The plan was
simple enough but as is the case the execution of it proved tricky. The aim to
go high into the interior hinterlands and do a walk. We had picked the spot,
Soria and a walk around Presa de Soria (Lake Soria). An altitude of 1500m and a
4.5 hr circuit of some 16km.
Getting out
of the resort proved the first hurdle. A recent landslide closing the road west
to Puerto Mogan means you have to head east to Tauro to pick up the motorway; a
20-minute diversion. The GC 200 after Mogan climbed and climbed up through the
ravine, switch back after switch back. The Citroen Cactus never came out of first
or second gear. Towering cliffs above with caves scattered across their
vertical faces, the old dwellings of shepherds and possibly even the original
gaucho inhabitants from centuries ago.
Up through cypress pine forests, the
narrowing road twisted and turned. Some hairpin bends so sharp that the road
above was practically on top of the road beneath. The drops, breath taking.
Literally. Down below in the valleys, terraces built by hand. But none of the
greenery one would expect. For the November rains this year did not appear and
the landscape vegetation has a dry brown wispy wheat hue to it. On the inside
bends of roads that clung to cliffsides, rock falls and scattered stones across
tarmac. Every corner approached at 10mph in case some locals from the highest
villages came whizzing around corners. As a light mountain mist drizzle
appeared, rainbows broke out across gorges, their tops not even reaching the
summit of the highest cliffs. Breath taking views.
The highest
road the GC 505 nearly broke us both. Barely the width of the car, uneven and
cracked tarmac with slumping on outer corners, it wound across the cliffsides,
multiple hairpin bends built one on top of the other. ‘Her indoors’, who on
many occasions has displayed nerves of steel (best demonstrated on the occasion
when walking home one night to our Namibian hut, we got caught between wild
elephants on the one side of the dusty track and hunting lions on the other and
she displayed her grit and courage by
singing ‘Nellie the elephant’ at the top of her voice to scare everything away.
It worked by the way), anyway she refused to film any part of this particular
road section because both hands were gripping anything they could on the car! Occasionally
where there was space, thin grey metal pipes ran alongside the fragmented tarmac
and in places hand built narrow concrete leats, long since dried up, crossed
underneath.
The descent
in to Soria was positively spine tingling and not in a good way. Her indoors
nerves were by now, severely frayed and that is very rare. Very rare indeed.
The cafe at Soria was so welcome.
Beneath a tree, hikers sought shade from the
rising sun, their heavy packs dumped on the ground around them. Here the
walking route s60 brings walkers respite and toilets before it continues it
winding way across the mountains and ravines. For us it bought tranquillity and
time to repair damaged nerves. Suffice to say it took several cappuccinos with
lashings of fresh cream on top and several sugars, and I mean several, before
composure was restored. Mine that is. Her indoors? She just sucked her breath
in a couple of times and commented ‘Interesting
drive darling, well done’. Despite thirty three years of marriage, I wasn’t
quite sure whether she was being sarcastic or not!
Across from
our café, a small village of white washed and yellow houses with red roofs
clung to the hillside terraces. Each one had its own small fenced off garden.
Dates, bananas, tangerines and oranges. Some outhouses had small stable blocks
with goats and chickens. A rural economy high in the mountains.
And the
lake? Completely gone. A 4km long, 60m deep lake just not there. A dam sitting
forlornly, mourning past times when it held back the November deluges. The
incongruous site of three rowing boats sat high and dry up a steep slope summed
up the drought!
Fortified,
we set up off the road to the car park. And what a car park. In an amphitheatre
of towering cliffs. I realised, with no disrespect to northern colleagues, how
small Malham Cove is! Vertical, wind sculpted volcanic cliffs, stood proud, shades
of varying colour against a bright blue sky. And, hugging the steep narrow
ravine, a stony track barely a car’s width, contouring its way upwards at a
gradual incline. Our path!
