it his or her home.  In other words, even though it was the middle of April, the beach was packed.

Having walked 6 miles in one direction, and again without a car to take us back, we made our way to the end of the beach and hired a skiff piloted by a young man, intent on inhaling a joint, to take us back to Las Negras.  With the gas gauge on empty, and the four of us hanging on for dear life as we cruised at lightening speeds, we were unable to snap any photos.

Far be it from us to tell you how to live your life.  Base your decision to visit Cabo de Gata on your own desires, circumstances and proclivities.  

(We had rented an apartment in Hortichuelas, but recommend, instead, the village of Rodalquilar.)