Lolapaluza

I am enjoying the beautiful mountainous Alpujarras, the curving roads and the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, that contrast with the clear blue sky! I can already see us touring the region in a classic Renault 4 or Citroën 2CV and I am telling Teresa that we are looking for one to buy. She starts to glow and tells us about her ancient blue 2CV, which she unfortunately sold a long time ago. Teresa proudly talks about her trip in 1960 with the Citroën classic of her first French lover from Nantes, all the way from Granada to Paris. It took us a while negotiating about who would be the driver of today’s road trip. But this time, Johan beat our 80-year-old neighbour.

Teresa, sitting in the backseat: "This is a different world!" Meanwhile, we are looking out over the fertile valley with Órgiva in its center, the bohemian capital of la Alpujarra Granadina. Not Bo-chic or Boho Ibiza, but old-fashioned bohemian sixties style and popular with hippies and wannabes looking for “la pura vida”.

The bridge over the ravine at Tablate is one of the most historical places within the borders of our hometown Pinos del Valle. It had been one of the gateways to the isolated Alpujarras for centuries. In the novel “La Alpujarra”, in which writer Pedro Antonio de Alarcón went in search of the last signs of the Arab heritage in Spain at the end of the 19th century, he tells about the eternal battle for this bridge by the Romans, Arabs and Christians. On January 10th, 1569, the Spanish finally defeated the Moors with an army of 2,000 men and 400 horses and moved further to Lanjarón to expel the Moors from the Alpujarras.

El puente de Tablate.

We are driving deeper and deeper into this, once inhospitable, region and the ever-changing landscapes and vegetation, the ravines and the white villages that are so characteristic of the Alpujarras are fascinating me. Teresa, while she herself is being very busy with her phone, asks me to stop chatting and to stop looking over my shoulder all the time, since otherwise I might get a stiff neck and I might get sick. We are gaining a lot of height over the steep winding roads. The light blue facemasks, on the other hand, have now dropped to the level below the chin as we are passing a checkpoint of the Guardia Civil. Somewhat shocked: "Oops!" We are looking at each other with guilty faces. Teresa: "Let's remember this location for the way back."

We have now reached the first stop of the road trip. I am listening to Teresa instructing Johan in a directive manner how to manouvre through the steep narrow streets of the mountain village of Mecina Bombarón. It’s a tidy village with a prosperous look and feel, and it reminds me of Switzerland. Some facades are decorated with red geraniums, the fresh mountain air is tickling my nose through the open windows and I am hearing the sound of running water all around. Johan parks the car at Teresa's Hansel & Gretel house, on the outskirts of Mecina at 1,200 meters above sea level.

Teresa tells us that she hasn't been here since Christmas, so while she is rolling up the blinds in front of the small windows of the house, we are having a talk with her neighbours Yvonne and Jo, who are the owners of B&B Casa la Bombarón. Yvonne tells us about her hiking passion and about the wonderful hiking trails in the Alpujarras that she and Jo have discovered over the past 16 years. Yvonne casually reveals the age of our mutual neighbour and friend, which is a detail I had been too shy to ask for in the past few months.

Teresa in front of her Casa La Casilla in the Alpujarras.

Teresa, shouting from her doorway: "Rayger, Johan! Rayger, Johan! Come, come in!!”  I am aware that my name “Reijer”, typically Dutch, is not the easiest for the Brits and Spanish to pronounce. Anyway, Johan and I are invited to come inside. Her hideaway in the mountains has been appropriately named “la Casilla”. In other words: the Box. This box was renovated some 15 years ago. 

The amazing beams and slate ceiling immediately draws my attention as we enter the kitchen diner located on the mezzanine. There are French doors opening to a small patio and a staircase down brings us to the former stables, which are now a snug living with a gigantic fireplace and bathroom en suite. “This is where the mule used to find shelter and where the villagers fattened their pig”, Teresa tells us, pointing to the gate through which the cattle were let in and out. On the upper floor she shows us a second bedroom with en-suite bathroom, which is tiled with the beautiful mosaics from her historic family home in Salobreña. The view from the roof terrace is amazing. While Teresa is about to give her hideaway a thourough cleaning in preparation for a prospective buyer's viewing, she sends us off to enjoy a walk through the chestnut woods. 

This beautiful view at 1,200 meters is for sale. Write me an email and I'll bring you in contact with Teresa.

Johan prefers to walk to the “barrio bajo”, the lower village where we just passed the local bar, in stead of walking through the campo. We seat ourselves on the sunny terrace while the village life is passing us by. A masculine peasant woman suddenly appears on the scene and proudly shows us a gigantic egg from one of her chickens. According to her, this extremely large egg should have three yolks. After sitting lazily in the sun for an hour and paying € 4.40 for 2 café cortado and 2 café con leche, we walk back up the steep streets and pick up Teresa for the second part of the road trip to our lunch venue.

While passing the local village church, Teresa tells us that it used to be a mosque in which the Moors were herded together and murdered during the Inquisition. Ildefonso Falcones wrote a beautiful historical novel about the Morisks in the Alpujarras. “The hand of Fátima” tells the story of the Muslims who were forcibly converted to Christianity and had had enough of the legal inequality, the looting and humiliation by the Christians and who rebelled against them.

Johan gives a signal just before passing the curve in the road where the Guardia Civil checkpoint was before. We are quickly pulling the face masks back over our mouths and noses. The law enforcement officers have already left however and are most likely on their way to lunch with their own families too.

The vineyards of Bodega Cuatro Vientos at about 1,150 meters above sea level.

We are leaving the upland Alpujarra de la Sierra, the remote region where the British author Gerald Brenan lived between 1920 and 1934. In his autobiography “South from Granada” he tells us about his experiences in a Spanish village, deeply hidden in this mountain range. We are now driving through the valley to the lower mountain ridge of la Contraviesa on the south side, where the highest vineyards in Europe are located at up to 1,400 meters altitude above sea level.