With a chill
in the air, thin clouds hugging towering buttresses and a very faint but
perceptible misty drizzle, we donned fleeces and put best feet forward. Through
the pine trees with their huge pine cones littering the stony floor and their
periodic stunning vistas across small farms, abandoned huts and ancient stone
wall terraces, far below us, we trudged forward purposefully. Through the bamboo
thickets, along walls of volcanic rock, multi coloured with huge volcanic bombs
lodged within walls of rock hard ash. Between volcanic boulders, grew tufts of thin
spikey grasses and small bushes with tiny leaves to protect against
evapotranspiration losses. Plant environmental adaptation at its best.
Scattered and in small groves, date palm trees; and punctuating the skylines on
the cliff tops far above, random pines. Periodically 20m above us, a cave,
protected by a rough hand built stone wall. We’ve yet to work out how anyone
scaled the cliff to actually reside in these caves in the first place. I used
to climb but it was beyond my comprehension how people managed to reach some of
these ancient dwellings.
In front of
us a steep gorge ravine a kilometre across slowly revealed itself; its right
hand near vertical flank towering another 900m above us. Thick layers of hardened
dolerite gave a differentially weathered, banded appearance to the cliffs which
were periodically bisected by narrow but
towering prehistoric column lava flows. Occasionally, a small passing place
would afford an opportunity to stop and marvel at the unfolding vistas below. Serrated
mountain ridges descended to the sea silhouetted against the bright blue skies,
like a dragons scaly, spiky backbone. In the faint misty drizzle more rainbows,
their colours lurid against the dull blacks and browns of the banded
cliffsides. One felt so small in such an impressive, rugged and wild landscape.
A few
kilometres up, the view behind afforded us the opportunity to watch an ancient
open topped Suzuki jeep begin its way up the very track we walked. Incredulous
does not sufficiently sum up our feelings as we watched it inch and crawl its
way up the track. At times the passenger side wheels were barely on the track
and stones were sliding beneath and rolling hundreds of metres down slope. But,
with consummate skill, the driver drew closer, his speed measured and constant,
the little white jeep rocking from side to side as tyres crossed rocks and
dips. A wave, the glimpse of a young
weathered brown face with alert eyes and welcoming smile and the jeep with its
astonishing driver disappeared around the bend.
We watched it climb steadily into the distance clinging to the vertical
wall rockface until eventually it reached a summit and disappeared from view.
As we
steadily climbed, above us on the steep rock-strewn slopes with its low Mediterranean
scrub, goat bells could be heard. Somewhere goats were traversing the slopes
and it took time to spot them, their brown and black coats camouflaged against
the ground. Higher still, the barks of dogs reverberated around the mountain
peaks, the bark echo lasting several seconds and bouncing off the towering
buttresses and ravine walls. It sounded impressive and slightly scary. Maybe it
was a pack of dogs and not just the two that barked first!!
Towards the
highest col, the weather began to change. A stiff breeze, the north-east trade
winds, began to build and clouds thickened on summit peaks above. Fine drizzle
turned to something slightly heavier and dampness pervaded the dry, clean
mountain air. Dusty dry rocks took on a glistening sheen and the sun became
hidden, its warm glow struggling to burn off greying clouds. We discussed options and decided on going a
little further, for ahead, intriguingly, lay a low white washed building,
almost carved into the vertical cliff above it; and in front of it, the white
Suzuki jeep. Turning the steep corner by
a single tall eucalyptus tree, there in the shade of a stunted pine, a café!
Well, the wooden hand painted sign said café. Three plastic wicker stools
surrounding a wooden keg with a flat circular board nailed on top sat under a
roadside tree. In the table’s centre a small display built in a pyramid
fashion. Some small bottles of water, some non-alcoholic beers, jars of picked
cheese and small jars of golden brown syrupy honey surrounded a vase with herbs
and grasses in. A crate of oranges lay resting against the lower portion of the
barrel; behind an icebox and a pile of papaya. Two small machete knives with
coarse twine handles were stuck in a strap surrounding the lower barrel
portion.
