The Great Helmsman: Rod
Algarve Liberation Army: John H, Hazel, Hilke, Andrew, Terry M., David L., Chris, Antje, Paul, Myriam, Ian S.
We braved El Toro! (Note the carefully sited cistus which conceals a possibly offensive item – or does it!)
Early in the trip, I contemplated the Herculean task which would confront me in blogging this trip, (not least because of the incessant clicking of digital cameras by the Chief Paparazza and her co-conspirators), so devised a cunning plan to share the workload.
It would be a great idea (I declared confidently) , that since we had the CB, ACB and ADCB all present, as well as the Tour Leader, that rather than have a day-by-day photographically-illustrated account of the activities, to have each of the incumbents submit a textual snapshot of their lasting impressions of the trip – a kind of Quadrophonic Blog on the lines of the Canterbury Tales.
It would have worked much better had not the four days away resulted in a backlog of mundane priorities for the writers, which except in the case of David, resulted in a long delay in submission to the detriment of clear memory of the events!
As it was, my own domestic tasks meant that it took rather longer to reduce the 300 photos taken by Myriam and my own 100 to manageable proportions. John H. reduced his to a mere 26,250 kb, and David rejoicing that Dinah had not allowed him to take the camera, had his prose submitted by the morning after we returned!
The recently arrived AWW Tourists in the Praça Mayor, Alajar.
So without even more procrastination here is:-
The Updulator’s Tale.
As one who is not a frequent traveller, I do tend to be impressed more easily by ‘furrin parts’ than those who are habitual globe-trotters. I was however not prepared for the wonderful experience of the last few days in Andalucia. Perhaps on reflection I was the more delighted because of the similarities between the Sierra de Aracena and the English countryside rather than the contrasts which confront one here in the Algarve.
Alajar from above – plenty of shady trees and no Eucalyptus!
Especially impressive is the network of footpaths which does not owe its existence to forestry work or the carving out of firebreaks but rather to the preservation of old cart and donkey tracks carefully confined between sturdy stone walls. And alongside these byways the broadleaved trees, chestnuts in particular, provide the shade which is again reminiscent of English country lanes at their best, and even beyond that the feel of fallen leaves underfoot creating softer going for the walker.
Shady characters
I also took great pleasure in the peace and cleanliness of the towns and small villages through which we passed and in which we spent time.
Los Marines
Abiding memories of the trip? Quite a few, in addition to the general feeling of well-being created by the surroundings and the climate.
- finding myself drinking the same amount – on two successive evenings – as the CB.
CB’s note: I didn’t realise I was that ill!!
The Updulator gathering material!
- The look on the face of the barman at La Corcha as he carefully emptied the contents of the de-caff sachet into my cup of hot milk after I had failed to locate it.
- The expression, as of a panting dog, adopted by one I.S., as he attempted – successfully – to attract the attention of the same barman through the window on finding that the place had closed two minutes before he arrived. How does he do it?
- The disappointment on the face of Terry M. on discovering that his terribly old-fashioned mobile-cum-general life-preserver was not lost after all and that he would not be claiming for a new one.
- Our diminutive oriental paparazzo taking pornographic photos through the legs of……
……Andrew as he carved one of his newly-acquired sausages at lunch.
- The bemused expressions on the faces of a succession of waiters and waitresses as the said olientar rady ordered pot after pot after pot of agua caliente. Had she asked for towels as well, we might all have started to anticipate a happy event, but perhaps fortunately the linen stayed in the cupboard.
- the elaborate preparations made by the town constabulary in Alajar for the twice-daily arrival of the local bus, which only just manages to fit into the width of the square. Without this task one feels that they might just be out of a job.
The Down-side?
- the diet, apart from the fascinating meal provided ‘on the mountain’ on the last evening. Spain seems to provide Europe with half of its vegetables – why don’t they consume any themselves?
- the fact that we were not in town for the 5th World Congress of Dry-Cured Ham. Now there is one event that should not be missed. Can you imagine the reaction of some wives when told that their beloveds were going to such a gathering? It’s in the tradition of really bad US comedy films.
- having to shower in mud on the second evening. When I want a free facial scrub I’ll ask for it.
The Updulator offers his nuts to a donkey!
- having tried not to watch the bull-fight on the bar TV, discovering that we were to take refreshment overlooking a real bull-ring. If ever confronted, sword in hand, by a matador with horns on his head, I would know precisely what to do.
- not being within reach of a TV to see the defeats of two of my favourite football teams. Masochism is my middle name.
The Empire Builder’s Tale
Tilleyed and Rohanned to perfection John surveys his Empire
Memories of Alajar
It's 5.30pm on Wednesday, 27th May. The Alajar town square is all but asleep in the sun; the barman serves David L with a last cooling drink and then closes his doors until 8pm, exactly as Ian S and John H emerge from La Posada in search of refreshment prior to going sausage shopping. In desperation, Ian makes faces through the bar window. Taking pity on him,the owner brings out a couple of cool ones, goes back in and locks his doors again. Silence falls.
