Road Trip to Andalusia: 7 days with Marie and Erika

 

Two Parisian cars, a converted van, three possibilities:

Erika and I are Parisians by birth and adoption. Erika has a friend, Aurélien, who rents out converted VW California vans in Andalusia. The idea was born to travel the region together. It’s May, the ideal time to discover the countryside, enjoy the spring and meet the Andalusians. We love to roam. We’ve each traveled several continents. We’ve already traveled together, in France, Brittany and Corsica. This time, the trip takes us a little further afield, to the southern tip of Europe, a few kilometers from Africa, to Tarifa and Gibraltar.

Departure from Malaga in our VW combi

We land in lush Malaga. The yellow van is waiting for us at the airport. Here’s how it works. It’s a concentrate of design: folding berth and sunroof, drawers under the bed, tables and chairs integrated into the doors, stove, cooler and cutlery in the trunk. Each object has its own invisible place. Only the rear berth remains, for napping or sleeping.

A little dazed by our early-morning journey, we set off northwards to avoid the concrete coastline to Algeciras. We reach Tarifa and its coast by land. For the moment, we’re heading for the Sierra de las Nieves mountains, Ronda and its white villages.

 

Day 1 in Andalusia: towards Ronda, the Sierra and white villages

Past the suburbs of Málaga and Cartama, we pass through rolling, flower-filled landscapes, dotted with olive and pine plantations. First stop: the small town of Coìn. It’s May 1st, a day of celebration. We find a cafeteria at the entrance to the town. The sound system sends the Gypsy Kings into overdrive (are we really in 2017?!). The tables are full. All generations rub shoulders. A handful of little girls in flamenco dresses play between the tables.

After the rest stop, we head back to Ronda. Landscapes of flowers and pinewoods gradually give way to mountains – the Sierra de las Nieves, up to 1,900 m – and pastures of horses, goats and sheep. The road becomes narrow and winding. The air is fresh, with the scent of chlorophyll and gorse. We stop to rest at the foot of a tree. Short walk along a path overlooking the surrounding valleys.

We’re back at the wheel by 4pm. After many twists and turns in the Sierra de las Nieves, up to 1,900 m, we finally reach the mythical Ronda. The town, split into two historic and new towns, was first an Arab stronghold in the 8th century, then a Christian stronghold. Two dynasties of torreros were born here. Poets Rainer Maria Rilke, Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles have celebrated its beauty, on the side of a precipice, on horseback above a gorge. The prospect seemed more than tempting.

By the time we arrive, it’s late afternoon. We begin our tour of the town, but in the maze of small streets, we don’t find its historic heart. Evening begins to fall. The sky is as clear as ever. Salad and tapas. We take our time, a little too much…

 

First adventure, first mistake, first scares

We knew from experience that we shouldn’t be surprised by the night until we’d found a place to sleep. Wilderness camping takes time and light. Especially in the mountains, where places to park are few and far between. A main road can wind through the mountain for 20 km without any exit. After a few tapas in Ronda, we return to the converted van. By the time we get out of town, it’s already dark.

We take the road back to the Sierra, where we’d just come from, to find a hiking trailhead we’d spotted earlier. It’s impossible to see anything in the dark. The mountain road is narrow and steep, with no way out. After a nerve-wracking twenty-minute drive, in the dark of night and with no prospect of stopping, we stop at the Puerta del Viento (Wind Gate), the highest viewpoint of the mountains and the various bird species.

As its name suggests, the location seems to be at the intersection of several meteorological updrafts. We pay the price for the night. The van, with us in it, is swept and tossed by the winds all night long. We feel like we’re on board a ship that’s about to sink at any moment. The precipice surrounds it on both sides… We welcome the morning with relief. We’re a bit high up, but there’s no precipice, just rocky peaks below, scrubland and red earth as far as the eye can see. The sheep wake us up. The shepherd snaps his whip, shouting. Andalucià!

 

Ronda, romantic pedestal

We finally arrive in the historic town of Ronda, linked to the new town by three pretty bridges. Perched on a cliff, the town lives up to its reputation. What looks like a Roman arena overlooks the gorge. We are left speechless by a harp and guitar concert. The place is a real haunt for lovers, but also for tourists. It couldn’t be more romantic.

Every ten metres, you’ll discover a historical, archaeological or geological marvel, or a small green square with a fountain and a languorous concert. There are also a number of nature trails leading from the town to the Gorge or to places of interest.

There are many cafés and restaurants nestling in the vegetation, with breathtaking views. After a trying night, it’s a maximum, under a blazing sun. Impressed and a little saturated, we set off again, back to the wilderness and white villages.

 

Are there any lakes in Andalusia?

After the Ronda episode, we’re hesitating between two routes.

The first, to the west, links Ronda to Arcos de la Frontera. It passes through the best-known white villages, such as Grazalema, Europe’s rainiest mountain village, renowned for its typical character and its wool and leather crafts. And then there’s the second route, to the southwest, which also passes through white villages (Montejaque, Benaojan, Jimera de Libar), caves, the Rio Guadiaro river, the Cortes de la Frontera nature reserve and a few lakes. It’s the one we choose. To stay in the wilderness but gradually move towards lakes and the sea.

