Though I’ve told everyone and their mother the story of my trip to the Sierra Nevada mountains, it’s taken me two weeks to write it down. To be fair, it’s been a saturated two weeks, hence the delay. In addition to my weekend getaway, I’ve indulged in some cultural pursuits: a music festival, a play, and a West End musical. I might dedicate a separate post to these events in the future, but first – Spain!
Following a successful Scottish adventure, my friends and I decided to plan another hiking trip. This time, we were an international group of nine, flying in from four countries and featuring various nationalities (though all, with one notable exception, were Russian-speaking). We had chosen our destination based on whether or not our intended accommodation met the following criteria: could fit nine people comfortably and featured a fireplace.
The London group flew into Malaga early Friday morning (I caught the bus at 4:00, to give context). We met at the airport, boarded the plane, and set off. Once we landed and met the remainder of our group, who had arrived earlier, we grabbed coffee (to my surprise, they even did soy milk, and it wasn’t like that stupid joke about regular milk introducing itself in Spanish – it was actual soy milk), and collected our car.
Our adventure had begun. We spent the first twenty minutes or so escaping an infernal road loop of doom, listening to a strange Spanish radio channel proclaim “this is house” when it was clearly not house. We also attempted to teach our American friend different phrases in Russian, beginning with “замкнутый круг” (circle without end) and finishing with “че по чем” (untranslatable).
We stopped by the seaside, enjoying the ability to go for a swim and lie around on the beach in the month of November. The splashing was cut short, however, by our desire to see Granada. It was very beautiful, though a bit chillier than expected. We were also starving. The Spanish custom, which we weren’t familiar with, is apparently to serve tapas with drinks. The only issue? We weren’t prepared to drink the amount required to satiate our level of hunger, but the bartender took pity on us and gave us some additional food.
We then met the friends who has remained at the seaside and headed to the supermarket for food, where we bought two shopping carts full. There were nine hungry mouths to feed, after all, and three days of communal living and cooking. Luckily, we had more than a few willing cooks, so we enjoyed freshly prepared pancakes, soup, and more.
Our hiking adventures began on the second day, when we decided to explore our surroundings. Though the weather was overcast with scattered showers (as the meteorologists would say), it did make for some amazing views (when the clouds we were traversing would part and we could see more than two metres ahead). The group had split into three: one couple headed out to the lake, three of us (myself included) went home for tea, and the rest ventured further up the mountain. The day concluded with a communal dinner, followed by cuddles by the fireplace.
Now, as part of the first group, I was first to encounter three roads diverged in wood, and I – I took the one less travelled by, and that… led me to a dead goat. By the time we’d come down the mountain, it was dark. The fork split into three paths: one to the farm, one the long way around, and one by the river. The other two seemed most reliable, but we don’t look for easy paths. We wanted to go by the river. This third path was difficult to find in the dark, but I did eventually stumble across it – a tiny path about thirty centimetres across.
We made our way into the unknown, lighting our way with phone flashlights. It was impossible to see beyond the light’s reach, but the moon and stars shining down were beautiful. At one point, we encountered yet another fork in the road, this one leading either down some unstable-looking rocks or up a hill with no clear direction. We decided not to risk it (or so we thought) and went up the hill. We ended in some dense bushes and that was where the goat skull and decaying skin appeared. Not the nicest sight in the darkness.
Taking the decision to return to the rocks, we stumbled across a different path, which we decided to risk. We made our way through some streams, some more dense bushes, some thorns… and came out on the other side! The path grew wider, the stars grew brighter, we were headed the right way. We eventually made it to the carpark, after which a 40-minute wait for our friends began. Nobody appeared, so we decided to make our way back to the city. Oh, did I mention there was no reception?
To be fair, it was a glorious night. We walked halfway by moonlight, then by pretending to be a car with two headlights and a driver. When we stopped to take a photograph of Guejar Sierra, we encountered a friendly black cat, who decided to surprise us by rubbing against our legs. By the time our friends caught up to us, we had enjoyed a three-course dinner and a bottle of red wine in the restaurant neighbouring our temporary accommodation.
The final day was largely packing, but overall it was a wonderful weekend break. My next trip is a few days in Italy towards the end of the month, but I hope I’ll venture out to the mountains again before too long. In the meantime, I’ll continue enjoying the cultural highlights of London. Theatre this weekend, anyone?
Swordfoosh 