Spain & Gibraltar

back into spain

Crossing the border from Portugal into Spain, we arrived into Andalusia, the second largest region of Spain after Castile and Leon and the most populated.  Offering a contrasting expanse of mountains, deserts, beaches, salt flats and plains we also saw areas utilised for agriculture.  Citrus and olive trees were constant companions as we drove along and the strawberry farms often extended on both sides of the road for many kilometres.  Often described as enchanting and sun-soaked, it was a bit unfortunate that out arrival coincided with that of ‘Calima’, a hot red dust cloud blowing over from the Sahara desert.  The air was stuffy, full of dust and the streets, cars and houses were all covered by a thick layer of orange dirt.  

donana

Regardless of the weather, there were a few things we wanted to do in Andalusia, the first being to visit Donana, a massive area of 543 km sq.  This National Park incorporates six different eco-systems, including vast stretches of wetlands that historically have been an important resting place for birds migrating between Africa and Northern Europe.  The area is also home to a few protected Iberian Lynx, a species that was on the brink of extinction in 2002 with numbers of just 52 mature individuals.  Thanks to concerted efforts, the population has now risen to over 1,500, moving the species out of the critically endangered category.  Optimistically hoping to spot one we joined a tour group and headed into the park on a large green 4x4 bus that with a bit of tweaking did look as if it would lend itself quite well to a life of overlanding.  The parks were pleasant enough but somewhat beleaguered by illegal irrigation practices and climate change-induced drought and we really had to hand it to the guide trying to keep our group entertained for 4 hours when there really wasn’t anything to see.  The highlight of the morning was watching 24 adults crouching around the poor guide as he pointed to a microscopic spider explaining how it was waiting for an insect to come past.  Desperate for some action he gave it a prod with his stick which was rather unfortunate from an entertainment point of view as the spider was dead. 

Pleased to have put some coffers into the kitty we continued onto Jerez de la Frontera, the world capital of sherry and also famous for its dancing horses and flamenco.  The Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art is situated slap bang in the middle of Jerez and is a collection of grand stone buildings including 60 stables impressively arched around a cobbled courtyard.  As luck would have it we were there on a performance day and so filed into the indoor arena with bus loads of mostly Spanish and American tourists.  Not wanting to stereotype, but unable to help myself, the Americans did seem to be more interested in the vending machines than the horses, but hey, each to their own! 

colourful flamenco

After watching both horses and riders displaying what can be achieved with good training techniques, we moved from dancing on four legs to dancing with two.  Walking around the outskirts of Jerez we eventually reached Pura Arte, a cosy bodega dating back to 1739 where we settled in to watch Flamenco.  Named after Spain’s native bird the Greater Flamingo, this music genre is accepted as a mix of Andalusian, Arabic, Islamic and Gypsy culture, delivered as a cry of despair by the poor and marginalised peasants.  It certainly was an extremely passionate dance form with loud, mournful singing, much foot stomping, hand clapping and shawl twirling, all accompanied by an enthusiastic senor on his guitar.  There were only a dozen or so of us watching the show so quite an up close and personal experience of this brightly coloured and flamboyant art form.

With the dust cloud increasing in intensity we made the unlikely choice of going to Tarifa, a seaside town located at the southernmost end of the Iberian Peninsula, a mere 14km ferry ride away from Africa.  It was quite different to what we had so far experienced in Andalucia and the boho cafes were a welcome change from the traditional tabernas with their dark interiors and meat heavy menus.  The charming walled old town sits just north of the imposing fortress, Castillo de Guzman el Bueno, a castle that since its erection in 960 AD has protected Tarifa from marauding Vikings, Berber pirates and, on more than one occasion, the French.  The town itself had an attractive transient vibe but, given its unique wind conditions which have resulted in its title of ‘kite-surfing capital of Europe’, the weather was such that we were quickly blown inside and didn’t really get to explore.

rock of gibraltar

Our reason for placing ourselves directly in the path of Calima was Gibraltar, a country we had skipped past previously and one we were keen to visit in order to put another flag on Bob.

