This postpartum family bonding adventure has been Sabrina’s dream for the past six years. Our little gang consisted of different personalities, mobility challenges, complete time switch for Ellie, in-laws and new parents but it all worked out beautifully! The trip was everything, and more, that Sabrina (and the rest of us) hoped it would be! We laughed until our stomachs hurt (playing with munchkin), made forever memories hiking through countless mesmerizing hikes. And through it all, Ellie was pure joy.

The Nerja Caves are a renowned massive cave system that were occupied in the Upper Palaeolithic Era. There are hundreds of prehistoric drawings (that we were unable to see due to preservation challenges). It was the only ‘tourist sight’ we saw and it was impressive.

Sabrina, Ben, Ellie, Jen and Fraser fly out of Madrid and are making their way northward as I write. They dropped me off at the Malaga airport where I am waiting to board my flight to Dublin. I’m going to squish in whatever Irish adventures I can in my 30 hour layover. And I just realized that the boarding line I have been keeping track of is going to Turkey. It is intermingled with my now very short boarding line. I’ve gotta go!!

Historical story about the Cortijo del Fraile Hermitage (copied and pasted from the internet).

BLOOD WEDDING

On 22 July 1928 the “Crimen de Nijar” (Crime of Nijar) took place at the cortijo, which inspired Federico Garcia Lorca to write his famous play Blood Wedding, and Carmen de Burgos to pen the novel Puñal de Claveles.

Francisca Cañadas Morales was born in Nijar in 1908 and lived in Cortijo los Frailes. She was known as Paquita La Coja (Paquita the Lame) because of her gammy leg. Some attribute this to polio, others to a hip dislocation when her father smacked her bottom too hard as a baby to stop her crying. Her father arranged for her to marry Casimiro Perez Pino, who lived near the cortijo.

The wedding party met at the Cortijo del Fraile in the evening for the nighttime wedding (traditional in those days) and guests noticed the bride was missing. Then they realised that her cousin Francisco Montes Cañadas was also missing and they worked out that she had eloped with the man she had been close to from a young age. The guest began searching and found Paquita a mile away, with her clothes torn and a bloody neck, claiming to have been strangled by masked robbers.

Francisco’s body was found 8km away at Cañada Honda Serrata (later marked by an impromptu cairn of small stones and a wooden cross) on the track to Los Pipaces, shot three times. José Pérez, the brother of the abandoned groom, handed himself in. He claimed at the trial that he had not pulled the trigger, but would not say who did. Perez was found guilty and given a seven year prison term, but only served three, and died shortly after of typhus. Francisca’s attempted murderers were Carmen Glen, her own sister and wife of José Perez. The killers were hooded and Francisca claimed to recognize the voices but refused to reveal the identities. Carmen was found guilty of attempted murder and served a 15-month jail sentence.

The groom Casimiro was found to be innocent of any connection with the murder. He never spoke to Francisca again and later married Josefa Segura. They lived in the fishing village of San José with their two children and he died in 1990. Francisca lived quietly as a recluse at El Hualix near the Cortijo, cared for by a niece. She never married, and refused to tell her story, despite petitions from journalist all over the world. She only met Carmen once again – when Francesca was very ill, Carmen came to the bedside and apologized. Francisca forgave her, but did not want to talk. Francisca died in 1987 and was buried in Nijar cemetery, not far from her murdered cousin.

Our new location is a little hacienda, three kilometers from the small coastal fishing village of Las Negras on the Cabo de Gata Peninsula (that section of coast is also called the ‘Ruta de los Pirates’). This arid, sparsely populated southeast corner of Spain is the driest place in Europe and feels like the mid southwest (many western movies are filmed here). It is surrounded by range after range of barren mountains with many varieties of blooming cactus, deserted beaches with sapphire Mediterranean water lapping its shores and stunning rock formations. The hiking has been absolutely wonderful!

The 14 kilometer trail (unreachable by road) across the range from Las Negras to Agua Amarga was rated by Lonely Planet as one of the best in Spain, but the 28 kilometer return trip was too grueling for las dos abuelas (the two grandmothers), so Sabrina devised a plan. Jen and I would start from here, she and Ben would drive the 62 kilometers around the range to the other end and start from there. We would meet on the trail, transfer the car keys, then Jen and I would drive home from Agua Amarga. That way we could all do the hike. Sabrina uploaded, downloaded and reloaded navigation apps and maps on my phone, including their zoleo (a satellite system where you can send a pinned location or an SOS) and a crash course in operating all the technology (my brain was sparking and in danger of short circuiting). But since none of us have a Spanish SIM card or internet, it was important to stay on trail so we didn’t risk missing each other.