A closed bar in Alajar
At 5.45pm, the bar doors open so that the proprietor of the small grocer's shop and his friends can leave after what has clearly been a long lunch and then close again. The proprietor enters into his shop. Silence falls.
At 6pm, the town policewoman, all 5ft 2 of her, appears from the Mayor's office to patrol the square. There are no miscreants to be seen, so she has no cause to bring out her notebook, let alone wield her 4-foot long truncheon; even the Estrangeiros' cars are legitimately parked and cause no offence other than to casual photographers who might want a picturesque shot of town architecture. No reason there for tickets. Her patrol over, she returns to the Mayor's office. Silence falls.
At 6.15pm, Ian S rouses John H and suggests easing along to the grocer's shop in search of sausages. The shop is open but dark and still; through in the back office, the proprietor can be seen, reclined in a vast armchair, deep in Falstaffian splendour and post-prandial sleep. Dealing in sausages is not, at this time, an option, and even the paparazzo forbears to click. Ian S and John H return to the closed bar. Silence falls once more.
(Things perk up about an hour later, when another bar is found open - in which the barman of the closed bar is taking refreshment - Ian S's sanity is restored and the sausage shopping resumes, and that successfully, as we all saw later that evening when Myriam made her sausage presentation to Rod at La Pena Restaurante, Balcon de la Sierra.)
The Empire Builders preserving modesty!!
The Great Helmsman’s Tale
Whilst I guess we are all pretty accustomed to cork trees, quercus suber as well as quercus ilex of course, seeing them juxtaposed with chestnut, castanea if you prefer, and both giving sun-dappled shade to centuries old mule tracks is a rare sight indeed and very different to the arid trails we see here at this time of year.
We chose the best time of year to head off to these unique hills; not too late to feel the summer heat and still in time to see the fresh spring growth and colours. So a dozen of the WW’s somehow managed to arrive in Aracena at the appointed hour and checked in at their respective hostelries before gathering for the inevitable beer, mostly, and a modest afternoon warm-up walk.
This didn’t tax the systems too much, but gave everyone a good idea of the wonders of the countryside and a first sight of porcos ibericos on the hoof......we were to see a lot more of them on the table over the next day or two!
Then it was time to assimilate the pleasures of our hostelries. Pity we couldn’t all be in one, but since 3 or 4 in a room didn’t seem a popular idea, space did not permit ! Whether everyone made the right choice (or had it made for them !), who knows !? In any event our hosts in La Posada de Alajár, Lucy and Angel, and in Finca La Fronda, Charles, Reyes and Alec Wordsworth, did everything to make everyone happy and comfortable (even if Lucy and Angel were unable to make water come out of a stone), They made up for it with a good dinner highlighted with a rather splendid beetroot gazpacho.
Next day walking became somewhat more earnest...please refer to the blog statistician for distances, ascents and descents, average speed etc. Starting from the village of Alájar a gradual climb through chestnut forests took us up to over 800m. with great views to the south and west.
First stop was the charming village of Castaño del Robledo where we stopped for a while in the shady main square. A few beers went down the hatch and Andrew went off to the local purveyor to stock up on sausage, cheese and bread for his lunch. From there we set off in a southerly direction through undulating, more varied countryside.
Eeny, Meeny………..
Lunch stop was under the shade of an inevitable cork tree....Andrew had bought so much local produce that he was able to feed almost everyone. The highlight of the stretch was Paul finding a cache under a waterfall (well he didn’t actually, Antje did).
Cache in Hand
By the time we reached the next village of Sta. Ana La Real it was getting quite warm and another drink stop was more than welcome, The owner of the bar seemed particularly proud of the fact that they had recently had a vote in the village allowing women to assume certain important functions....it was soundly defeated ! In any event we saw none chained to the Town Hall steps ! Can’t think why I particularly remembered that ! The last leg of the day was along the verdant valley floor back to Alájar and a beer or three in the village square inn.
Spot the Ball!!
Dinner that night was at the top local pub..El Corcho. The owner Pepe or whatever his name was, had once won a substantial prize in El Gordo..the Spanish lottery.. and invested heavily in his village centre premises. As the name implies it is decorated in nothing but cork.....the ceiling, painstaking designed and executed by two American hippies, apparently, is really something to behold.
Pre dinner drinks were enlivened by a 42 inch TV showing the San Isidro Bull fights from Madrid.....for some this tarnished their appetite for what was to follow! What did follow when we eventually sat down at a long table was about a hundred kilos of assorted pig products and cuts crammed on to every inch of the table. Valiant efforts by some made certain inroads into this but on the whole we were soundly defeated !
Not a silk purse in sight!
