Today Magriet has a tea appointment and lots of other admin, so I go on a solo outing into the mountains. I would have wanted to see Granada and the Alhambra, but parking is very difficult in Granada, and I don’t particularly savour masses of people all wanting to see the same thing. That is why I opted for seeing rural mountain life on a coolish very windy day. The placid Mediterranean is churning in the gale. On the beach I see for the second time this morning a giant tractor levelling the beach. What on earth are they thinking? What about the microcosmos under the sand?
Beach leveller
I left Roquetas aiming in the direction of Málaga – big mistake!! The road winds forever through the sea of white tunnels before it reaches the highway, that is IF you can find it, because signposting is nonexistent. I got SO lost between the vegetable tunnels that it took me an hour and a quarter to get out of the White Labyrinth!
White labyrinth
Magriet tells me there are lots of Africans living in this region, because they come in anything that will float from Africa, which is only 16 km away, seek asylum, and the Spanish government doesn’t dare send them back. Here they work for the market garden barons, because it is unbearably hot in the tunnels and nobody else will do that work. So this picture tells a whole story….
Going to bath tonight!
I parked my car somewhere on the outskirts of El Ejido and went into a café to ask the way to Berja, and it turned out the road was just a stone’s throw away. Thank goodness! So I drive up the mountain through Dalías and reach Berja. The first thing I see is the municipal cemetery. Cemeteries fascinate me, so I pay this one a visit. At first it seems as if all these dead have been cremated and memorials put up in neat aisles, about five rows on top of each other. All the memorials are tended with flowers or wreaths, the place is spotless, and in each aisle there is a rolling staircase for ease of tending a top tier memorial.
Graves five layers deep
I climb up this staircase out of curiosity and discover that these are in fact graves! A beehive of graves is built and filled up over time.
Uninhabited graves
The coffin is inserted in an empty grave slot and sealed off with cement, and the memorial stone is placed on the dry cement.
Buried yesterday
A full ‘beehive’ looks like this from above:
The evidence: space for the whole coffin behind the façade
Most interesting!
Now I move on to Ugíjar via Murtas. It is a barren land with dry river beds and razed mountain slopes. Agriculture is not intensive here. Olives, almonds and oranges are cultivated to some extent. The mountain roads are dotted with the most stunning brooms in bloom.
View towards Ugíjar in the Alpujarras
We are in the region of the Sierra Nevada, and the snow-capped peaks show themselves every now and then.
Ugíjar spells lunchtime to me. I have packed a small lunchbox and sit down on the town square to watch life happen. There is the obvious church, a fountain, the given number of old men keeping each other company, women waiting at the bus stop, chatting twenty to the dozen, a memorial to valiant men from the Alpujarras who fought somewhere. The usual.
Ugíjar village square
Ugíjar road
Now I decide to see two more mountain villages before I return to the coast. They are Picena and Laroles. One would expect hovel-like housing here, so high up in the mountains, but look at Picena. Really large, smart houses with gardens to match. I could see there are fruit trees of every kind in this garden.
Mountain village Picenas
In Laroles I take a walk, first to the town square with a panoramic view. Serene in this siesta hour. Not a soul around. The place is dead. The square sports a public table tennis table and a chess board!
Serene village square during siesta time
I walk down a village lane and find a peasant at the well watering his lovely pack donkey. When the donkey has drunk his fill, they leave up a side alley cloppity clop.
Pack donkey quenching his thirst
Clippety clop!
Now the homeward run begins. I realise I have no choice but to retrace my steps, for there aren’t many roads here to choose from. This time I don’t blunder in amongst the white tunnels again, I take the Autovia Mediterráneo A7/E15 to the Roquetas turnoff and try and find Magriet’s home – it was more difficult than I had hoped, but all’s well that ends well. I found it and relaxed at home for the rest of the day.
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