La Alpujarra Day 1: Flashbacks of Galicia
After exploring the city of Granada in the morning, I got on a bus for the town of Pampaneira, on the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada range, where I planned to do some more walking. Somewhat reluctantly, I said goodbye to the Oasis hostel, probably the best I´ve seen in my travels. It had a very friendly and helpful staff, great facilities (kitchen, free internet, a bar, TV lounge, and even a ping pong table), a very social atmosphere, and clean quiet rooms. All this for 15 EUR per night, breakfast included!
The area to which I was headed next was a very isolated (though recently somewhat touristed) region in the Sierra Nevada known as La Alpujarra. It was the last refuge of Muslims in Spain after the fall of Granada, and, posssibly more than any area in Spain, still retains the character of those times. The white villages scattered through the hills and narrow gorges are a maze-like jumble of houses and streets, surrounded by orchards of various useful trees. Most streets are too narrow for cars, and villages can still be seen transporting their loads by mule. Ruins of Muslim mills and other ancient structures dot the countryside, and the hillsides, tiered with olive groves, have beein shaped into their current form many centuries ago.
None of the original Muslim inhabitants remain there, however, due to the forced removal and resettlement of the area with families from Asturias and Galicia. Just as I arrived, it started to rain, and I couldn´t help noticing that, in some ways, the area was quite similar to the current inhabitants´native Spanish northwest. The rain alone was enough to bring back memories of Galicia, but the hilly terrain and the narrow cobbled paths connecting different villages added to the feeling. Moreover, the streams and fountains in most villages gushed with water, creating the impression that this relatively dry region was as wet as Green Spain (another title of Galicia).
Since I had little desire to trek about in the rain, I stopped at a refugio after just 2.5 hours of walking surrounded by cold wet clouds. The refugio was a hut with a wood-burning stove in the middle, 3-tiered bunks in a side room, and a kitchen. The German woman owner explained to me the basic survival points: the timed lights illuminating the path to the out-house, the rope "gate" strung across the path to indicate the facility was occupied (there was no door), and various other arcane yet indispensable details. Then, the other guests (1 from the UK and two from Australia) and I were sent out to chop some firewood. It was actually quite fun, as we chpped and sawed our way through a fallen chestnut tree using a variety of instruments, including an odd one-way Japanese saw.
After the wood started burning, it heated up the space quite nicely, and I decided to prepare dinner at the refugio. I walked to a nearby village and bought some spaghetti, olives, peppers and tomato sauce. The mix amounted to a large pot of steaming pasta, and I had to beg my companions to help me finish it.
The area to which I was headed next was a very isolated (though recently somewhat touristed) region in the Sierra Nevada known as La Alpujarra. It was the last refuge of Muslims in Spain after the fall of Granada, and, posssibly more than any area in Spain, still retains the character of those times. The white villages scattered through the hills and narrow gorges are a maze-like jumble of houses and streets, surrounded by orchards of various useful trees. Most streets are too narrow for cars, and villages can still be seen transporting their loads by mule. Ruins of Muslim mills and other ancient structures dot the countryside, and the hillsides, tiered with olive groves, have beein shaped into their current form many centuries ago.
None of the original Muslim inhabitants remain there, however, due to the forced removal and resettlement of the area with families from Asturias and Galicia. Just as I arrived, it started to rain, and I couldn´t help noticing that, in some ways, the area was quite similar to the current inhabitants´native Spanish northwest. The rain alone was enough to bring back memories of Galicia, but the hilly terrain and the narrow cobbled paths connecting different villages added to the feeling. Moreover, the streams and fountains in most villages gushed with water, creating the impression that this relatively dry region was as wet as Green Spain (another title of Galicia).
Since I had little desire to trek about in the rain, I stopped at a refugio after just 2.5 hours of walking surrounded by cold wet clouds. The refugio was a hut with a wood-burning stove in the middle, 3-tiered bunks in a side room, and a kitchen. The German woman owner explained to me the basic survival points: the timed lights illuminating the path to the out-house, the rope "gate" strung across the path to indicate the facility was occupied (there was no door), and various other arcane yet indispensable details. Then, the other guests (1 from the UK and two from Australia) and I were sent out to chop some firewood. It was actually quite fun, as we chpped and sawed our way through a fallen chestnut tree using a variety of instruments, including an odd one-way Japanese saw.
After the wood started burning, it heated up the space quite nicely, and I decided to prepare dinner at the refugio. I walked to a nearby village and bought some spaghetti, olives, peppers and tomato sauce. The mix amounted to a large pot of steaming pasta, and I had to beg my companions to help me finish it.
posted by Dmitri Evseev at 7:32 PM
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