We passed through San Pedro, an isolated (reachable only by foot) tiny hippie dippie community of cobbled together shelters from reclaimed castle ruins (built in the 1570’s to fend off pirate attacks), tents, and a couple of roughly built structures. It’s been occupied since the 1960’s by people living an alternate lifestyle and while it was interesting, my eyes were mostly glued to the trail app on my phone making sure we didn’t get lost in the maze of trails and end up in some occupied cave with ‘our’ trail lost forever. Jen said, “I could see me living here during my hippie days”. I said, “I could see me living here now”. But I couldn’t, I’d miss my grandkids too much. And who would grow my blueberries.

It was a great success and so we did it again, with Ben and Jen going one way, and me and Sabrina going the other way for another wonderful hike.

For over two hundred years the tiny village of Acebuchal, perched in the foothills of the Taheda mountains, was a waypoint for merchants traveling by mule to Grenada to sell their wares. But in 1949 it’s inhabitants were forced out by Franco, who used it as a base to hunt down guerrillas that opposed the fascist regime and eventually the village fell to ruin. For 60 years it was a ghost town until a former resident revived and renovated the 30 odd homes, started a small restaurant, and it is now a thriving family business with home stays. It was beautiful hike there and Sabrina and Ben treated Jen and me to lunch in the quaint little village (sadly Fraser isn’t able to come with us on any of our hikes as he is blind. He stays at the villa and listens to audio books and works out chess puzzles in his mind). We accompanied our delicious savory dish of wild boar and beef cheeks with bread and olive oil which was, hands down, the best bread I have ever tasted.

We will be leaving this sanctuary for another location in this land of olives and avocados on Sunday. Our stay so far has been full of abundance – lots of hiking, writing on the deck facing sea and mountains, Mediterranean cooking, and laughing with lil Ellie.

Little five-month old Ellie has been a real champ with all the travel. The eight-hour time difference (from Alberta) confused her at first, but she has adjusted and is content resting against Sabrina in her sling or carrier as we explore. Her squeals of baby laughter are a joy to everyone.

Our mountain villa, with its stunning view of the Mediterranean, is about an hour and a half north east of Malaga. Sabrina has researched the most noteworthy and beautiful trails in the area, which are generally part of the GR (Grande Routa) system. While the small (often blind and one lane) winding roads around the mountains to reach the trails can be slightly harrowing, the hiking is magnificent.

I stopped back in Essaouira on my way Spain-ward. I wanted another hammam (still awesome!) and I also wanted to stock up on some stuff. I bought six kilograms of almond butter, three kilograms of black argan soap, two kilograms of dates (I knew the kids would love it all), a liter of olive oil and a ton of spices. I also bought a bunch of groceries (I was arriving to our mountainside villa earlier in the day than Sabrina and company and I wanted to have supplies to make dinner). I knew I had space for it all (barely) but what slipped my mind as I loaded it into my backpack was the weight of it. When I tried to hoist said backpack, I couldn’t lift it. I had to sit on my bum, put it on and then roll onto all fours. When I managed to drag myself into a wobbly semi-upright position my back was like, “wait, I don’t understand whats happening! Why! why!!”

Whenever any bus attendant or official tried to move my pack they would do a double take and stare back at me. On one train a young, burly Russian tourist that I had been chatting with offered to take it off the train for me and I noticed his knees buckle a little. He really stared back at me. At least I wasn’t worried about anyone running off with it. But the thought of navigating buses, hostels, trains, and a ferry for 1028 kilometres with a 33 kilogram backpack (we weighed it at the hostel in Essaouira) made me feel a little panicky. I decided to just relax, breathe, take it slow and steady, and that’s what I did.

As per my backs request, I questioned myself as to why exactly I bought so much and all I could come up with is that I just get so excited and wrapped up in how much fun it is to share the enjoyment of foods and pleasures of other places. I realize that my extremes can appear almost unhinged at times. Maybe it is a little, but it is also the weight of my love. And that is a weight I’ll gladly carry.

My back gradually accepted the load with glassy-eyed resignation and mostly without complaint. But I sure was happy to board the last bus.

I arrived in Spain in our villa yesterday afternoon! The views are stunning (pictures and more next post). I had dinner on the stove and was eagerly awaiting Sabrina, Ben, Little Ellie, and Ben’s parents, Jen and Fraser. They had landed in Madrid (sadly their luggage didn’t arrive with them), had rented a car, and drove the six (plus) hour drive. The small blind, hairpin turns up and around the mountains were absolutely crazy (I experienced them on the bus) and I tried not to worry. It was almost dark! And then I saw their headlights slowly making their way up the narrow bumpy driveway. It was a joyful and teary reunion.