The limestone monolithic promontory loomed large from 7km away; A protruding rock 426 m high, 5 km long and 1.2 km wide.  Widely regarded as a symbol of British naval strength due to its heavily fortified air and naval base, ‘The Rock’ is also part of Greek mythology being created by Hercules during his tenth labour.  Tasked with rustling some cattle from the three-headed, six-legged giant Geryon who resided on an island somewhere off the edge of the known world and finding his passage from the Mediterranean into the Atlantic obstructed by mountains, Hercules took his sword and rent them apart, in doing so forming the Straits of Gibraltar.  The two bits of mountain remaining were Gibraltar to the north and Jebel Musa, part of Morocco’s Rif mountain range, to the south; the two promontories often referred to as the Pillars of Hercules. 

Gibraltar’s position is such that it guards the only entrance to the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic Ocean.  Not an overly arduous chore during peacetime when ‘The Rock’ is nothing more than a tourist attraction, but the regimented holes that extend in horizontal and vertical lines along the rock face tell a different story.  Since being captured by the British in 1704, after a 5 hour bombardment from around 15,000 canons, The Rock has repeatedly been fought over.  Throughout the 1700’s, various attempts were made by other countries to seize this valuable land mass, the most significant coming from a combined effort from Spain and France.  This Great Siege lasted from 1779-1783, the longest in British history, with the British being out-numbered around 6:1.  It was during this time that tunnels within ‘The Rock’ were excavated with regular holes in the walls making it possible to rain down schrapnel and gunfire onto the invading forces below.  As a result, Gibraltar remained with the British and the tunnels were further developed during the First and Second World Wars when the Rock was turned into a huge underground fortress with 55 km of tunnels capable of accommodating 16,000 men plus supplies. 

lots of baby’s around

As we got nearer we were faced with a bit of a moral dilemma.  Still belonging to Britain and post Brexit, access onto the Rock now necessitates going through border control.  To avoid the usual delays to get through by car most people park up in the large uncovered lot on the Spanish side and walk across.  The question was if we followed suit would we honestly be able to stick a Gibraltar flag on Bob if he hadn’t made it into the country?  Resignedly, we joined the long line of cars waiting to cross over and an hour later Bob’s tyres made contact with a new country and after 30 minutes and three laps of The Rock looking for somewhere to park, Bob legitimately earned himself another sticker. 

Gibraltar has definitely seen better days but the attraction of The Rock reserve and its resident Barbary Macaque monkeys was not in doubt judging from the number of visitors milling around.  Eschewing the cable car option we braved the steps up to the top, a steep and slow climb that took us through a number of WWII landmarks as well as the Ape’s Den, a  bit of a misnomer as most of the Ape’s were right on the top near the cafe where they were hanging around hoping for some chocolate and ice-cream, an unfortunate and preferred addition to their diet. 

vejer de la frontera

Unfortunately, we had to undergo the same delay to get off the Rock but once through the border we were on our way to visit some of the white towns that Andalusia is so famous for.  The air was still heavy with desert dust and rather than seeing the towns as ‘sparkling under a Mediterranean sun’, we could only just see them through the gloom.  But they were well worth visiting and we enjoyed sampling local cheeses, wines and some memorable boutique accommodation.  Ronda is by far the biggest and most dramatic of these towns but was horrendously busy and rather charmless compared to the hospitality we received in Jimena and Arcos de la Frontera. 

one of many tunnels along the via verde

And then, the weather finally broke, but rather than a refreshing respite we were now deluged by muddy rain.  What better conditions to head out on the 35 km Via Verde de la Sierra?  A cycle ride along a railway line that never was.  What started as an ambitious plan at the beginning of the twentieth century, to connect rural communities via a broad reaching railway network, was thwarted by wars and economic crises.  Much of the construction work was completed but the tracks were never laid.  This particular Greenway follows a route between Olivera and  Puerto Serrano through the dramatic Penon de Zaframagon nature reserve and its large vulture colonies.  The environment  is mountainous and the trail passes through thirty tunnels, the longest of which is 990 metres.  Great when the motion sensor lights are working and you remembered to bring your lights.  Not so great otherwise, as the tunnels are pitch black and just in case you missed the big pothole on the way out there is always the chance to fall in on the return journey.

