• Elaine and Ned
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  • Elaine and Ned

Spain 2026 - the Alpujarra

The Alpujarra region of the Parque Nacional de Sierra Nevada includes the highest mountains in mainland Spain, so we're expecting some snowy views as we explore the rural heritage items still to be found there. Läs mer
  • Los Llanos: not the moon

    10 april, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 72 °F

    It’s a good thing we did our mountain hike yesterday, because we sure couldn’t do it today. All the weather apps have posted warnings for our area saying stay inside with windows closed if you have any problems with breathing. They are advising people not to do anything outdoors that involves strenuous exercise.

    It’s easy to see why. Everything outside is coated with sand, and when you step outdoors and talk, you can feel grit on your teeth.

    After a lifetime of absorbing the lesson “don’t look directly at the sun“, yesterday we could actually look directly at the sun. I had just finished writing yesterday‘s FindPenguins entry, when Ned called me to look outside. At first, I thought I was looking at the full moon that we had seen a few days ago in Soportújar. But no, this was the sun, obscured by a gray haze. Usually, when you see the sun like that, it’s because it’s cloudy or foggy, but this was neither. Instead, it was sand that the wind had carried from North Africa into this part of Andalucia. The weather report is calling it a ‘calima’ and notes that it was 800 miles wide when it hit the Canary Islands last week.

    Tomorrow it is supposed to rain, bringing sand down with the rain to make what is called a mud rain. We will be walking to catch the bus from Soportújar to Lanjarón early tomorrow morning, so it will be interesting to see what happens.
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  • Los Llanos: to Cortijo de la Angrailla

    9 april, Spanien ⋅ ⛅ 68 °F

    You couldn’t ask for a better way to climb up into the Sierra Nevada than the dirt track we took today. It’s well graded and climbs at a steady but quite reasonable angle. It must have been difficult to build as it is cut directly into the side of the mountain. It’s a steep drop on the outside edge of the road and a steep rise on the inside edge. We made sure we stuck close to the mountain side! The grade hardly seems to vary from the bottom to the top, so it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying the tremendous views the whole way up.

    About halfway up, we met a mountain biker coming down, and it reminded me of the terror I felt when we came down this track on our bikes eight years ago. I was sure I was going to burn out my brakes and had to keep stopping so the rims on my wheels could cool. And indeed, I did have to replace my brake pads two days later at the fine bike shop in Bubión.

    Today we had no such trouble. The biggest event of any kind was the marvelous show put on by two donkeys in a vineyard below the road. When they heard us coming, they struck up a fine conversation (which Ned captured in today’s video) and then the lighter colored one took an enthusiastic dust bath, waving all four legs madly in the air while rolling over on his back three times. We were laughing so hard that, unfortunately, we didn’t capture that part on video.

    The sky was blue and the sun was out when we started up, so we had clear views of practically every place we’ve hiked since we arrived 34 days ago, all the way from the Puente de Los Siete Ojos up to the house below Cerro Man where the angry man and his dogs live. But by the time we started down, enough sand was blowing through on the 45 mph winds that it obscured all the villages around us. We did a load of laundry, but we didn’t dare hang the clothes outside to become sand-catchers. Tomorrow is predicted to be even windier with thunderstorms.
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  • Los Llanos: One more GR 7 attempt

    8 april, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F

    We jumped at the chance to stay in the Los Llanos area specifically because when we studied the map at home in January, this spot was practically on the GR 7. In fact, the trail that leads right out of our backyard goes up to join the GR 7 and then merges with a four-wheel-drive road that heads to some of the best hiking destinations in the Alpujarra: 0 Sel Ling, a Buddhist retreat center about 700 m above us, and beyond that three beautiful high-level acequias that we would love to see. Unfortunately there is a 20 meter section just where the GR 7 meets the four-wheel-drive track that is completely washed out as we saw last week. But this morning, falling prey to wishful thinking, we thought if we approached the slide from the other end, it just might be doable. We had a lovely walk up, but no, there simply was no way to get up that washed out section. We can, however, make a detour around the blockage via the Ermita del Padre Eterno, so if the weather improves tomorrow, that’s what we will do.

    Today was not a day to be up in the mountains even if the trail had been accessible. Shortly after we started out, the clouds
    and fog moved in, completely obscuring any view, and the weather app Meteo-Blue showed a thunderstorm on the way. Lightning and exposed mountain trails don’t mix, so we enjoyed our nice, warm house and pored over possibilities for tomorrow.
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  • Los Llanos: in the clouds

    7 april, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 64 °F

    The weather was the drama of the day today. When we woke up, the sky was grey, but we could clearly see everything around us from Órgiva below to Cáñar above. We had just finished cleaning our apartment and packing up our gear when we noticed the clouds that had been distant this morning were now distinctly closer. Within minutes, Órgiva disappeared , and then within seconds, we could barely make out the church just 100 meters away in Soportújar.

    I started to wonder if the fast moving cars coming around blind curves on the short stretch of highway we had to walk from Soportújar to Los Llanos would be able to see us. Even on a clear day we have a lot of concerns about walking on that stretch of road.

    We set out in our brightest orange jackets, but by the time we had hoisted our packs, the clouds had blown on through, and I’m sure we were clearly visible as we walked along.

