Mountains and Sea

Mountains and Sea

I’m rolling two posts into one here, so you get both coast and mountains in one hit!

For those of you mercifully spared my endless

gloating on Facebook, this is my new home on the Costa Tropica – Almuñecar.  Initially I was a little skeptical about moving to the Spanish coast.  It’s a tough job to impress Australians with coastline, and I’d already seen the Little Britain enclaves that line the Mediterranean coast.  I wasn’t too sure that ageing Manchurians drinking a pint alongside Dutch retirees was really going to be my thing, and let’s face it – Granada is seriously hard to beat.

But here’s the thing:  whilst a gravel beach and crass tourism might not grab me, Roman remains at every turn, combined with an extraordinary archeological museum, most definitely do.

A tiny fact to give you some idea – an Egyptian vase in the museum dates back to the 17^th century BC, and bears the oldest known writing ever

discovered on the Iberian Peninsula.  It is just sitting there.  In a tiny little museum that costs less than three Euros to visit.  Because that is the kind of place this is.

The Phoenicians – who obviously knew I was coming – named this port ‘Sexi’.  It was already a well established trading centre by the time they got here, around 800 BC, and the enterprising Phoenicians made the most of the thriving ceramics factories and fishing industry.  Under the Romans it was Firmium Julium Sexi – even sexier, in other words.  In fact, some happy campers here still refer to themselves as Sexitanos. I think I will adopt the habit.

It was the Moors who rechristened the town Al-Munakkab, giving birth to its modern incarnation.  As usual in Andalusia, history here is a never ending wonder and delight.

I took off this morning with my backpack and water to explore.  It’s the first chance I’ve had since arriving last weekend, and I went expecting little other than a nice coastal ramble and a decent feed of fish somewhere.

I wandered into the old quarter, typically Moorish with steep narrow paths and tumbling whitewashed cottages, and almost immediately came across the museum.  Surprise turned to fascination, then abject drooling wonder, as I came across alabaster amphorae from Egypt, Phoenician statuettes, and

Roman and Visigothic coins.  The lovely man at the entrance almost apologised as he charged me the ridiculously low entrance fee – which also entitled me, he said, to enter the castle a couple of streets away.

The museum itself is located in a prehistoric cave that was once the basement of a Roman building.  It also housed necropolises from various epochs.  They just keep on digging priceless artefacts up in these parts, and a goodly amount of them wind up here.  The rest go to the sister museum in Granada (which was unfortunately closed for repairs the entire time I lived there – yet another good excuse to go back for a visit sometime soon).

After dribbling all over the glass cases and barely restraining myself from inappropriate caressing of amphorae, I finally left, to the attendant’s relief I’m sure.  I wandered through the old laneways to the castle high up on the promontory.

As is pretty much par for the course in Andalusia, the current ruins date from the 16^th century.  But they of course are built over the preceding Moorish fort, which is built over a Roman fort, which – well, you get the picture.  Fragments of ceramics inside the castle show exquisite Moorish designs.  I couldn’t help being struck by the contrast between the dark, somewhat crude construction of the latest castle in comparison with the gentle curves of the Moorish remains.  I never cease to marvel at the extraordinary beauty of the Arabic period in Al Andalus.

From the cliff it was easy to look out over the Mediterranean and imagine Visigothic sentries trembling with fear as they watched Arabic boats land for yet another raid, as they did all through the 7^th century before finally invading in the 8^th.  The modern invasion is one of high rises and tacky palm trees, but in the off season even those aren’t too unbearable.  On the gravel beaches upturned dinghies are a reminder that fishing is still a way of life here.  I saw a table and three chairs with some cooking pots upturned on the ground, and began to get carried away in romantic fantasies of quaint old fishermen cooking their catch on an open fire over a glass of fino. Then I realised the boat behind the table and chairs was covered in tarps and plastic bags, and that inside it was a very rough, makeshift camp.  Nearby were a group of African men, faces upturned to the sun.  The boat is obviously their home at the moment, and a cold one at night, I would think.

Despite their obviously desperate circumstances, I couldn’t help but feel they have at least washed up in a country that will give them free tapas with a coke, and let them sell their crafts on the seaside, rather than locking them up in a concentration camp.  Woops.  Did I just let my politics show again?

I wandered back toward the town, and found myself in yet another Roman ruin, this time in the Majuelo gardens.  Unearthed in the 70’s and 80’s, these are the remains of a garam factory.  ‘Garam’ is the fish sauce that was a staple of the Roman diet, and was produced in vast quantities here.  Believe me when I say these ruins are just the tip of a seemingly endless array of

archaeological treats.  I am rationing myself carefully, but the next four weekends are already planned – there are some extraordinary sites within easy walking distance of the town.

In the small craft shops around the ruins was one small one devoted to guitar making.  In Granada there are many of these craftsmen at work, dedicated to producing the classical and flamenco guitars used by local artists.  I love going in and watching them work, particularly when they pick up a guitar and give an impromptu performance.  Antonio, the gentleman who makes these guitars, explained that some are made from cypress, others walnut, and others Palo Santo – the hardwood Spaniards call ‘Holy stick’.  He demonstrated the different sounds made by each one, and said his personal favourite is walnut.  I’m neither a musician nor a maker, so I have no idea, but the walnut sounded pretty good.  Most interesting of all to me, however,

was the tiny banjo style instrument made – of all things – from a pumpkin gourd.  Yep.  Seriously.  And you can actually play it.

