GR 92

CAMINO ESTRECHO: Between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic 2

The skies were clear and the air crisp and cold when we set off at dawn from the campsite and returned to the beach. The skyline of Moroccan mountains were sharp behind a gentle mist rising from the sea as we climbed the mountainous dune to reach the road recently cleared of sand that threatened to bury the trees.

The road crossed the top of a forested peninsular that was or had been abandoned to the military although still part of the Estrecho natural park our whole journey was contained within. A really attractive stretch of wild country that was spoiled somewhat at the end of the cul de sac by the deserted military buildings.

Surprisingly, beyond the military flotsam was an enclave of fincas and villas and a couple of restaurants with wonderful views across the straights. The road became a sandy track that wove its way over the headland between the pines with their rounded pincushion canopy.

The cloudless sky had warmed a lot and, exiting the shade of the trees into more open country, we took a drink and snack break after about 10km in El Lentiscal, another favourite camper parkup.

The sea here was calm again. We had been blessed with slight breezes since arriving on the coast famous for its strong winds beloved by kite and wind surfers. We hadn’t wanted to be struggling against a maelstrom of sandblasting particles.

A little out of the village we called up to the imposing visitor centre building for the equally impressive Roman ruins of Baelo Claudia. In fact the 2000yr old archecture was fairing better than the modernist structure. Inside the towering exhibition spaces were lines of buckets collecting drips from yesterdays rain and streaks of water stains marred the plain white walls. Many of the digs finds were in other museums and the display barely warranted such an ostentatious edifice but I admired the donkey head jug handle among other relics.

Realising that a track leading off from the back of the site would save us a circuitous loop around on a steep road we snuck over one fence, wandered through acres of scattered Roman stonework, and scrabbled under another to gleefully regain the trail having ” beat the GR system!”. But our smugness was short lived as we still had a long climb ahead to take us way up above the famous Bolonia sand dune and over the Punta Camarinal peninsular, home to another military exclusion zone. Work was ongoing on the trail with new signage, car parking and concreting.

It was a spectacular section of trail , worthy of upgrading to attract more visitors, through a tapestry of rock and palm and pine and flowering scrub with views to the sea and Africa in the distance. Some goat farmers were privileged to live here overlooking the 500 year old Torre de Cabo de Gracia, whose lookouts warned of Barbary pirates back in the day and whose light protects seafarers still. The beach below, accessible only by foot or boat, is reckoned to be the finest on the coast.

From the tower it was a short walk to a shock. From an empty and wild natural environment we emerged to a view of a controlled and subdued one. One where mankind had definitely made his mark. Mostly in the form of the kind of macho but minimalist architecture that would feature in a Bond movie. Our last bed of the trail was here somewhere and we walked a long way on broken and weed choked paving to find it. Obviously not a place where people walked. No shops, restaurants, bars or social hubs to walk to. Just multi million euro villas to drive into through electronic gates.

As it happened our place in Atlanterra, a suburb of Zahara de Los Atunes, was more modest and rustic although part of a Finca on the market for €5 million.

Lovely gardens and views more than made up for the lack of dramatically cantilevered roofs and floor to ceiling glass walls.

The complicated bus and train timetable homewards meant we didn’t have any time to walk further up the coast and Jesus, the gardener, would give us a spin to the bus stop in the morning.

Time to chill and take stock of our hike. That day we’d covered over 20 km of ups and downs and although the last steep climbs were a struggle we were pleased with our efforts and the scenery, weather and slow motion discovery had, as usual, made it a joyful experience. The Parque Natural Estrecho had been yet another wonderful ingredient in Spains diet of delights to sate our hunger for rambling riches. And in the morning we walked onto the beach at the trails end in the town that celebrates – the Tuna.

CAMINO ESTRECHO: Between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic 1

On a quick escape from the frozen north we decided to tackle a few days level(ish) trekking as far south as we could get in Spain. I had discovered a Camino route from Algeciras westwards towards Cadiz that also mainly coincided with a couple of coastal GR routes, the GR 92- Sendero Europeo Arco Mediterraneo to Tarifa and the GR 145 Arco Atlantico from there onwards to Zahara de Los Atunes where we intended to finish.

After a beautiful train journey from Antequera to Algeciras along many of the routes previously walked on the Gran Senda de Malaga we hopped in a cab and alighted on the trail at Las Pantallas leaving another 10 km or so to do. The strange construction was a wall built in 1942 to hide a military road up to the gun emplacements from prying eyes on Gibraltar.

The surreal oddly artistic military defence continued off and on as we continued uphill into the Natural Parque de Estrecho, named after the Straights (of Gibraltar). After 5 bouts of Chemo (with added Immuno) therapy I wasn’t able for too much too steep or too long and Sallys knees etc have been in better shape so it was a relief to gain the plateau summit at about 250m and stop for the view and snacks.

We turned off the tarmac and continued on a potholed track across glorious country with free grazing cattle and views across the straits to Africa before a final cruel ascent off trail to our cabin for the night at the Eco Huerta Grande park in El Pelayo.

Rain in the night and more promised meant we didn’t take time to explore the extensive gardens of La Huerta in the morning but carried on down the trail through verdant country with cork oaks and herbage running wild. We turned off the main track to head down to the sea past long abandoned fincas.

From here we followed the GR 92 along the shore line up and down on slippy muddy tracks between beaches littered with the tragic remains of immigrant inflatables.

And unfortunate cattle.

We reached the Torre de Guadalmesi where the car tracks continued to Tarifa but we stayed with the GR/ Camino route which followed an interesting geological line of uplifted rock and scattered WW2 concrete bunkers.

It had been raining for long enough to have us soaked and cold by the time we reached the outskirts of Tarifa and,weary of the ups and downs, we were glad to finally, after about 19 km altogether, reach our posada for the night and hang up all our clothes to dry.

In the morning we hit the market for breakfast before heading off from the signboard on the prom westwards on the GR 145/ Camino de Estrecho with blue sky ahead and dark, threatening clouds behind us. We were led onto a long section of wooden boardwalk before a protected area of dunes meant the trail was diverted alongside the busy main road.

We were grateful when we were led away from the road through pines towards the shore again. This stretch of coast attracts a huge amount of campervans and there were many parked up where we took advantage of shelter when the rain came again.

We abandoned the GR when it returned to the roadside and continued along the beach, facilitated by the low tide, past more crumbling bunkers, interesting rock formations and art, to reach our A frame tent on a campsite at Valdevaqueros after about 13 km.

After an afternoon/ evening of eating, drinking, washing and watching camper antics we hoped for dry conditions over the next two days of trail and retired to our surprisingly delux boudoir for the night.