    On our way, we chatted about the good lunch we were going to have at the roadside venta just below our new spot. It would be great to have some variety after eating the same thing every day for a week. We were especially looking forward to some big salads. But as we came around the corner, the venta looked strangely deserted. There were no cars crowding the roadside pull-out like there had been last week. Oh no, was it closed? Looking it up on Google, we saw that not only was it closed today, it was going to be closed all week. What were we going to eat for the next four days? Ned generously unloaded his pack, turned around, and walked back into Soportújar to visit the tiny combo souvenir shop/grocery store. He came back with frozen vegetables, bread, tomato paste, eggs, and chorizo - the exact same thing we ate all last week, but we are grateful to have it. We also have some very handy staples we’ve been carrying around since we last saw a supermarket in Órgiva: milk powder (so much lighter than milk, no refrigeration needed, and this one even tastes good); unsweetened cocoa powder; a small jar of olive oil; and bread from the bakery vans.
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  • Soportújar: Casa Forestal

    6 april, Spanien ⋅ ⛅ 66 °F

    Today’s walk to the Casa Forestal of Soportújar gave wonderful views, fortunately not yet affected by the predicted calima (winds from Africa carrying rain and red sand from the Sahara).

    The forests above us here are interesting. Years ago when we cycled through the area, we thought that the carefully planted rows of trees were here to be harvested for their timber, but now we have learned that they were planted as part of flood control projects. They help to contain the damage done when the rivers that flow down from the peaks of the Sierra Nevada are overflowing with snow melt and spring or autumn rains.

    Today’s goal, the Vivero Sombra (Shade Nursery) above Soportújar, was established in the early 1900s. This reforestation project and dams like Dique 24 (that we saw from our Cáñar walk) control flooding in the upper Río Chico basin between Cañar and Soportújar. The yearly torrential flooding threatened the Vega de Orgiva plain and the towns of Bayacas, Carataunas, Soportújar, and Cañar, and their surrounding agricultural areas - all places we’ve walked through recently. Now we can certainly picture how important these forests are!

    No threat of rain today, though, so the cuckoo in the forest made Ned think of Delius’ tone poem "On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring".

    Tomorrow we walk to a house just north of the Ermita del Padre Eterno, our next-to-last stay in the Órgiva area, with Lanjarón next week being the last. If you imagine a clock face with Órgiva in the middle of the dial, our stays fall at 12:00 (Cáñar); 1:00 (Soportújar); 2:00 (Padre Eterno); 2:30 (Walhalla); 4:00 (Tíjola); and 10:00 (Lanjarón). Each location has offered a different walk every day. We’ve been able to absorb enough of the geography and history of the area - and talk to enough people - to begin to get a sense of how the things we are seeing fit together. In May, we’ll move to the Upper Poqueira Valley and then over the ridge to an area totally new to us: the seven villages of La Taha.
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  • Soportújar: Carataunas

    5 april, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 64 °F

    Carataunas, the village between Órgiva and Soportújar, is the smallest village in terms of geographic size in the Alpujarra, and the third least populated, with fewer than 200 inhabitants. This made it a nice, quiet place to walk to for Easter.

    The path down from Soportújar is El Camino Real, the Royal Road, somewhat narrow, with the original paving stones in some sections. It was formerly used to bring livestock from the high areas of the Alpujarra to the Órgiva fair.

    Because Carataunas is so small, it is an easy place to identify the elements listed on the ADR fichas. They often have quirky little facts noted, such as pointing out that “In 1856, the priest and town council informed the archbishop that the church was in ruins, especially the main chapel, and requested that a master builder be sent to assess the situation and prepare a budget, with the neighborhood pledging to contribute with labor and the transport of materials. The appointed architect warned that it was necessary for the future solidity of the work to relocate the acequia that passed under the presbytery.”

    I remembered that in Cáñar, there is also an acequia passing under the church. That got me to wondering: Is this just a coincidence or was it common? AI says early Christian churches were often located over springs because flowing water was preferred to still water for baptism, but these churches in the Alpujarra would almost always have been mosques originally. Turns out mosques were also built near water sources for ritual cleansing.

    Near the church is a fine old manor house built in the eclectic style, rare in this area, with segmented arches over the windows. (You can see it in the video.)

    Surprisingly, we didn’t see any processions today - or any other days this week. It’s the only time we’ve been in Andalucia over Easter and not seen processions.
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  • Soportújar: the village

    4 april, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 61 °F

    Like the other Alpujarra villages nearby, Soportújar was populated by Muslims during the 13th century. They built most of the sweeping sights that we see everywhere today: acequias, balates, bancales, village houses with launa roofs, and the covered arcades known as ‘soportales’ that gave Soportújar its name.

    After the Reconquest, the Muslims were expelled (at the end of the 16th century) and Soportújar was repopulated with Christian families brought from northern Spain. These northerners brought with them a tradition of healing with ointments and medicinal herbs. As a result, Soportújar gained a reputation for witchcraft.

    After hundreds of years of trying to dodge this derogatory association, the town council realized it could be put to use. Like many villages in Spain, Soportújar was dealing with dramatic depopulation. The number of inhabitants fell from 900 in 1950 to 200 in 1999. So in 2008, the town council launched the Embrujo Project. This project might not be to Ned’s and my taste, but it has stopped the depopulation that was taking place. The town is currently gaining population, growing economically, and “creating the basis for a prosperous Soportújar.”

    We got up early and were out as soon as it was light to try to see some of the vestiges of history recorded on the ADR fichas before the hordes of tourists arrived. Only partially successful, we ended up watching the parade of cars that could move neither forward nor backward on the steep narrow streets.

