Letter from Andalusia - travel writing retrospective part IV

Letter from Andalusia

What better escape for the weary travel writer than to, erm, travel somewhere? Autumn was slowly making its rust-coloured appearance in the UK and in an effort to delay the inevitable I opted for a trip to southern Spain to catch the last of the summer sunshine before the advent of colder days.

After a night in Málaga I headed up into the mountains, to Las Alpujarras, a mountainous area in the southern part of the Sierra Nevada range. The bus journey followed the outline of the bright blue sea until the road turned away from the coast and we started going up, up and away towards the town of Órgiva, where my taxi awaited to whisk me all the way to the tiny village of Ferreirola, with less than 30 permanent inhabitants.

After many years of the hustle and bustle of London, I often find myself drawn to quiet, solitary places of peace and Casa Ana, my abode for the week, proved to be just such a haven. Arriving at dusk, it was only the following morning I had a chance to fully appreciate the stunning views from the garden and terraces around the house. Tucking into a breakfast that included deliciously sweet fig jam to go with my tea and toast, I was beginning to feel ready for an exploratory amble in the vicinity.

I found myself in a part of Spain known for its so-called white villages – stark, white-washed houses – some of which have been abandoned over the years, but that are now seeing renewed interest both from locals and people from near and far who have settled in this scenic region. On my first walk, to nearby Atalbéitar, I felt instantly transported to one of the Arab kingdoms, the architecture was bearing such a striking resemblance to that part of the world. The many centuries of Moorish rule are very apparent here.

Over the week I spent in Ferreirola, I managed to fit in several walks to nearby villages, past streams and natural springs, along orchards and through forest. Hiking is an excellent, if pant-inducing, way of getting around these places. Some of the hills are not for the faint-hearted and in winter Sierra Nevada has snow-cover, with good skiing. The landscape and the house where I was staying, also lent themselves perfectly to quiet contemplation and writing. Any jagged London nerves were soon soothed into relaxation and by the end of the week I was ready for a new adventure of the comfort zone-stretching kind.

It had been over 23 years since I last had the courage to get on a horse, after getting thrown off and injuring myself while visiting Iceland as a teenager, but now I finally decided it was time to be brave and try my luck again. In Iceland they have ponies – my “beast” in Spain, Portos, seemed more like a horse-shaped giant when I first saw him and I was almost quaking in my boots as I clambered on with a complete lack of grace.

A couple of hours’ pleasant ride in the Sierra Nevada national park though and my past bad memories, bordering on the phobic, had turned into just that – past memories. Feeling enormously pleased with myself –  all the aches and pains from jolting unsuspecting muscles only turned up the following day – I celebrated by munching the best pizza in Andalusia, lovingly prepared by Carlos from Uruguay, at his lovely restaurant, Cuevas de la Mora Luna, in the small neighbouring village of Mecina.

Heaven and haven are sometimes really close together.

By Anna Maria Espsäter

For more information on Casa Ana see www.casa-ana.com or contact info@casa-ana.com.