Next up, the famous Camino del Rey.  Once considered the most dangerous walk in the world, this 8km path was nothing more than crumbling narrow ledges carved 100m high into the sheer rock sides of the limestone canyon.  Located not far from Malaga, the route was originally built to allow the passage of workers and materials needed to build two hydroelectric dams.  In recent times it became a favourite playground for daredevils and climbers around the world but following a string of fatalities around the millennium the route was officially closed.  It reopened in 2015 showcasing solid boardwalks and safety rails and is now accessible to all – if you can manage to get a ticket!  The Camino is ridiculously popular with numbers around 1,000 going through every day.  Unable to get a ticket online, we turned up on the off-chance and managed to tag onto a group with a guide.  Thrills might have been in short supply but the surrounding are no less dramatic and glimpses of the original path just below the board walk did make us glad that we hadn’t embarked on this particular experience some 20 years ago.

Having spent so much time on Europe’s mainland, it was time for some island life.  The ferry from Valencia over to the island of Mallorca was a 9 hour overnight trip and did feel a bit like going on holiday.  The largest of the Iberian islands that include Ibiza and Minorca, Mallorca was, and still is, a favourite holiday destination for the Brits and Germans.  As well as providing the required sun, sand and sangria the various ports dotted around the island are a haven for the reflective sunglass wearing  yachtees.  Having visited many years ago, some aspects were unchanged.  Sombreros, fans and straw donkeys were still stacked high on the shelves inside the numerous tourist shops, the cafes, bars and restaurants were still playing ‘Sweet Caroline’ and the theme track to Charlie’s Angels and groups of Stags were wandering around dressed as giant bananas.  But, where did all the cyclists come from?  Turns out Mallorca is one of Europe’s top destinations for keen cyclists and there were literally thousands of them all kitted out in the latest Lycra gear with bikes that probably cost more than a mid-range car.  Ever keen to mingle, we hot-footed it to the nearest store and grabbed a couple of bike racks and panniers, worked out a 6 day route and hit the road.  Yes, we were more noticeable on our mountain bikes that we would have liked among the tightly bunched pelotons and yes, we were making it look a lot harder than everyone else but we did get to enjoy some of the unspoilt parts of the island and cycle such iconic routes as the Cap de  Formentor and Sa Colabra, both of which had official photographers en-route ready to capture the pain.  We were overtaken time and time again but Ian did eventually manage to overtake a couple of girls and I passed a solitary man.  Admittedly he had stopped on the side for a breather but as he was still sat on his bike I assume this counts??

Catching the ferry over to Barcelona we then had to jump on a plane to UK, not only to visit an HSBC branch in an attempt to regain access to our accounts after a block had been placed on them following a series of fraudulent transactions, but also to once again change our passports over to facilitate another 3 months in Europe.  Turns out that HSBC UK is under a completely different umbrella to HSBC AU and all we managed to achieve was the re-opening of phone line communication, a facility that we had also been locked out of following Ian’s failure to correctly answer the verification questions required by the call centre.  Back in communication with the bank, Ian was promised a call back within 48 hours.  We flew back to Barcelona where our restored spirits were somewhat dashed; our bikes had been stolen out of the airport carpark but that wasn’t all.  Having waited 72 hours with no contact from the bank, Ian rang the bank again and answered the same verification questions  only to be told that his answers were incorrect and he was again blocked from further communications, the only advice being to visit the nearest branch!!!!  Nine weeks on and we still have no access to either our accounts or money.  Our latest tactic has been to lodge an official complaint which if not dealt with in a specific time frame gives us an option to make a complaint to the Australian Financial Complaints Authority.   So far we have received two automated responses from the bank informing us that the matter is being looked into but is taking longer than expected???