    Such a dilemma. Without this project, the village would likely continue to depopulate, but with it, life here must be annoying for the local residents at times.
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  • Soportújar: a nice mountain walk

    3 april, Spanien ⋅ ⛅ 55 °F

    We missed the turn for the GR 7 shortly out of Soportújar this morning, but we knew that the track we ended up on would bring us to an acequia that we could then use to connect to the GR 7, so we shrugged our shoulders and decided to take a chance on it. Common topics of conversation as we started up:
    “How steep do you think this track is?”
    “Do you think a car could actually get up this?”
    “I really need to stop and take my jacket and fleece off!”
    “I wonder if there’s any way to show how steep this is in a photo?”
    “Look! There’s Órgiva and the Puente de los Siete Ojos. I think that big rectangular building might be the Benisalte Mill.”
    “There’s the Mediterranean, but it’s too hazy to see Africa. “
    “I think the Acequia de la Vega is just around this curve.”

    Sure enough, it was, and we went from climbing up ever so steeply to ambling along on the level, right in the dry acequia. One 90 degree turn later and views of snowy Cerillo Redondo opened up in front of us. Surprisingly, we weren’t the only ones enjoying the trail today. We counted 11 other walkers, by far the most we’ve seen on any day so far.

    A little farther up, we saw the reason the acequia was dry: a big slide had filled the channel with rubble and a huge rock. It will take machinery to shift that boulder. It probably came down in the February storms. We’re guessing this may happen fairly frequently here because at one point there were four rock walls above the acequia that were clearly built to hold back slides, and farther on toward the Rio Chico, which feeds the acequia, the channel was enclosed in a large tube (so it’s impervious to rockfalls).

    Eventually, we got to a point where the drop off was too steep for comfort, and we could no longer walk in the acequia because it was enclosed. The trip back down was just as interesting with ruins of old cortijos on each side. We continued all the way back to the village on the GR 7 which also had a steep gradient, but not anywhere near as steep as the track we walked up.

    When we got back to our apartment, I decided to look at the app called climbfinder that I had recently downloaded (thanks, Sabine!). I remembered that it showed a route out of Órgiva passing through Soportújar that was rated the 5th steepest climb in the Sierra Nevada (track ratings, not senderos) and the 8th steepest in Andalucia. I had said to Ned two days ago, “That’s a route we better not take!” You can imagine our surprise on finding that it was indeed the track we took this morning, Era de La Majada. We only walked a small part of the entire route, but it turned out to be the steepest part, an 18% grade out of Soportújar! We were really pleased to have done it.
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  • Soportújar: Crowds

    2 april, Spanien ⋅ ⛅ 59 °F

    We could hardly tear ourselves away from Casa Walhalla this morning. Ramón and Michelle kindly let us stay an extra hour and came over at noon to say goodbye, bringing a present with them – a Walhalla mug! And to top it all off, Ramón drove us to Soportújar so we wouldn’t have to walk on the busy road that has no shoulder.

    We knew from our walk here to get groceries last week that Soportújar was going to be busy, but what a shock to see exactly how busy. Part of the crowds may be due to Semana Santa, but it was like this last week also. There’s only one narrow road to get into the village, and it had traffic jams at every turn as well as cars parked in each available spot. People are drawn here by the village’s promotion of itself as a “lugar de Embrujo”, a place of enchantment/witchcraft. Every other store is a souvenir shop with crowds looking at T-shirts decorated with witches and kids begging their parents to buy them a broom to ride on. There is one tiny combo souvenir shop/grocery store that carries frozen vegetables, canned tuna, and milk – all of which we were grateful for. Plus the bakery van was here and we were able to get bread. The pharmacy is still closed.

    Our apartment is perfectly adequate as a base for walking, but can’t compare with the joy we felt at last week’s casa, so much a part of the history of the last thousand years here.

    But I bet when we are out on the trail tomorrow, things will look different. For one thing, we likely won’t meet a single person. In fact, in all our days of exploring last month, we only met two other people out walking - the Irish-Australian couple on the Gr 7 near Cáñar.
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  • Casa Walhalla: last day

    1 april, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 55 °F

    If ever a house deserved to be named Casa Walhalla, this house is it. Ramón and Michelle have created a dream spot. We’ve had unbelievable vistas to wake up to every morning, birdsong and flowers when we step out the door, and sunshine for six days in a row.

    We are amazed at how much there was to learn about the geography of this area. No matter how long I studied maps before we came, the reality of the depth of the barrancos carved by the three great rivers in this area has made me revise my mental picture. Every day raises new questions - and often brings new answers.

    We’ve been fanning out in different directions each day with our walks, so today we wanted to concentrate on the area right around the house. We walked down to the neighbor’s bancal where Ramón had shown us the first day what can be accomplished when an engineer builds his own home. His launa (clay) roof was just magnificent. We’ve seen many streaks of sparkly grey earth (presumably launa) mixed in with all the other minerals in the hillsides on our walks around here, so it’s clear why launa roofs are so popular. There’s an abundance of free roofing material!

    I don’t know much about geology, but when I looked up launa, I found that “Geologically, the launas are magnesian phyllites, a metamorphosed clay (transformed by high pressures and temperatures, without melting) that retains its waterproofing properties.” I can certainly attest to that, given our experience cycling through what appeared to be a dry patch of slick dirt years ago. Within a fraction of a second, the entire wheel of my bike was covered with launa that would not let go. It took me over three hours to clean it out of my spokes and brakes. (I never made that mistake again.) Today, however, we just had a harmless look at a beautiful flat roof with a launa cover and slates extending as eaves, with stones called castigaderas holding them down.