From beneath
the tree and its shade rose a lean figure. White cowboy hat, blue shirt and
faded jeans, blond hair and beard, bright blue eyes and the young weather
beaten brown face. Instantly recognisable as Suzuki jeep driver, he beckoned us
up the short steep track and in clear accented English welcomed us to his
‘check’ point café. The smile was broad and welcoming, the handshake firm.
Strong, nut brown hands, blistered in places. Hands that toiled the land.
Water was
proffered for free along with two fresh oranges. Money for this sustenance was
refused but ‘perhaps we could buy some
honey and cheese’. Price, whatever we felt acceptable. Two dogs, obedient
to their young master with the shy smile, lolled at our feet; always alert to
the slightest sound. Clearly very good guard dogs!
Dom, it
turned out was Czech, hence the ‘czech point café! He lived and worked in
Blackpool for five years, rescuing and then taking over the running of a local
skip business from its disorganised and perhaps less than honest owner. Now, here high in the mountains and far from
the crowded coastal strip, he looked after a second home cottage for a German
lady who visited twice a year. We discussed mountain life and its difficulties;
we swapped stories of how global warming was affecting our respective
environments. How few British tourist walked the trails. Fresh papaya and
tangerines picked from the tree behind were offered and payment refused. Both
were the freshest, juiciest fruits we have ever tasted (well perhaps the fresh
dates were in Messini, Greece and the freshest mangos on a Costa Rican beach,
might just win, but only by the very narrowest of margins. They certainly
didn’t have the welcome and generous spirit attached though).
The dogs
shuffled stones towards our feet with their noses, ready for some fun; instantly
earning a gentle but firm rebuke from their young master. Stones were bad for their teeth. We discussed the advantages of solar panels,
how he had internet and TV even in this remote area and how he loved the simple
life tending chickens, looking after his goats, dogs and donkey. He explained
the benefits of organic farming, so necessary to make things grow when water
was short. Did we not think ‘the papaya
was fresh and juicy’? Well of course, genuinely so. The trick, would we
like to know? ‘Most definitely!’ Well
its copious amounts of donkey shit! Suddenly, they didn’t taste so flavoursome
but his earnest honesty and quiet gentle humour gained our instant forgiveness.
Such generosity of spirit was to be admired and learned from. Thirty minutes passed under that small tree,
our hands sticky with fruit juices and then the weather closed. The mists drew
in, the drizzle started again; blue skies and warm sun disappeared. It was time
to retreat back downhill. Firm handshakes, smiles, slap on the back. Please, we
should not forget him. Remember our time together at the ‘czech point’.
Well Dom, we
certainly will. You made our day special, a treasured memory. Thank you for the
delicious fruit, the wonderful discussions and the generosity. We departed with
honey, two more freshly picked tangerines and good memories. It was a privilege
meeting you. Thank you for sharing part of your day with us.
The journey
down was less eventful than the route up. We went a different way, not without
its hairpin bends! It comes to something when cyclists overtake you downhill on
hairpin bends. I can’t quite decide whether that is humiliating or a testimony
to my safe, cautious driving!
Tips:
- Don't rely completely on your Sat Nav
- For car hire we used AutoReisen at the airport and they were outstanding with no hidden surcharges or costs. Make sure before you leave with the hire car that it has two emergency triangles and two fluro jackets.
- Petrol stations are closed Sunday's in the island interior
- On the twisty roads, locals come around the bends as if they own them; you've been warned!
- Roundabouts - if you are British be warned. They drive around roundabouts on the outside lane at all times for any exit; DO NOT go to the inside lane and then pull across for the third exit. You will cause chaos!!
- We used the map below and it was outstanding. Very accurate and had all the walking trails marked on. This map was used constantly every day and we didn't find any inaccuracies. It is waterproof and tear proof. An excellent buy.
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