Caravaca-supplemental

Dear friends,
I had a memory that there were many steps up to a cross in Caravaca, and I
thought I would climb these steps as a final flourish. But I was wrong.
I've waited till four o'clock for the castle/church to open, to find a
church with a revolting baroque facade. I remember it now. The steps must
have been somewhere else. It's a little trick that Providence has played on
me.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Caravaca de la Cruz

Dear friends,
I have finished my walk.
---------------------------
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.

Antonio Machado
-------------------------

Here´s a slightly less bad translation than Babelfish´s.

Wayfarer, your footsteps are the road,
and nothing more;
wayfarer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking you make the road,
and when you look back
you see the path that
you will never will tread again.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Canada de la Cruz-Archivel (almost)

Dear friends,
This is my penultimate blog entry. After tomorrow you will all have to find
something else with which to fill the empty hours.
Today was a good day for the idle walker: all more or less level walking
along country roads, with few diversions from a straight line to the
destination, but with a great view of distant ranges of mountains rising
from the plain. It's a very fertile area, and there are large arable farms;
but the crops here have been affected by the drought as well, and are half
the height they should be. People are saying there's not been a drought
like it for 60 years.
I've thrown one of ny ghastly shirts away, and I've washed my socks for the
last time (I mean on this walk, not for ever).
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Puebla de Don Fadrique-Canada de la Cruz

Dear Friends,
Today I walked over the border from Andalucia to Murcia. It was an
inauspicious boundary between two fields, but there was a stone erected by
the walking committee so I knew it was the right place. It was a
surprisingly emotional moment. I've walked 770km across the whole of
Andalucia. I'm pretty pleased with myself.
This evenng I am in a casa rural in Canada de la Cruz, with a german couple
who, amazingly, have done the southern route from Tarifa to here in almost
exactly the same time that I've done the northern route. They are taking
six months off to do the whole walk to the Pyrenees, and then on to
Santiago de Compostela. That puts me in my place.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Heat

Dear friends,
When I was moaning about the heat in Jaen, I didn't know how hot it was,
and I didn't mention it again. Turns out it was 33 degrees. That's 91
degrees in real money. No wonder I felt a bit hot.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Puebla de Don Fadrique

Dear friends,
Today I have done absolutely nothing. Well, almost absolutely nothing. I
strolled into the town centre, bought a copy of 'El Pais', read it in a
square, came back to the hotel and snoozed or watched adverts on tv for
most of the afternoon. There aren't any actual programs on Spanish tv, just
great long series of adverts interrupted by fragments of films. Most of the
ads are for cars and junk food, which explains why the Spanish are now
worried about obesity and traffic jams.
There is nothing much to say about Publa de Don Fadrique. It is named after
someone who killed a lot of moors and was rewarded by the Catholic Monarchs
Fernando and Isabel. Thirty years ago it was an important market town with
over 30,000 inhabitants, but only 2,000 or so are left, so it's a bit
run-down. Evidently lots of the townspeople went to find work in Murcia.
Tomorrow I hope to find traces of the route leading to Murcia province. I
shall attempt to follow it to Canada de la Cruz, where a clever friend has
arranged a casa rural for me to stay in. From there I will leave the path
and make my own way to Caravaca via Archivel.
The picture shows a typical tractor taken from the window of my room.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Santiago-Puebla de Don Fadrique

Dear friends,
The information on the route from Santiago de la Espada to La Puebla de Don
Fadrique is sparse. The illustrious Juan Holgado has nothing to say, and
the Federacion Andaluza de Montanismo confines itself to a brief sentence
'from Santiago the route continues to Puebla de Don Fadrique'. Lies, damned
lies. The route stops an hour outside Santiago. Nobody will tell you this -
they all weasel and prevaricate and dissimulate - but it is so. The path
stops outside Santiago near some houses made out of caves. From there on
it's 30km on the road, or find your own way cross-country and hope an
over-enthusiastic farmer doesn't gun you down. We chose life, and the road,
with a brief diversion across country. During the diversion we came across
a set of wooden cabins of unprepossesing aspect, all strung out on a bare
hillside. It turned out to be a tourist complex, with a restaurant and bar
- we stopped for light refreshments and a rest. Then 16 more km of road. I
had expected to be going down steeply from Santiago, but not so. The whole
of this corner of Andalucia is an altiplano between mountain ranges. For
the first part of the day we climbed up from 1200 metres to 1700, then back
down to 1050. The scenery in this part, which is outside the natural park
through which we've been travelling for the past week, is much more like
Murcia - bare rock and sparse scrub. We were both worn to a ravelling when
we finally arrived in Puebla. My walking companion for the last seven days
is leaving me here, and his family from Murcia came to pick him up. I will
have a rest day, and then press on to the final three days.
Distance today (yesterday as I fell asleep before posting this) 36 tedious
km.
The picture is of the cave valley outside Santiago. It's on the border
between Jaen, Granada, and Albacete. I forgot to say that I am now in the
province of Granada.

