For my holiday, I travelled back in time. Or at least, that’s how it felt. I stayed in a whitewashed village in Spain where mules laden with panniers plod the narrow lanes; men sit in doorways weaving basketware, while women in black dresses sweep the paths outside their homes.
Best of all, there are no tourists…well, hardly any.
We had hired a house in Albuñuelas – a gorge-side village at the very end of the road in the Lecrin Valley, Andalusia. This valley is situated opposite the Alpujarras, 20 minutes off the motorway between Granada and the coast, but feels a million miles – and years – away. The crowds have yet to stray across here, yet the scenery is just as stunning and the villages just as dazzling white as those in the Alpujarras. In fact, although we set off on this holiday specifically to trek in the Sierra Nevada and wander through the honeypot villages of Bubion, Campiliera, Trevelez and so on, we never set foot in any of them. For, you see, there was something about Albuñuelas that made it very hard to leave, and it wasn’t just the rudimentary and winding road that is its only access route.
Albuñuelas dates back to Moorish times – the name derives from Arab for abundance – and was on the route of Arab traders such as Leon the African and Al Idrisi, the famous early geographer. As recently as early last century, the village was accessed by nothing more than a mule track. Most of the streets within the village are too narrow, steep and zig-zaggy for modes of transport other than mules, so these are still used by the farm workers to transport their produce. We got very excited whenever we heard the clip-clopping of hooves in the street below and would rush to the balcony to watch this pastoral sight with glee.
Many of the village houses remain in the traditional layout, with the lower ground floor used as animal stables, and the families' living quarters on the upper floors, with miradors (open-fronted rooms, or balconies) on the top floors used for hanging chillies and hams to dry in the air.
We learnt quickly to communicate in basic Spanish, and despite our stumbling grasp of the language, the villagers waited patiently as we stuttered out words – we even managed, “I have enjoyed myself very much!” after one particular bar visit.
As this is one of the few remaining areas of Spain where the tradition of receiving the tapas free still holds strong, we fell only too easily into the custom of cerveza (beer) and tapas at the village bars. We found it hard to stop drinking when such delights as chorizo, garlic potatoes, spinach omelette, ham and bread, fresh olives, or black pudding would appear with each round.
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There is an abundance of walks from Albuñuelas and the long-distance GR7 trail makes its way straight through the village on the way to Istanbul or Algeciras – depending on which way you’re heading. We joined a short section of it from the village of Saleres back to Albuñuelas at the end of a circular walk. It looked as though no-one had walked it for a long time as the path was hard to decipher at points, overgrown almost entirely with tall grasses and weeds, we were concerned we were in fact following a dried-up stream on many occasions.
Following the River Santo, the path passes impressive Aloe Vera plants, whose soothing juice the locals discovered long before the beauty industry did. Thinking we might be lost forever in the foliage, all of a sudden we were walking on concrete and were immediately in one of Albuñuelas’ lanes.
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Our house was situated in the lower barrio (quarter) of the village, and within moments of our doorstep, we could stand on the side of the gorge surrounded by orange and lemon trees and massive flowering cacti, with nothing to hear but trickling acueqias (water channels to the farms) and enthusiastic birdsong.
The views from here are spectacular, bordered by the Sierra de Albuñuelas (where fugitives lived after the Spanish Civil War) and the Sierra de Guajar, with vistas of the first high peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
It is easy to walk up onto the ridge above the village where parvas (large circular stones used for threshing flour) lay, only recently abandoned for more modern techniques.
Our last day came round all too quickly of course, and we were reluctant to leave this little spot of unspoilt Spain, and return to modern day life.
The Michelin Costa del Sol 1:200 000 map (124 Zoom) was perfect for all our driving needs, from negotiating the slip roads of Malaga airport and Granada, to motorways and to the winding mountain roads. It covers from Gibraltar to Almeria and from the coast up to Granada.
The 50K Military Topographic Survey Map of Durcal Sheet reference: 19-43 has the best coverage of the Lecrin Valley of any map currently printed.
The Cicerone Walking the GR7 in Andalucia guide includes the route of the GR7 through Albunuelas and the rest of the Lecrin Valley, with a brief guide to the village’s amenities and sights.
Just come into stock while I was writing, East of Malaga by David Baird includes Albuñuelas and other towns in the Lecrin Valley in this ‘essential’ guide to the Axarquía and Costa Tropical.
Perfect holiday reading for a stay in Andalusia, I read Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irvine, Laurie Lee's admirable As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning and Gerald Brenan's fascinating South From Granada, and for lighter reading, all three of Chris Stewart's amusing biographical tales.
Author: Rachel Ricks
Date: 2 September 2008
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