Cabo de Gata Day 3: The Squatters of San Pedro
The last and shortest day of my walk took me through several more beaches, coves and seaside villages. By far the most interesting of the latter was the remote San Pedro, long abandoned by its original residents, and now taken over by hippie squatters, living in tents, primitive straw huts, and ruins of old buildings.
There are no roads to San Pedro, and the only way there by land is via a couple of mountain paths that cross into the valley from the north and the south. My guess is that the marijuana and other essential supplies arrive there by boat. From above, San Pedro was a marvelous sight, with ruins of an old castle presiding over a green valley, a long sandy beach, and a clear blue lagoon. As I descended, I was greeted by a sign inviting me to "Disrobe and Enter the Paradise of San Pedro." On the other side, the writing was more prosaic: "This is not a toilet: bury your shit."
I walked past several makeshift shelters and tents down to the beach, and did as the first sign suggested. There were several natives on the beach around me, sitting in small groups or playing the universal game of hippies everywhere: hacky-sack. I observed that this seemingly primitive culture had evolved some basic social institutions, as a sign with the word "BAR" beside one of the sturdier beachfront huts suggested. There were even some essential social services, such as a WC, maintained by some public-minded souls on a monetary donation basis. With all my ethnographic curiousity, however, I didn´t dare explore the sanitation system personally.
It also appeared as though these people had developed art, in the form of simple rock carvings and statuettes along the beach. But, judging by the condition of a nearby rocky cove, a large portion of the inhabitants´time was spent putting rounded stones on top of one another, constructing elaborate cairns or pyramids. It struck me as a rather healthy pastime, and certainly more socially valuable than many a memo I have written.
After a couple of hours in this pleasant spot, I decided to continue on my way, although, with more time, I might have been tempted to pitch my tent on one of the many available spots and spend a coule of days in this primitively communistic environment. Instead, I returned to the world of highways and automobiles, and was lucky enough to catch the region´s last bus back to Almería for the next couple of days.
There are no roads to San Pedro, and the only way there by land is via a couple of mountain paths that cross into the valley from the north and the south. My guess is that the marijuana and other essential supplies arrive there by boat. From above, San Pedro was a marvelous sight, with ruins of an old castle presiding over a green valley, a long sandy beach, and a clear blue lagoon. As I descended, I was greeted by a sign inviting me to "Disrobe and Enter the Paradise of San Pedro." On the other side, the writing was more prosaic: "This is not a toilet: bury your shit."
I walked past several makeshift shelters and tents down to the beach, and did as the first sign suggested. There were several natives on the beach around me, sitting in small groups or playing the universal game of hippies everywhere: hacky-sack. I observed that this seemingly primitive culture had evolved some basic social institutions, as a sign with the word "BAR" beside one of the sturdier beachfront huts suggested. There were even some essential social services, such as a WC, maintained by some public-minded souls on a monetary donation basis. With all my ethnographic curiousity, however, I didn´t dare explore the sanitation system personally.
It also appeared as though these people had developed art, in the form of simple rock carvings and statuettes along the beach. But, judging by the condition of a nearby rocky cove, a large portion of the inhabitants´time was spent putting rounded stones on top of one another, constructing elaborate cairns or pyramids. It struck me as a rather healthy pastime, and certainly more socially valuable than many a memo I have written.
After a couple of hours in this pleasant spot, I decided to continue on my way, although, with more time, I might have been tempted to pitch my tent on one of the many available spots and spend a coule of days in this primitively communistic environment. Instead, I returned to the world of highways and automobiles, and was lucky enough to catch the region´s last bus back to Almería for the next couple of days.
posted by Dmitri Evseev at 9:51 PM
<< Home