A wayfarer in Spain

Pontones-Santiago de la Espada

Dear Friends,
3 hours and 15 minutes to Santiago, it said on the signpost. It took us 6
hours. We're still up in the altiplano here, about 1400 metresl above sea
level.
The signpost for tomorrow doesn't even tell us how long it will take.
Still, I've done 712km, and I think I'll be all finished by next Wednesday
or Thursday. I expect a rapturous tickertape reception in Caravaca.
A man the the Tourist Office was convinced that all British people buying
farmhouses in Andalucia are soldiers who've made a packet in Iraq. He might
be right.
Distance today 18.6km.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Coto-Rios - Pontones

Distance yesterday 29.6km
My Dear Friends,
I'm sorry this post is a day late. There is no mobile coverage in Pontones
and we arrived quite late so I didn't get an opportunity to write it up
anyway.
We started out walking up the gravel road by the side of the Rio
Aguasmulas. The river feeds into the enormous reservoir on the
Guadalquivir, which starts just after Coto-Rios. The road climbs, gradually
at first, then more steeply, away from the reservoir (which we didn't see).
The river has cut deep gorges through the rock, and there are huge solitary
rocks balancing on thin pillars at the side of the road. Here and there on
the way we saw isolated farmhouses, all deserted and ruined. After 12km the
road stops abruptly at one of these, 'El Cortijo de la Fresnedilla'. It
faces a huge cliff on the opposite side of the river, with great curtains
of rock running from top to bottom. We could see eagles wheeling about in
the sky above, and hear the river below. It's hard to understand why the
road exists at all. At most it can only ever have served about 100 people.
After a break, we carried on up a well signposted path that rises steeply
to a pass looking over another valley and another sierra. Along through
young pine forests, then up again to a higher pass where there was a wide
alpine field with green grass and a herd of wild deer grazing. We passed a
group of four or five deserted houses, still climbing up, and skirted the
base of another long mountain, before turning north to Fuente Segura. By
this time we were at 1730 metres, the highest in the whole journey from
Tarifa. The scenery had changed here to more open spaces with contorted and
weathered rocks thrusting up from the grass. A signpost pointed to a
mirador, so we diverted for a look. The view was stunning: a complete
panorama of the Sierra de Cazorla, with sunlight filtering through clouds
into the valley below. Another deserted settlement could be seen below,
with a group of what looked like people lying on the grass in front.
Overhead an eagle screeched at us. Fantastic.
At this point my walking companion realised he'd left his mobile phone on
the grass 2km before. He decided to leave it there.
Just as well, because we didn't get to Fuente Segura (the source of the Rio
Segura) till 7.00pm, to discover that it consists of 3 houses and a herd of
goats, and that the hostal I was looking for is in Pontones, another 3km
away.

The picture shows a general view of Pontones.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Arroyo Frio - Coto-Rios

Dear Friends,
There are those among you who complain of the lack of human interest and
plotline in my daily postings. Let me tell you why that is. Essentially,
this journey has become a job. I do the same things every day. I get up,
have some breakfast, brush my teeth, pack my rucksack, walk, find a hotel,
eat some food and go to bed. The incidents along the way are incidental.
In some way I am getting more tired every day. It costs me more effort to
keep going than it did at the start, and I'm looking forward to the end. I
don't have any doubts about being able to finish, but I think I will be
glad when I have.
I now have two shirts torn apart by brambles, and I'm a sock down. Because
we had to come off the mountain to find a hotel, this morning I worked out
a route that would join up with GR7 further down the valley. It started
well, but deteriorated into a scramble over scree, through brambles (where
I lost a sock*) and into streams. It took about three hours to cover ten
kilometres. Once we found the route it was easy and short walking to
Coto-Rios. I expected a large tourist centre like Arroyo Frio, because it's
next to a major reservoir on the Guadalquivir river, but the village itself
is a sad semi-deserted place, which looks like it was built for the dam
and/or electricity workers and has really outlived its purpose. There is a
campsite nearby, and hotels spread thinly along the main road, but
seemingly no real town centre. It's a bit depressing.
I've been to the end of the settlement. There are three camp sites and an
activity centre. That's it.
We dined alone at the hotel.
Distance today 20km including brambles.