    We tried to do a little more exploring to see some of the abandoned houses on the bancales near us, but one foray through grasses above our waists was enough for me. I’m already nervous about crossing barrancos with a steep drop off when I have a perfect look at the trail, so crossing one when I can’t see what I’m stepping on is far beyond my comfort zone! Better to spend the time wrestling with accommodations for May instead.
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  • Walhalla: Balates and bancales

    31 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 61 °F

    Balates and bancales were much in evidence on our walk up (and up, and up) the western face of the barranco of the Río Poqueira today. A balate is a dry stone wall used to support a terraced crop area; a bancal is the terrace itself. These small parcels of irrigated crop land or orchards are the main visual elements on the steep hillsides around here, their staggered arrangements resembling giant staircases.

    The small bancales we passed today were largely abandoned - which is true of most of the terraces around here that are on land too steep to be reached by even a four-wheel-drive track. Up until the 1960s and 70s, they were accessed by horse, burro, or mule, but now if they can’t be reached by tractor, they likely have fallen into disuse.

    Nevertheless, their remains made for a beautiful climb up until we were above the village of Pampaneira and on a level with Bubión across the ravine. On the way, we passed the third acequia in this area: Acequia Cachariche. Like all the Roman and Moorish acequias, it operates totally by gravity (no pumps or machinery like you see in other irrigation systems), leaving the Río Poqueira at an elevation of 1090 meters, and losing only 100 meters on its journey to end in the Cañadillas barranco 5 km later. This acequia is the first one we have seen on this trip that is an acequia de careo, not de riego (irrigation). Its purpose is to direct the water to permeable areas where the abundant water from snowmelt can sink down into the ground, recharge the aquifer, and emerge many months later and hundreds of meters lower as springs that serve villagers during the dry summer months.
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  • Walhalla: in the acequia

    30 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 55 °F

    Surprisingly, we could not find any existing Wikiloc GPX tracks along either of the two acequias that are just below Casa Walhalla. But looking closely at the IGN topo map of this area, it seemed to us that we could work our way down from the house to the Acequia de Órgiva and make our own route. This morning we did just that, very pleased to be able to hop right into the acequia. (We knew from crossing it lower down on our walk yesterday that it was going to be dry.)

    Feeling like we were our own little MEMOLA project, we walked several kilometers north, tossing aside branches that had fallen into the channel and dodging thorny vines that hung down from the trees above. This was the first time we’ve ever been able to walk in such a deep acequia, and we marveled at the engineering it must have taken to create it. Eventually, we came to a point where the channel was encased in a tube. The path beside it had a sheer drop to the river, so we turned around and investigated the other (west) end of the channel. Here the side walls were not as deep, and the channel itself was wider. In order to head off the danger of fast moving water cutting through earthen walls, the outer edge had been cemented where it went around curves. Eventually, we climbed out and used a small lane to circle back to our house, very happy to have had such an unusual experience. Now if we only knew why the acequia is dry at the moment…
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  • Walhalla: a magnificent day!

    29 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 54 °F

    Magnificent, magnificent, magnificent! I think all of the Poqueira Valley could hear our shouts of joy as we came around a corner and had a totally unexpected view of a high snow-covered peak. “It looks like Mulhacén!” we cried to each other. “Could it really be?” Sure enough, PeakFinder
    confirmed that we were indeed looking at the highest peak in mainland Spain.

    It was an amazing moment because we were descending south down the valley and had expected our views to the north to diminish, not increase. Our goal had simply been to find a small ermita and its nearby cortijo that were listed on the ADR fichas. But our angle of visibility of the upper part of the barranco of the Poqueira continually increased and soon we could see all three mountain villages perched high above us: Pampaneira, Bubión, and Capileira. The view was even better than eight years ago when we climbed up Mulhacén from the pass just below the peak. When you are so close, you can’t appreciate the rounded bulk of the mountain. And if anyone is trying to climb it today, I hope they are wearing skis or snowshoes!

    As if the day wasn’t already fine enough with our lovely dirt track, the bright sunshine, and the unexpected views, we came around a corner and found not just one but two of the main acequias that branch off the Rio Poqueira. The Acequia de Órgiva was dry (maybe it is the one that has become detached from the river when it changed course?), but the Acequia de Cerro Negro was full of water flowing down to the Guadalfeo Valley. These are both major acequias de riego, feeding many smaller acequias. For efficiency, they are now concrete channels rather than stone lined as they were originally. This means the trees that used to line the acequias, their roots being watered by seepage from the channel, are now gone.

    We are guessing this might be the top walk of our trip, so we are very grateful to have had this unexpected treat!
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  • Walhalla: walking to Soportújar

    28 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 55 °F

    Our goal was to walk into Soportújar, find the pharmacy, and fill a prescription. On the map, it looked like the GR 7 would be a good way to get there. I had noticed in the write-ups on a few Wikiloc tracks that there were warnings about deterioration of portions of the GR 7, but they were sort of old tracks, and I figured there was at least a 50-50 chance that the trail would be passable. We walked past the hermitage dedicated to Padre Eterno, remembering a friendly cat that had greeted us here in 2018. On that trip, we had just made an 800-meter descent from Puente Palo, high up in the national park. The next day I had to replace the brake pads on my mountain bike!

    Today we walked the same 4-wheel-drive track in reverse, heading up to link up with the GR 7. Suddenly, Wikiloc gave us a negative beep-beep sound, and up popped a rather mysterious message saying that 50 m ahead was a route that was no longer supported. A few seconds later, we saw why. There had obviously been tremendous flood damage in the area as evidenced by a series of large wire cages filled with boulders to hold back flood waters, as well as rerouting of the track. We went about a kilometer farther, hoping we could still get on the GR 7, but when we reached the red and white blaze for where the trail used to take off, there was just a sharp drop that petered off into nothing. We had a great view of Cańar and the stretch of GR 7 we walked there, though.

