Algeciras and Tarifa

After two nights in Malaga and no word from Max or Patrick about where they'd got to I decided to take a train to Algeciras, the main jumping off point for Morocco. At the train station I found an email saying they were in a hostal in Tarifa and planned to go catch a ferry to Morocco in the morning. I was going to arrive in Algeciras at 6:30. From the map it could have been 20-30kms to Tarifa but I didn't really know. Could I catch them that night, in the morning or maybe in Morocco; I envisaged a series of near misses. I sent a quick message saying I was coming but not sure where I could catch them and sat on the train considering the possibilities.
Luckily I wasn't too distracted to enjoy the brilliant gorge the train went through near Rhonda. It seemed like about 40mins but was probably only 20 travelling through a steep narrow gorge containing nothing but the railway line, a walking track, a large river at the bottom and the odd isolated village. The scenery was just spectacular and I could see a week long kayaking trip I'd love to come back and do. The other sight from the train was the Rock of Gibraltar and having seen it I understand the name. If you know Lion Rock at Piha Beach in New Zealand, think similar shape but about 30 times bigger, basically this huge rock sitting just off the coast begging to be a military enclave. That's pretty much its history, first landing point of the moors and still part of the UK.

No time for Gibraltar though, I had people to catch up with. I got off the train and decided to at least have a look at the road to Tarifa to see how hilly it might be. I reckoned I had about an hours light left but couldn't see much of the road due to it being up hill to start with. I decided I could ride to the top of the hill for a look and come back down easy enough if needed. Halfway up I saw someone walking with a backpack. He was walking to Tarifa but didn't really know how far it was. 8kms up I finally found the top and could see that there were more hills to come but so sign of Tarifa. My rear light was broken so I wasn't keen on an unknown road in the dark and had just passed an oddly placed youth hostel so I decided to spend the night there.

The hostel seemed virtually empty but the security guard who checked me in put me in a room with a guy named Ken from the US. He is concerned that our approach to health has become materialist thanks to the big business health industry which in turn has been brought about by having a socialised health system where health care is free, (though we pay for it in our taxes). It was the first time I'd heard anyone describe the US health system as socialised but we certainly had some interesting discussions. I think he's right to some extent, our attitude to health is materialistic, the body is an object to spend money on, everything from lipo suction to physiotherapy to moisturiser, and the health industry is far too big. He also had some conspiracy theory about secret codes in classic novels revolving around the apparently unnecessary descriptions of plants. He was rereading old novels accompanied by a botanical guide to plants and asked me if I knew what a eucalypt is? What a question to ask an Australian travelling in Spain - do I know what a eucalypt is! At that point they seemed to be the number one symbol of Australia, littered across the Spanish countryside. (I've since learnt that many were planted during Franco's reign in order to dry up swamps to be made into farmland, now they've gone too far and are a pest using up precious water). It was dark at the time but I said there was probably one right outside the window. Sure enough in the morning we found one just outside and I showed him their peeling bark and distinctive smell. Then it was time to continue the chase.

On arriving at the hostel last night I had asked the security guard (in broken Spanish) for help to find the number of the hostel where Patrick and co were staying. He was very helpful but we couldn't find it. In the morning I asked the receptionist who knew exactly where to find it and called the hostel but hung up when she only got the cleaner who couldn't take a booking. Then I explained my friends were staying there and tried again a few minutes later. I managed to speak with Carla, which seemed like a minor miracle at the time and told them I was on my way. They had already decided to wait for me anyway, which was really great of them.

It turned out to be only 12 more km to Tarifa but that involved a couple more serious hills. I had directions to the hostel but soon got lost in the maze of streets in the old city. Then it occurred to me that they were probably weren't at the hostel but in a bar somewhere. The next moment I rode past a bar and looked in to see Patrick sitting right there! It was so amazing to find them in a foreign place after a couple of emails and a telephone call, plus they'd waited for me so I felt quite ecstatic. They on the other hand had been enjoying some great chill out time in tranquil Tarifa and I could see why so we decided to wait another day before beginning our Moroccan adventure.