In fact, all the lakes we spotted on the map or after talking to the locals (in Montejaque, a very pretty village, memorable mojitos in the village square) were either dry – as they depend on dams and aren’t filled until early summer – or tiny. This quest for a lake became a joke throughout the trip, every time we saw one that had dried up or was completely inaccessible. In short, to find water in the Andalusian hinterland, it seems easier to look for a river to swim in. There are many of them. With the exception of the marsh rivers, as you approach the coast, the water is crystal-clear, the little bridges very pretty and the pebbles quite comfortable for the soles of your feet. We spent the best time of our stay in these places forgotten by the temple gods, where we could wash (without soap) naked or swim amidst greenery and grazing animals.

In particular, the Cortes de la Frontera nature reserve impressed us with its landscapes of “stripped” cork oaks, without their bark on the first half of the trunk due to local cork exploitation. For the many opportunities for nature walks, but also for its animals – bulls, horses, wild boars, sheep, etc. – who rule the region.

 

Forest roads: pass or fail?

After the small mountain roads and the Cortes de la Frontera reserve, still looking for water, someone had pointed out a nice river spot where we could swim. We had to go all the way to El Colmenar. Problem: only a forest road led to it. The road was broken up by the cork harvesting machinery, but was passable at first glance. We tried. The result was rather chaotic and bumpy, but the scenery turned out to be sublime, and we eventually found the river… This kind of road is not to be recommended, unless you proceed slowly and very cautiously. But they can also hold some very pleasant surprises, like this crystal-clear river under a small stone bridge, surrounded by oaks and horses…

 

Is it a lake, a river…? The sea!

After our immersion in nature and wildlife, we decided to head for the west coast, towards Vejer de la Frontera.

On the way, we spent the night in the village of Gaucìn, near the railway station. A good refuelling stage. Then the landscape began to change radically. As if we were moving from the “tropical” Alps to the Camargue. Mountains have given way to plains, cork oaks to eucalyptus and rushes, rivers to marshes, eagles and starlings to storks and their nests perched high on pylons. Only the bulls were still there. Although the hills and mountains had disappeared from the landscape, there were still some surprisingly numerous reasons for vertigo: wind turbines, dozens of them, all the way from the Strait of Gibraltar to Vejer.

This stretch of road between Gibraltar and Vejer is proving more pleasant than expected. In Gibraltar, don’t miss the view of the Strait, the coast opposite, the thin tongue of sea and the boats that sail through it. Mythical…

 

Tarifa: waves, wind and a cool, no-pressure plan

To our astonishment, it was very easy to get to Tarifa, which is on a human scale, and to park very close to the beach (it’s May, I’m not sure it’s the same in August). Las Lances beach, the largest, stretches as far as the eye can see. The waves break from a good height. Surfers and kite-surfers are at home here. This has the advantage of creating a relaxed, benevolent and cheerful atmosphere. We spent a few pleasant hours there before hitting the road again to find a quiet (meaning wild) place to sleep.

Direction Zahara de los Atunes. Its name inspires us. And the coastal village is halfway between Tarifa and Vejer, away from the main road and traffic. He’s holding out his arms to us…

 

Zahara de los Atunes: cut the engine!

As soon as we arrived, we really liked the village of Zahara. The parking lot was in the sand, practically on the beach, facing the sea. All the amenities of camping (though forbidden) were there, at your disposal. The beach was completely wild and sparsely populated. A wooden pontoon led to it. Opposite, a sculpture of two huge stones balanced on top of each other seemed to welcome visitors. It is completely visible at low tide and partially covered at high tide. The village, white with a few medieval ruins and a stunning 15th-century church, seduced us with its peace and quiet, its stores and restaurants, some of them gourmet (“El Salvaje”, very inventive and tasty, but beware of the small portions!).

In short, we turned off the engine for two days. Picnics on the beach, strolls through the small seaside town with its tasteful stores (we each bought Spanish glasses with hand-engraved wooden frames), a visit to a medieval wasteland buried in the vegetation, almost facing the sea, a visit to the church, walks along the estuary on wooden pontoons overlooking the marshes and windmills – a must when the sun goes down…

We thoroughly enjoyed this place, its people and the wonders it has to offer. See you soon Zahara!

 

Back to nostalgia

We fly from Malaga to Paris early Sunday afternoon. We set off on Saturday morning from Zahara de los Atunes to avoid the traffic jams and blazing sun. The road along the coast is pretty and fast. In two hours, we’re just a few dozen kilometers from Malaga. The coastline between Malaga and Gibraltar is not fabulous; it’s very concrete and urbanized, but we stop off at a resort, Fuengirola. We spend the afternoon there, taking a last dip before heading home, a first bath in the crowds before returning for good. Nostalgia is already gripping us.

But we’re not the same people we were when we left. Our skin is more tanned, our gait more supple, we’ve become nomads for a while. What will be left? Sensations of freedom, of roads opening up, of winding roads going up, of eagles soaring, of water flowing, of sand crunching. Above all, a palette of fragrances, so marked and changing as the journey progressed, that connected us to the wild, which we sorely needed.

You gave us a royal welcome on our arrival in Malaga, Olivier and Aurélien. Thank you for your beautiful yellow van and for making this adventure possible. We’ll be back!

 

Marie and Erika