    So it was back down to the local road into the village, dodging an unusual number of cars for such a small community. Soon we were making our way through the crowds of tourists who had flocked to Soportújar to see the “village of the witches”. Teenagers giggled with their friends as they took selfies by Baba Yaga; couples looked romantic as they saved each other from dragons; parents sheparded their children into the witch’s cave; and grandmothers soothed babies in push chairs while waiting for the rest of the family to reappear. We guess there must have been at least 200 tourists in the village - by far the biggest crowds we have seen since we arrived in Andalucia. To top it all off, the pharmacy had a sign on it saying it was closed today for personal reasons. We made a hasty retreat back to complete solitude at our house overlooking the barranco.

    This afternoon, Ramón and Michelle are working with a friend of theirs to make repairs to the area just outside our kitchen door where there used to be a patio with a table for outdoor meals. Last month in the big storms, a huge chestnut tree crashed down and wiped out the patio. Today they are mixing cement to make a support for the new patio. In the meantime, the table and chairs have been moved to a small terrace on the other side of the house.
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  • Above the Río Poqueira: Moving day

    27 mars, Spanien ⋅ ⛅ 55 °F

    We were sad to leave Cańar today, especially after last night‘s rehearsal for tonight’s concert. Ned’s comments from the point of view of a former conductor of a volunteer orchestra: They were great! The soloist, chorus, and chamber ensemble sounded professional and so well balanced.

    We had time before we left for a long conversation with Robin, the owner of our apartment. He left Scotland 15 years ago and has lived in several villages in the Alpujarra since then. He told us that the water we saw coming over Dique 24 yesterday was very unusual for this time of year. Dramatic flooding occurred last month along with heavy winds. Many trees came down in the steep barranco, and the course of the river was actually changed!

    As for moving to our next spot, it’s a good thing Ramón offered to pick us up in Cáñar. We’d never have found Casa Walhalla on our own. Even though we have cycled within a kilometer of here twice on our mountain bike trips, we have never been aware of the wild depth of the Poqueira Valley that was just south of our route. I have a feeling that it is going to be quite a challenge to explore.

    Ramón and Michelle moved from the Netherlands to this remote spot far from any village two years ago. They have put all their effort into improving the buildings that were falling apart, creating a vegetable garden, nurturing fruit and nut trees, and being good stewards of the land. Ramón gave us a tour of the property. It’s so steep, all I could think of was why didn’t I grab my hiking poles before we started out! Luckily Ramón and Ned kept me from stumbling over the edge.

    When we told Ramón that we were very interested in the numerous acequias around here, his whole face lit up. He said he loves being part of the acequia system! All the farmers in this area who use water from the acequias are obligated to work on the spring cleaning of the channel. Ramón said the first time he did it, it gave him goosebumps because it connected him so closely to a history that extends back more than 1000 years and because it is such a uniquely communal effort. Farmers are assessed the number of days they must work on cleaning crews by how much land they have. Ramón has a relatively small piece and must volunteer to work one day each year. His neighbor just below has a much larger plot of land and owes five days each year. If a farmer doesn’t work his required number of days on a cleaning crew, he must pay €60 for each day missed so that someone else can be hired to do the job.

    Ramón is at the end of a branch of the acequia so he gets as much water as he wants whenever he wants it. But others closer to the source have an assigned day and time when they can lift the gate to allow the water into their land. So you could be assigned, for example, every Wednesday from 2 AM until 6 AM. Then you would have to get up in the middle of the night to lift your gate.

    Ramón’s acequia was dry today, he explained, because just as the big storm last month rerouted the Rio Chico near Cáñar, it also changed the course of the Río Poqueira that this acequia is channeled off of. Now the beginning of the acequia is no longer connected to the river, and no water is flowing into it. This is a huge problem for all the farmers downstream on this acequia. Ramón doesn’t yet know what they are going to do about it.
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  • Cáñar: the GR 7

    26 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 61 °F

    The architect Donald Gray spent most of his working life living in a small village in the Alpujarra. He devoted himself to recovering and defending traditional Andalusian architecture, working alongside local builders to learn skills that were not taught in any university. I carry images in my head of the drawings he made for his four slim volumes on the vernacular architecture of the Alpujarra, so every time we walk through the central plaza here in Cáñar, I see it both as Donald Grey saw it 25 years ago and also as it appears today. I wish the tree between the church and the fountain were still alive! Gray’s comment holds true, though: “Cáñar has one of the most pleasant squares, free of modern atrocities and with a beautiful fountain at the center of the square, which is not frequent in the Alpujarra.” (Most of them are built against walls.)

    The central square also has a prominent GR 7 sign, so today we followed its arrows toward the village of Soportujar. My phone had a humorous take on that name when I dictated it for the caption of a photo of the village. The text came up as “so poor too hard”. We had a good laugh since some parts of the track were indeed poor and hard. On the way back, we met an Irish-Australian couple who gave us a lot of good advice on which portions of the GR 7 are well maintained. They live down near the coast, but they said they come up to Cáñar frequently because they get their drinking water from the fountains here.

    We have an amazing opportunity coming up this evening. We’ve been invited to attend the final rehearsal for a series of upcoming concerts taking place in local villages featuring works by Vivaldi and Pergolesi. They’ll be rehearsing in the church, so not only will we hear the music, but we’ll have the chance to see, in Grey’s words, “its coffered ceiling, a roofing system inherited from the Moors, although constructed after the reconquest.”
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  • Càñar: Four water mills in a row

    25 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 59 °F

    We started out with three questions this morning.
    1. Would we be able to find all four of the flour mills that the ADR fichas show existed in the Barranco de las Parrillas above Cañar?
    2. If we found one or more, would there be enough of the mill structure left to see how it worked?
    3. Would we be able to figure out why there were so many mills all in one small area?