*the sock was drying on the back of my rucksack
-----
A wayfarer in Spain

Cazorla-Arroyo Frio

Dear friends,
A few points of information first.
Unfortunately I have not got my A.T.Hogg of Fife shoes with me. As has been
pointed out, it would have been a different story if I had. The picture is
of my current footwear.
Anonymous wonders about my imaginary friend. He/She has not been following
the story. The imaginary friend is the son of a friend from Murcia, and is
real.
My palm pilot provides me with music, as it does everything else.
I'm not sure about the 39 steps: I need more information.
I am sorry about the revision and the rain.
And now for the meat. My niece Fran spoke to me last night. I was very
pleased to hear her voice. We were in a bar and had ordered some bits and
pieces because we didn't want a big meal. We had a platter of chips, a
platter of pork fillet on bread, a platter of spicy kebabs, and a platter
of croquettes. It was bigger than a big meal.
This morning was great. We rose earlyish again to take advantage of the
cool air. We climbed up out of Cazorla and in a couple of hours we were at
the top of the pass between Cazorla and the next valley across. Of course,
I managed to go the wrong way, but it made no difference. The climb was
beautiful: pine trees giving shade and the fresh air a delight. On the way
we saw deer and wild boar rooting around in the undergrowth. Then down to
Vadillo-Castril along a forest road past campsites and the Guadalquivir
river. We had to push on to Arroyo Frio to find a hotel, so back up the
next mountain, then precipitously down to the village, which is nothing
more than a string of hotels and apartments for holidaymakers. A really
good day for the variety, the ideal weather, and the total lack of olive
trees.
Distance today 26km.
A wayfarer in Spain

Cazorla-Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza-Cazorla

Dear Friends,
Last night I stayed at the hotel of the blues. It had pictures of Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie in the bar.
In view of the appalling heat in the last few days I decided we should leave earlyish in the morning. So we set out. It started to rain. We sheltered in a shed, and headed up the mountain when slackened off. Of course it started in earnest shortly afterwards and we took shelter again in the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza. As soon as we did a strong wind appeared (sounds a bit biblical), and so did a local man out walking. He advised us not to go up the mountain as there is no shelter and that the wind could well blow us off. Aftet waiting about 45 minutes I decided he was right and we reluctantly came back down to Cazorla.
Since then I've done nothing apart from abit of route planning. We will try again tomorrow.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Peal de Becerro-Cazorla

My Dear Friends,
I said I would say somehing more about the hotel I was in last night, and
so I will. I thought when I entered the bar and asked for a room that it
was a rent-by-hour kind of place. The young man behind the bar had a
weaselly face and brylcreemed hair, and the woman had to go to prepare my
room. But how wrong can you be? It certainly wasn't luxurious, but was
perfectly fine. Later, when I went down for a bite to eat, the bar was
filling up. There were all classes of people: young folks out on the town;
a family of gypsies, the man dressed like George Melly; families; a group
of middle-age middle-class women; three Africans and and a whole basket of
European currencies. The weasel boy was serving all of these people with an
efficiency and speed that I have rarely seen even in Spain. So, don't judge
the fish by its scales.

Today I made up a route from Peal to Cazorla which worked very well
although it involved rather too many olive trees for my liking.
Cazorla is a very Spanish touristy kind of place, but it's easy to see
why. It is tucked into the Sierra de Cazorla like so many other Andalucian
white villages, but has the amenities of a town, including castle ruined
church and other picturesque monuments. I've met two Spanish friends here
and one of them is going to walk with me for the next few days.
Distance today 13 km. It's about as much as I can manage on my poor old
feet.
___
A wayfarer in Spain

Jodar-Quesada (Peal de Becerro)

My Dear Friends,
Today was the worst day of this whole dad-blasted walk. I traipsed into the
centre of Jodar to find a chemists. Most places are closed because it's a
'puente' this weekend. That's when public holidays fall so that people can
take a long weekend.
People stream out of Madrid in hundreds of thousands and spend the whole
weekend snarled up in traffic jams. It's exactly the same as a bank holiday
weekend in the U.K.
After the traditional walk through several rubbish dumps, I found the GR7
signs and set out. The landscape round here s low rolling hills covered
with a tree with which I have become all too familiar. There wrte clouds
inthe sky and I thought it was going to be a cool day. Ha! It was hotter
and more humid than ever. I now had a blister on top of a blister, whoch I
can tell you is agony. I struggled on to Hornos de Peal over the most
boring route imaginable - kms of bright black tarmac reflecting the heat
back at me. My foot was hurting so much that I even committed the ultimate
fashion crime (you know what I mean). By the time I got to the half way
point, a small village with everything closed, my water had run out and
most of it seemed to be in the blister. I decided to get to Peal instead
of Quesada. An aged woman told me to hitch on the main road and someone
would stop for me. This is the regular way of getting about, she implied.
Ha! I had to walk 8 km to Peal, with no water, under the burning sun. I
stopped at the side of the road to pierce the blister with my handy
multi-purpose knife. About 15 pints of liquid came out. I felt a lot better
after that. (Note to the squeamish: sorry).
I arrived in Peal about 7:30pm. I was directed to a nearby bar. Ha! There
were four bars in the square - all of them closed. In the centre of town I
looked for a taxi to take me to Quesada. No taxi. No space in the hotel.
The barman told me to ask the local police where I could find a taxi. No
police! I started to walk out of town, thinking to hitch to Quesada,when
lo! another hostal appeared, and they had a room. So the worst became the
best.
More about hotel tomorrow.
Distance today 32km all walking. Haven't followed GR7 exactly but never
mind. Total distance so far 601km. That means I'm at least 3/4 done.
The picture is of me in the slough of despond.
___
A wayfarer in Spain