A HIKE IN THE COUNTRY
A Cliff-Hanging Tale of Cave Dwellers, Kindly Gypsies and Cold Beer
A couple of months ago, Kay and I decided that walking to the nearby town of El Fargue, having lunch at a recommended restaurant there, then taking the bus back, was a splendid idea. We’d been told that the old road to El Fargue was less traveled and that it ended at our destination restaurant. We didn’t know how far away the town was, or how long the walk would take, so we set off early, giving ourselves time to reach the restaurant for lunch.
As we walked along the narrow, winding, two-lane blacktop, our friend Tammo, pulled up alongside in his car. He had his two, young sons and their dog with him. They’d been biking in the park further along the road. He told us that just before we reached El Fargue, we’d see a dirt soccer field, and that the road that turned there led back towards Granada and the Albaicín by way of the abbey. We’d walked to the long-abandoned abbey several times, so we knew where we’d be. Tammo said that the area we would be walking through was park land, and that if we looked to the right, we’d see a trail that wound along the hillside. If we took the trail, we wouldn’t have to walk down the hill to the river, then back up to get home.
The walk took only a bit over an hour, and, it being to early for lunch, we had a couple of tapas and walked back home by the road to the abbey. We decided not to take the trail that day, but we could see it from the road, and decided to hike it soon.
Soon came in mid-June. The temperature was creeping up day by day, so we decided that it was now or next fall. We set out in the morning, took a short cut to the old road by climbing up to and around the hermitage, which, like the abbey, was abandoned, then walked along the old road. We turned by the soccer field, and found, just as Tammo had described, the trailhead. The trail was in good condition. As we walked, we passed signs stating that the hillside was being restored, and, at one strategically placed spot, a cement bench to take in the view. The view, after emerging from the trees, was fantastic. We were looking down on the Alhambra from at least a mile away. We could also see a portion of Granada. This, we agreed, would make a great, autumn picnic-hike, especially done in the opposite direction.
After 30-40 minutes on the trail, we reached a round, bald hilltop with an even larger cement bench from which to take in the vista. Straight ahead, and far below, we could see the river valley. To the left was a steep ravine, and on the other side of that the abbey. To the right was an equally steep ravine, at the bottom of which were the rooftops of the Sacromonte, the old gypsy barrio. Behind us was the trail we’d just walked. Above us, to our right, we could see the hermitage where we’d begun our walk. What we didn’t see was a continuation of the trail. There didn’t seem to be any way down.
On the other side of the ravine to our right, above the Sacromonte, the hillside was pockmarked with caves. These weren’t the well-made, stucco-walled caves with doors and windows that lined the streets and walkways of the Sacromonte. These were holes in the ground. There were dozens of them, and they were inhabited. The caves were connected by a network of footpaths, some leading off into the distance, some back up the hill towards the hermitage, and at least one which disappeared between the houses below. The trick was getting to the footpaths.
I walked out to the edge of the ravine and looked back, trying to determine if there was any route over to those footpaths. Kay called me back from what she knew to be my certain death. She loudly bemoaned our situation, declared that our only choices were to retrace our steps, or to remain where we were and hope for rescue. What kind of trail just ended? Kay was not, at that moment, a happy camper.
Eureka! Below where I stood, about 25 yards down the hillside, there was a rough path leading back to the top of the ravine. Once there, we could carefully pick our way around to the other side, then from path to path till we reached civilization. The 25 yards down the hillside did present a challenge, but so did turning back. We started down, me crouched over in an effort not to have my feet slide from under me, Kay just behind, her hands tightly gripping my belt. I wondered what would happen if she fell. I had a vision of her falling and hanging down the hillside, my belt in her hands, my trousers around my ankles. Now that would be an awkward predicament. Before I could plan a method of survival, we reached the footpath that led to the other side of the ravine.
We were now on reasonably level ground. We were also walking within inches of cave entrances. To our right we passed by a five-foot hole in the hillside, often covered with a piece of fabric, and to our left, occupying the three feet or so between the path and drop-off, the “yard.” On these small outdoor living spaces were chairs, tables, stacks of boxes, even a couch. Getting this stuff up here could not have been easy. Several times we found ourselves walking through someone’s “patio.” We passed a young person sleeping on a makeshift, outdoor bed, and, just as were passing, a topless woman emerged from her cave. This community of cave dwellers brought a new dimension to the term “alternative lifestyle.”
Eventually we reached a point about half way down — we were standing on a rock with paths dropping off in several directions — when we could see a footpath pass between the houses below. But we weren’t able to determine which path would lead us there. Just below us we saw a family. One of the possible ways down led through their living area. They looked up at us and we looked down at them.
“Donde bajo?” Kay called down. Proper Spanish usage be damned, we were trying to survive.
“Si,” the woman answered, and pointed at the path by their house. We slowly crept down the hill to the path, Kay gripping my belt, me being especially careful so as not to lose my trousers, though I don’t think it would have mattered much. As we passed by the cave, the man greeted us and offered us water. We thanked him and declined, as we knew that cold beer was only a few hundred yards away. The woman started down the path and we followed her. Although she was quite pregnant, she walked steadily down wearing flip-flops and carrying her toddler on her hip. It occurred to me as we walked down that the water we’d been offered had been carried up the hillside. That was generosity. It occurred to Kay, after we’d reached the street, that the woman had led us down. I wish I’d realized that then, I would have given her some money. They were gypsies and very poor, their clothes in tatters. The man was lean with a deeply lined face, and the woman was almost toothless. Their little girl was plump and adorable.
Minutes later we were sitting in a small “cafe,” which was, in reality, little more than three tables under a tree on a walkway high in the Sacromonte. The cold beer and tapas were served over a small bar in front of the cafe owners house. The proprietors were also gypsies and their home was a cave house, but it was stuccoed and had the modern conveniences. Like many cave houses, it was not obvious at first glance that it was a cave, but on second glance you realized that the house was either only six-feet deep or that it extended into the hillside. There were also two benches under the tree, and a stone wall. Beyond the wall hillside fell steeply away. This tiny cafe had one of the best views of the Alhambra and Granada. Relaxing in the shade of the tree, we sipped our cold beers, nibbled on slices of bread and chorizo and wondered how in the world Tammo had gotten down from that hill on his trail bike.
It had been an adventure, one we aren’t sure we’re going to repeat.