    The answers in short: no; sort of; and yes.

    The answers in more detail:
    1. Even with maps, photos and common sense to help us, we found only one mill (the ruins of the others have disappeared) - and we are not even sure which one we found: alto, medio, bajo, or Tío Casmiro’s! But we had a lot of fun finding that one, so we weren’t at all disappointed.

    2. We saw almost all the exterior parts of a typical rodezno mill, but not the interior machinery. A rodezno mill (see diagram in the photos) works when water is ducted off a river by an acequia-like structure called a caz. The caz follows a topo line out of the barranco, losing very little height until it reaches the top of what looks like a very tall stone chimney called a cubo. As the water falls through the cubo, its weight creates a force that drives a wheel (the rodezno) positioned horizontally, not vertically, at the bottom of the cubo. The rodezno is connected by an axle to the millstones above. The water then exits the mill through an arched opening called a cárcavo.

    3. Looking at the steep slope where the barranco came down, the logic of having four mills here was clear. They were placed like links in a chain. When the water exited the first mill, it was then carried by a new caz to the top of the cubo of the second mill, which was located farther down the slope. The original amount of water now powered the second mill. Falling again, it powered the third mill in the chain, and finally reached the fourth mill. Very efficient!

    A look down at the fairly level course of the Rio Guadalfeo and the flat vega extending from it made it clear to us that it would be impossible to situate rodezno mills down in the valley. They count on the force created by falling water (as is found in a barranco) to drive the wheel.

    This afternoon I read that this was indeed the case. From medieval times up to the 1960’s, long trains of mules went up with wheat and descended with flour, linking the cereal-growing areas of the lower Alpujarra, with hydraulic scarcity, and the high areas, with greater energy availability.

    We ended our walk by exploring south of the village and finding the ruins of an old olive oil mill, an era (threshing floor) that is now a parking lot with swings at the end, and the local school which has 24 students and five teachers!
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  • Cañar: Around the village

    24 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 52 °F

    This morning we tried to find the thirteen items that are shown on the ADR inventory as being located in the central village area of Cañar. Since seven of the thirteen are grouped around the central plaza, we were pretty successful. Our current Wikiloc track is full of squiggles and wrong turns, but we’ll be able to make a better one before we leave on Friday.

    We had a good chance to see the kind of quirky info the ADR inventory preserves when we were standing on the plaza. We would never in a million years have guessed that there was an acequia running beneath it, but the ADR ficha for the square told us there is a 30-meter long tunnel carrying the Acequia Grande underneath the stone pavement. I haven’t seen this info anywhere else - no civic plaque, no web presence in English, no tourist office brochure; so as a librarian, it’s quite satisfying to be able to make this and similar little pieces of history a bit more accessible through a Wikiloc track.

    The houses with traditional architecture are scattered around town and were a little trickier to locate since three of the six had street names but no numbers given on the fichas describing them. One of the listed houses was in the process of being restored and had just been gutted. We had great views of how the lintels over the doors were fitted, how thick the walls were, and how many stones were hidden under the smooth finish normally applied to a house.

    Tomorrow, we hope to track down the four mills just north of the village and one more to the south.
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  • Cañar: Acequia de Barjas

    23 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 54 °F

    If you love walking mountain trails - the kind where you are up so high that all vestiges of ordinary life are left behind - Cañar is the place for you. It is the highest village in this section of the Alpujarra, and the mountains rise sharply just behind the village. There is no feeling of prelude before you get to the exciting part of the trail. Ten steps beyond the church plaza and you are in the mountain world.

    We made an early start because we knew it was going to be a stiff climb up to where we could see the acequias cleared by the MEMOLA project. Although the trail was steep, it was very clearly marked. In fact, I would say the signposts and blazes are not more than a year old. We kept a slow but steady pace upward and within a few hours, reached the area where the acequia could be seen. Much to our surprise, the channel was completely dry. In some ways, though, this was a good thing because we could see the details of how it was laid out. Piles of stones and branches showed where clearing had taken place. It isn’t a very wide or deep acequia, but it carries enough water to irrigate the potato fields around Cañar.

    We came to a point where we could see Cerro Man ahead and marveled at knowing from the archaeological remains found there that the Romans built mines in this area. A cortijo sat just below Cerro Man, and we could hear a number of dogs barking wildly. I remembered the warnings I had read on several Wikiloc tracks that the owner of this cortijo had a threatening manner and let his dogs menace walkers who tried to cross in front of his property even though it is a public track alongside the acequia.

    The snowcapped peaks directly above Cerro Man were clear when we arrived at that point, but now were quickly disappearing in the clouds. Remembering how rapidly the clouds came down yesterday evening to below the level of Cañar and combining that with the threat of the dogs, we decided this was a good point to turn around. A quick jaunt down the four-wheel drive road got us back to Cañar before the rain hit.