Nicholas from Reunion (a tiny french colony next to Mauritius off the coast of Madagascar - but officially part of the EU!) had joined the group and was coming to Morocco as well. He and I ended up sharing a double bed as the hostel was full. This was fine except he turned out to be a snorer. I lay there for a little while trying to ignore it but couldn't and just started to think ´stop snoring Nick´ and he did! This happened twice more during the night. He would start snoring, I would wake up, concentrate my thoughts on willing him to stop, he would stop and I would go back to sleep. I didn't even have to nudge him! I don't know what this means but it seems incredible to have some sort of pyschic connection with someone after meeting them only that day, though I guess we were in very close physical proximity and maybe the unconscious is more active or receptive during sleep. We rose early to catch the ferry (Nicholas had no awareness of his snoring or my interventions but I didn't expect that.) but when we got to the ticket desk Nicholas realised he didn't have his passport. He hadn't planned on going to Morocco until he met the others and being an EU citizen he'd left his passport in Madrid where he was studying. He had to be back there in a few days anyway so we farewelled him sadly and boarded the boat - for Africa!

Pugsworth in Malaga

Just getting to Malaga proved an adventure in itself. The train trip required a 2 hour wait in the middle at a point only 40kms from Malaga so I decided to ride it instead. Getting off at Antequera I was trying to orient myself and seeing mountains on one side of town and flat on the rest I said to myself ´I probably have to go over those´. Naturally I, (well Murphy I suppose) was right and they were some mountains! The road just kept going up and up, corner after corner revealing only more up. Some of it was fairly steep and of course the wind was blowing in the wrong direction as well. I think it was about 10km of uphill and probably one of the toughest climbs I've done, for the record: Antequera to Villaneuva de la Conception. The descent was equally steep and as I careered my way down through a small village a partially lame dog tried to cross the road in front of me. I assumed it would see me coming and get out of the way but it was obviously missing something upstairs because it stared at me and didn't move. At the last the minute I yelled at it and it moved just in time to prevent a collision but not the snapping of my front brake cable as I gave it an extra squeeze.

Further on the road leveled out a little but continued to descend through a magnificent gorge gradually coming down to the level of the river. It was a beautiful ride through a remote and beautiful area - to a dead end. At the bottom of the valley there had a been recent landslide completely burying the road leaving the river to flow through what's left of the bottom of the valley. There was a detour for the traffic but it began with a steep climb of several kilometers and I'd done one of those already that afternoon. The river was less than a foot deep and the road was only buried for about 50m so after climbing ahead on foot to check it out I decided to try and ride through. The bottom was quite rocky and knew that I wouldn't make it through without at least having to put one foot in the water so this became a weird use for the odd old shoe I was carrying. (A whole nother story, but during one of my mountain climbing days at Bornos, the sole had become mostly unstuck from my left shoe. The odd thing was about this was it is the first time I have worn out my left shoe first (I think due to the fact that I kick a soccer ball right footed but had hardly done this while travelling but use my left foot to push off on the bike). So at home I have several perfectly good left shoes and here a perfectly good right one that I couldn't bear to through away. I considered sending the old pair to ´The Cobbler c/- 29 Arnott St, Melbourne (my parents address) but decided €18 (A$30) wasn't worth it so I simply decided to tie the right shoe to the outside of my paniers and take it with me! Nuts, I know). However it actually came in handy now as I put it on and tried to put it in the water and the not the other foot when I had to step down for balance over the rocky bottom, it mostly worked too. I only managed to ride about 15 meters but then walked along the bottom of the landslide with my good left shoe on mostly dry rocks and my right in the water because I didn't want to disturb the landslide more than necessary. I made it through without incident and two dry shoes out of three! Feeling confident I tried an old road that looked like it was about to become the new road but having made it through a supposedly impassible landslide I was forced to turn back at a steep muddy hilly that actually was impassable (with a bike at least). Then I discovered that the hill climbing was not over yet and it would have been easier to take the detour - but not made as good a story!