I sat in the blissful sunshine and ate an enormous plate of free tapas with my mineral water.  Tapas here is out of this world – even better than Granada.  There is just no need to order food when with a one euro soft drink, out comes a plate piled high with glorious seafood, completely gratis.  It is doing wonders for my backside.  Lucky there are so many hills.

And speaking of which, several weeks ago, I went with the lovely crew from my school on a day trip to the Alpujarras.

And fell in love.  Totally and utterly.

The gorgeous villages of the high Alpujarras are everything I’d ever imagined, and more.

It isn’t just the food – although that is seriously amazing.  Nor is it only the history – I think we’ve established that Andalusia is swimming in past eras no matter where you look.  It is true that both of those things certainly contribute to my love affair.

But there is something ethereal about the high Alpujarras.  A certain quality

in the light, a kind of brilliant incandescence, that literally sparkles in the blazing sunshine.  High above, the snows of the Sierra Nevada shimmer.  In the steep alleyways, channels are cut into the stone to allow the rivers of snow melt to race down the hillsides, and irrigate the crops of olives, chestnuts, and grapevines that grow in terraced rows.  The water is crystal clear and sweet, and the air itself tastes fresh and clean.  Bitterly cold as soon as the light fades, in the blazing sunshine it was balmy and pleasant.

We visited several of the small villages scattered about, including Capileira, one of the highest, and possibly my favourite.   There was a peaceful quality that soothed everything inside, although I suspect there is nothing remotely soothing about it when the hordes of summer visitors arrive.  I also imagine the charm would wear off if one didn’t have a very good heating process in the house.  But one of the wonderful things about being a day tourist is the ability to romanticise a place, and believe me, I did.

In Trevelez, we stopped at a curing centre for jamon.

Oh, yes, baby.

A vegetarian’s worst nightmare, it was my idea of heaven.  I had to seriously restrain myself not to rip one of the top quality piggies from the rope and smuggle him home.  It was torturous to be face to face with so much serious quality ham and not allowed to cut off huge hunks.  Never one for scientific processes, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about how they come to be so wonderful, although given that one room has massive piles of salt on the floor and hundreds of piggies asleep amongst it, I guess it isn’t too hard to work out.  But I thoroughly enjoyed looking at them all hanging up, and learning about how to identify the top quality joints from lesser.

We stopped at a restaurant and ate a magnificent Alpujarran plate, which my step daughter Chloe would have gone nuts for, since it was entirely meat and potatoes.  More hams hung from the roof above me.  Meat lovers heaven, and I enjoyed every mouthful.

The Alpujarras have been settled since antiquity, but it was the enterprising Berber farmers who settled here under the Moors that gave the villages their characteristic flat roofed appearance.  Tall chimneys poke from above the gravel roofs, smoking merrily away.  It was these same farmers, and the Jewish families with whom they peacefully co-existed and who had lived here amongst the Ibero-Celtic tribes for centuries prior to their arrival, who brought agriculture to the steep hillsides.  Today many varieties of nuts and fruit thrive in the fertile soil fed by the snow melt, and life seems to plod along much as it always has.  When the Catholic kings expelled the Moors from Spain they insisted that two Moorish families remained in each village to teach the incoming settlers how to farm the land.  The descendents of those families still live in the villages today.

There is no end of interesting produce up here, including colourful woollen

rugs, baskets woven from esparto, and locally made ceramics.  But by far the

most fascinating to me was the endless supply of amazing food shops.

We visited one in which we were allowed to taste local jamon, cheese, wine and chocolate.  Yep.  You can see how hard I found that.  I was actually so far in heaven that I literally kept everyone else waiting while I dithered over presents to send my mother.  Sorry, Mum.  Note to self:  neverbother buying food as presents.  It never makes it past my front door.

Outside one cafe a guy pulled up on a horse and went indoors for coffee.  I rather liked the fact that his dog claimed the horse as his own resting place.

The three people you can see in the photos are my dear friends and partners in many a night of tapas crime:  Tordis (Faro Islands), Asa (Swedish) and Andy (Britain).  And if you don’t know where the Faro Islands are, don’t worry.  Nobody else does either.  Suffice to say there are more sheep than people.  We had a lot of fun ragging Tordis about it.  She has now gone to study for six months in Melilla, the Spanish part of Morocco, and is sorely missed.  Andy is back getting more photos of topless girls in his job as an 18-30 holiday rep (don’t ask, you really don’t

want to know).  Asa is still lighting up the clubs of Granada.  Of course I wouldn’t know anything about that type of thing.

The day was one of pure magic for me.  Perhaps because I come from mountains myself, I could actually feel myself relaxing as if I had come home.  I’ve never loved a place quite so much – apart from Granada.  I think my idea of heaven is a weekday place in the Albaicin and a weekender in the high Alpujarras.  Better get writing those books.

As I sit here writing this the mountains are behind me, and I am looking out as a rosy dusk falls across the Mediterranean.  Dolphins are leaping in the sea, and birds wheel peacefully above.  Sometimes you get to look around at life and realise that you are one of the luckiest people on earth to be somewhere you love, doing things that make you happy, amongst wonderfully interesting people.  Right now is one of those moments.

Cheers until next time.