    By this time it was midafternoon and we were very hungry, so a meal of albóndigas and croquetas at the local meson sounded good. The lady in charge was rather brusque when we arrived, but once we started asking her questions about the acequias, she became quite informative. She told us that the reason the acequia was dry today was that it wasn’t this branch’s turn to have water. Today, the gates higher up are open to a different area fed by the same acequia, not the area we were walking through. She also told us that this Saturday the MEMOLA project folks will be here in Cańar. About 40 volunteers and community members will be working on the annual spring cleaning of the acequia. Oh, how we wish we could be here to see that! Unfortunately, we are leaving on Friday. Our next casa isn’t too far away from here, so it might be possible to walk back and see some of the excitement.
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  • Cañar: higher than we imagined

    22 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 48 °F

    We have traded our casa rural in Tíjola where we were happily surrounded by olive trees and birdsong and total solitude for a casa rural that is quite a contrast. We are now at the edge of a small village (pop. 366) at an altitude of 1014 m (3327 ft), much higher than before, with a view over Órgiva and the Río Guadalfeo where we’ve been walking the last two weeks. They look tiny!

    It’s always great when you have high expectations for a place and then you get there and it exceeds your hopes. Nothing could have prepared us for this view! We had seen photos taken from here, and had looked up at the village every day from down below, but the camera can’t capture the reality of being on the edge of a sheer mountainside. One noticeable effect is that the satellite that informs Google Maps where we are can’t tell what street we are actually on as we walk around the village because the vertical distance between streets is great while the horizontal distance is negligible. Our blue dot is usually in the wrong place. First village where we’ve ever seen this happen.

    We took a taxi up because again we had to transport a lot of groceries. Good thing; this would have been a daunting climb for me with a full pack.

    We’ve had a main goal for each of the places we have stayed so far. In Orgiva, we wanted to get the ADR information. In Tijola, we wanted to be able to see El Valero. What has brought us to Cañar? The MEMOLA Project. Cañar is the heart of this multi-pronged effort to restore the water system used by the Moors. In the last 12 years, community members and volunteers have revived more than 80 km of high mountain acequias. We hope to see some of these grand acequias during our five days here. For a rousing view of the project, see this short video (in Spanish with English subtitles) that inspired us to come to Cañar: https://memolaproject.eu/node/381
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  • Tíjola: the GR 142

    21 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 55 °F

    There are three GR (Gran Recorrido) long-distance hiking trails that traverse the Alpujarra. The GR-240, known as the Sulayr, is a 300 km circular route that runs within the National Park borders in the mountains above the highest villages at about 1,800 m altitude. We have walked or cycled portions of it in the past, but will probably not access it on this trip. The GR 7 starts in Tarifa and finishes in Athens, traveling through the highest Alpujarra villages on the way (like Cañar at 1014 m where we are headed tomorrow). We will likely walk several stages of the GR 7 on this trip. The GR 142, also known as the Sendero Medieval, begins in the village just west of us, Lanjarón, and ends in Fiñana (where it happens to intersect with the Camino Mozárabe). This runs through the lowest level villages in the Alpujarra (like Tíjola at 325 m, where we are now). We have followed its distinctive red and white markings several times this week, including today. In fact, our entire walk today was on the GR 142.

    In earlier times, this would have been a dirt track, but now this particular portion has been turned into a narrow paved lane. One morning, as we were walking along it looking at our notes and trying to figure out whether the building in front of us was actually the old Molino del Ramon or not, a woman drinking coffee on a balcony above us called down to ask if we needed help. We explained our project to her and she came down to point things out. This turned into an hour long conversation with Almudena. It seems like she is related to all 100 or so people in Tíjola and thus was able to tell us about the history of the area. She pointed out that the pavement on which we were currently standing used to be the front patio of her grandmother’s house. When the provincial officials turned the dirt path into a paved lane, everyone in Tíjola lost part of their property. As the conversation continued, we came to admire the longevity of Almudena’s neighbors. To one side was a man of 93 still working in his fields, and on the other side, a man of 104 who died recently but maintained his orchard until his last years.

    This morning, the lane was heavily used. There were walkers like us headed into Órgiva for supplies, local residents traveling in cars or tractors to their fields in the vega, cyclists on electric bikes, the motorist in the Morgan we saw at the gas station in Órgiva last week, and a gentleman we have seen several times swinging by on his bike, pulling a trailer with an awning and a comfortable seat for his dog!

    Thinking of the man driving the Morgan, we’ve seen him pulling into his garage so we know he lives near here. Today we stopped to read the plaque on his house, as we’ve been doing with all the houses and old cortijos along the GR, and had a good laugh at what it said. (See the photos.)

    https://loc.wiki/t/255251025?h=bpbjbjwqzx&w…
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  • Tíjola: Down to the river at last!

    20 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F

    Every day since we arrived, we’ve been wanting to find a way to get down to the Río Guadalfeo. On the map, it looks wild and powerful, coming down from the Sierra Nevada in the north, joining up with the Río Trevélez and the Río Poqueria before it makes a 90° turn to the west and journeys through more mountains to finally flow into the Mediterranean. The flood plain is extensive, so we’ve had the feeling that we could walk along it and see the river if only we could find a way to get to it. We’ve tried several different lanes that look like they should take us to the water, but we’ve always been blocked by fences and gates.

    This morning we hit the jackpot, and the second lane we picked led us to a forest area with a nice path heading in the right direction. Soon we were picking our way through reeds and scrubby bushes that were clearly part of the flood plain. We came over a little rise, and there was the river, much wider and wilder than we had expected. We were able to walk up it until we reached the canyon wall that forces the river to turn 90° in direction. There were beautiful colors in the rock walls and no one else in sight - not even any buildings. It was easy to imagine what this must have looked like to the first settlers in this area.
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  • Tíjola: Cerro Negro

    19 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F

    The lane that climbs up Cerro Negro is so steep that it has chevrons carved into the concrete the entire way up so vehicles can get more traction when the surface is wet. Our plan when we set out this morning was to climb up just a little way and then turn off to walk along the level banks of the Acequia de las Ventanas, one of the two major acequias that feed all the minor ones we’ve been seeing the past few days. However, when we reached the acequia, there were large signs in either direction saying “private property, no passage”. The acequia itself is community property, but unless we wanted to walk in the water, it seemed we’d be trespassing along the banks.