By the time I got to Malaga it was getting dark and then it me another hour or two to find the hostel so I didn't arrive until 10:30. The reward though was sharing room with Simon and Arte from the UK and a fascinating discussion with them about violence. Arte is a Geordie (from Newcastle) and when I said I didn't believe in violence he told me I wasn't entitled to take such a view until I'd had my head stomped on and stomped on someone elses. Arte is a kind hearted man who avoids violence wherever possible but has experienced both and feels that sometimes violence is the only language you can use to protect yourself. Maybe he's right, should I try it before I deny it?

Malaga is a beautiful and relaxed seaside city with a history spanning several civilisations. In the bottom of the Picasso Museum (he was born in Malaga) we found the excavated original city wall built not by the Arabs or even the Romans but the Phoenicians! Since then it has been occupied by Romans, Visigoths, the Moors, and Christians. How many cities can claim to have a been an important port to five distinct civilisations? Apart from that the Alcazba, situated above the restored Roman amphitheater, was the main highlight. The steep climb to the top ensured an excellent view though still no sign of Africa and I was interested to find something of a botanical garden initiated by one of the princesses and quite a bit of information in Spanish (which I was able to make something of) about the variety plants grown and their traditional uses.

Almeria and Granada

Making the decision to leave Bornos seemed momentous but what came immediately afterwards was really a bit of an anti-climax. The only really pleasant surprise I received from leaving Bornos was the realisation that my Spanish had actually improved a little in the two months I spent there. I had a great days ride to Almeria through a variety of scenery but no particular adventures. The youth hostel at Almeria is not a particularly sociable place so it was back to just being me again in a comfy but sanitary hotel style room. Even my first hot shower in two months was an anti-climatic experience, I guess you can over anticipate some things. There's not much to see in the town either. Like Granada it also has an Alhambra, a palace/fortress from Moorish times which I enjoyed seeing but as the free entry I obtained tells you it is not nearly as spectacular or ornate as its counterpart in Granada.

The next day I took a train to Granada and enjoyed a great ride listening to Frank Sinatra and co played over the trains PA while taking in the magnificent snow covered Sierra Nevada. Predictably Granada was several degrees colder than the shorts and t-shirt weather of seaside Almeria, it even snowed briefly on my first night there. Luckily I stumbled upon the warm environs of the Mokuto Guest House. The first night I was there we had international tapas, where everyone made something small to share. At first I was thinking, "what really is Australian food and how am I going find anything remotely Australian in a Spanish supermarket?". I toyed with doing shrimps in a fry pan in place of the BBQ but eventually I found some Bovril, a sort of British equivalent of vegemite only sort of runny and decided to do vegemite and cheese on toast. There was no grill so I had toast the bread in the toaster, add vegemite and cheese and then melt it in the microwave. Unbelievably it worked and tasted just like vegemite and cheese on toast to me (I hope it's not because I've been away to long). What's more, as I served it up I realised that it's the perfect Australian tapas. In the next days at the hostel they also took us on a Tapas tour and made Paella a traditional Spanish dish with rice and seafood. It was just a wonderful homely place where the guests seemed to become an instant community. I would rate it as the best hostel I have stayed in my whole trip and recommend it to everyone visiting Granada.

Of course just about everyone had the Alhambra on their to do list so I headed up there with Patrick a philosophy student from the US and Max an architecture student from Germany, could you have more appropriate company to visit such a place? We spent a good few hours wondering around the magnificent buildings and the extensive gardens. It seems like it must the biggest palace complex in the world, it used to be a city in its own right including a military barracks. Like all the best monuments the grandness of the place and its ornate decorations have to be seen to be understood. Interestingly both Max and I thought some of the architectural features reminded us of Japan. I still don't really know if there was some sort of significant link between the Arabic and Oriental cultures of the time but would love to find out (email me if you know).

Max, Patrick and also Carla were planning to go to Morocco and we'd all been wanting to find a group to go with so it seemed like a good plan. However I wanted to see Malaga but Max had already been and didn't recommend it so the others weren't keen. They all wanted another day or two in Granada though so took I off for Malaga and hoped but distinctly skeptical that we could arrange by email to meet again in Algeciras or Tarifa.