Start at Finca La Fronda – Day 3
Clearly something was needed the following day to walk that off and, led by Alec Wordsworth and his splendid Irish Setter, we did just that ! We set off at a spanking pace....oh to be youthful again ! .... up his favourite path, which he had apparently just cleared, almost vertically up behind Finca La Fronda. This was off-piste stuff the likes of which some leaders go for in the Algarve! The last stretch down to Alec’s home village of Los Marines was a stunningly beautiful chestnut valley, tranquil and full of birdsong. The inevitable bar stop was certainly necessary. From there we headed along a contour track towards Aracena, a beautiful national park valley which has recently hit the headlines as it is destined to have a motorway through the middle of it. We certainly wish the many protesters well. At one point we opted to take a path which was waymarked, but obviously a while ago.
It started off well enough between stone walls but eventually degenerated into thick brambles....this was more pioneering WW stuff.! So thick did the brambles become that we were forced to scale, well actually more or less knock down part of the wall to get to clearer territory the other side.
Another brick off the Wall
Alec ‘Safe hands’ Wordsworth
This was a good shady point for lunch too.
The sun always shines on TV……
All was well for a while until the descent towards the outskirts of Aracena, when the scrub thickened and became almost impenetrable again.
WWs are never defeated by such challenges however and we eventually emerged on the outskirts of Aracena. Some of this had taken it’s toll however and Charles Wordsworth was called in to take three of the walking wounded back in his SUV. The remainder carried on down to the next little village of Linares some 200 metres below. There, in the beautiful little square-come-bullring some very necessary refreshments were had and Paul singularly failed to find another cache which he should have!
CB’s Comment: No-one volunteered to help, preferring to gobble ice creams in the Bull Ring Café!
Before the climb – still smiling!
Then came the real challenge...the final 250m. climb back to Finca La Fronda.....quite a long haul up at the end of the day!
Drinks on the terrace at Finca La Fronda
After drinks in Finca La Fronda courtesy of Charles Wordsworth, we enjoyed the culinary highlight of the trip at La Peña restaurant high above Alájar village. A great dinner, mushroom being one of their specialities, to finish up with by any standards.
The Famous setas… and jamon!
The only walk next day was round the fantastic caves under Aracena hill and castle and a wander round town to stock up on the famous local sausage and cheese. Must go again sometime !
The Scribe’s Tale
Well after that – not much I can add. Being temporarily off my feed (and drink) for the first two evenings, I can probably remember more than most - but I will spare you the embarrassment. Here are a few vignettes.
It was going to be a fairly brief walk on the afternoon of our arrival, but just outside Alajar at the beginning of the path, Rod discovered a route board with an alternative loop on it which he delightedly adopted……..
….much to the chagrin of Ian, who had arranged an early appointment at El Corcho.
A pair of local Horse Rustlers on a motorbike caused us to step smartly out of the way as they careered down a dirt road with a ‘Dapple Grey’ horse we had seen earlier in Alajar on tow!
There were no less than 5 Tilleys out and about on this trip.
Here they are artistically presented with an Honour Guard of less meritorious millinery.
Rod interrogates a pair of Graffiti Artists at a cemetery
A lovely local dog accompanied us on the last stage of Day 2. Unfortunately he was used to sleeping in the fields with the sheep and was riddled with ticks.
My new best friend!
Close your eyes and guess who!!
On Day 3 after lunch, when we were trying alternatives to the bramble-filled caminho, David and I found ourselves on the other side of the wall from the Leader and the rest. It was then, in a moment of inspiration that we decided to form the AWW Formation Gate Climbing Team!
This is our speciality move - the high degree of difficulty Simultaneous Surmountation!
John always got ‘nervous’ on steep descents!!
After the ‘Grotto of Marvels’ in Aracena on the last morning, where we were not permitted to take photos, there was some time to search for sausage and jamon.
Hamming it up!
Only four of us made it up to the XIII C. Castillo de Aracena and the oldest and most significant church in the town. Myriam and I went to find the geocache there and Chris and Antje went for a romantic interlude!
The old ruins.
Stats for the Trip
Day 1 Day 2 Day 3
Tot Dist 7.9 k 19.0 k 21.3 k
Moving Time 2:07 4:42 5:15
Total Time 2:30 6:17 7:23
Moving Avg. 3.7 4.0 4.1
Overall Avg. 3.2 3.0 3.0
Tot Ascent 298 603 726
Max Elev. 649 834 881
And this wouldn’t be complete without an appropriate quote from Geoffrey C. and his Spanish brother
Certes, they been lye to hounds, for an hound when he cometh by the roses, or by other bushes, though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a countenance to pisse. Chaucer, Geoffrey
Jamon and Chouriço wait for no Senor.
Chaucer, Pedro
(Click to enlarge)
Our Leader at Muddy Bottom