    Angeles had told us earlier that the climb up Cerro Negro was steep but there were wonderful views to be had, so it was an easy decision to continue climbing. And it turned out to be a wise one! We had views all the way from Tíjola along the Rio Guadalfeo to El Puente de los Siete Ojos to Órgiva. Ned was able to use PeakFinder to learn that the pyramidal peak he been noticing for days is called Cerro de la Giralda. . On the way up there were terraced olive orchards, many balsas for water storage, and new cortijos to see around every bend. We could hear the bells of a large flock of sheep and had the good luck of seeing the sheep themselves on the way down, including the two dogs who were herding them. For a finale, we came around a corner with a great view of Órgiva just as the biggest religious celebration of the year began with hundreds of firecrackers all going off at once. We were glad we were so far away!
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  • Tijola: Acequias

    18 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F

    This morning, we wanted to explore the banks of the Río Guadalfeo which flows just south of the olive cortijo where we are staying. On the map, it looked like we could walk many kilometers along its banks because the flood plain is quite wide here. We remembered seeing a horse and rider setting off upriver not far from here the day we walked to the Puente de Siete Ojos, so we knew it was possible. The problem was how to get down to the flood plain. After comparing the IGN maps with the other maps sources we have, we thought we found a way down, but curiously, we couldn’t find any Wikiloc tracks that would give us a definitive answer. As it turned out, we worked our way down to within a few hundred meters of the flood plain, but there was a fenced olive plantation between us and the river and the gates were locked. Nevertheless, we had a good walk down there on quite a variety of surfaces. We started out on the single-lane road that connects the hamlets out here with Órgiva. This took us to a dirt track that connected with an acequia. Luckily, it was dry and we could walk right in it. Next came a totally unexpected stretch of dirt trail lined with pine trees where we heard what our phone identified as a Eurasian hoopoe singing. It would have been wonderful to sight the bird because it is so distinctive looking, but no matter how much we peered among the branches, we couldn’t spot it. Just when we thought the river would be around the next bend, we came face-to-face with a very large olive orchard behind a high fence with definitively locked gates.

    Although we couldn’t get to the river, we did get a very good look at the amazing abundance of acequias serving every orchard and field around here. These are all acequias de riego, designed for irrigation, not acequias de careo as seen higher up in the Alpujarra. This system of water conservation dates back to the period beginning in the 800s when the Moors ruled this part of the Iberian peninsula. They dug hundreds of kilometers of channels that followed topo lines in the high Sierra. These captured water from snow melt and rivers, carrying it to areas of permeable rock where the water infiltrated and fed underground aquifers only to re-emerge as springs at lower elevations during the dry season. Thus they cared for or “sheparded” the water and gained the name “careo”. When that same water flows through lower channels to irrigate crops as it does around here, the channels are called acequias de riego. We have never seen so many acequias de riego as we have in this area!
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  • Tijola: El Valero

    17 mars, Spanien ⋅ ☀️ 70 °F

    Today was the fulfillment of a twenty-year dream: seeing the location of the cortijo that the author Chris Stewart wrote about in his three books titled Driving Over Lemons, The Almond Blossom Appreciation Society, and the Last Days of the Bus Club. Ned and I read these before our first trip to Spain in 2009. In fact, they were the inspiration for riding our mountain bikes through this part of Andalucía. The route we rode, however, is located about 1300 m (4000 ft) higher up in the Sierra Nevada, so we never actually had the chance to see El Valero. We did try! I remember standing near O Sel Ling, the Buddhist retreat center and peering down into the vast barranco trying to spot any sign of El Valero. The entire area just looked deep and dark and forbidding.

    Then on our next bike trip, we actually got to meet Chris Stewart. He was conducting a writing workshop in a small village that we were cycling through, and we ended up eating dinner in the same place. He was kind and generous with his time and chatted with us about the books. He had a good laugh when we told him our daughter‘s favorite chapter was the one about the industriousness of the dung beetles near his sheep shed. (And in fact, even now we often stop during our hikes just to watch a dung beetle rolling along a burden that always seems larger than the beetle itself. )

    On this trip, we have gained a whole new point of view about this area, feeling like the geography is magical rather than dark and forbidding, an attitude that extended to our walk today. We strolled along the vega carved out by the Rio Guadalfeo for the first half, admiring all the olive plantations and the acequia-fed fields of vegetables. Then the climb up the barranco started. Just when I thought I couldn’t climb any higher, we came around a corner and reached a high point. We could see the dams on the river that are described in Stewart’s books. Following the canyon upwards with our eyes, his house and barn appeared. What a thrill to see the setting. It was bathed in sunshine and clearly was the little piece of heaven he describes in his writing. He and his wife and daughter have had many an adventure in the 30+ years since he bought this run-down old place on a whim, unable to access a village in either direction when the rivers were running high (like today). From our vantage point, we sent him a silent message of thanks for sharing his stories with us.

    Today’s Wikiloc track is from Ned’s WalkingNW account. No photos. I am saving my track as a draft so I can add the ADR ficha information when we get home and I can use my computer. It takes too long to do it on the phone, especially when I want to use my time for walking, not for making tracks.
    https://loc.wiki/t/254749581?h=bpbjbjwqzx&w…
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