Walking
In step with the hills
Emma Bagnall
In the space of eight days I walked (or should I say staggered?) more than 40 miles, drank over 15 different wine vari- eties, knocked back brandies for breakfast and sherry midmorning and tucked into platefuls of strange (to me at least) but delicious food: thistles with scrambled eggs, quails marinaded in pesto and garlic, fried fresh anchovies. I was a guest of Hugh and Jane Arbuthnott, on 'safari', eating, drink- ing and walking at a leisurely pace from Gaucin to Ronda in Andalusia.
We seemed to spend more time eating than walking: a large lunch of paella cooked over an open fire and plenty of rioja followed our first expedition — a gen- tle climb, accompanied by a botanist, along the old smugglers' route to Gibraltar which wound its way upwards above a broad val- ley dotted with wrinkled olive trees and barricaded by purple mountains from the clamour of the Costa del Sol. In the evening we feasted on saffron soup and swordfish at Gaucin's Hotel Nacionale where, over 100 years ago, British officers passed through on their way to Gibraltar from Ronda.
After two days at the Arbuthnotts' hill farm, La Almuna, where I let out the same number of holes in my belt, we set off for the tented camp, Campamento de Castilljos, in the Sierra de Libar. Donkeys were loaded up with our belongings and a couple of our party who'd overdone it the night before and off we ambled, fortified with fino, through the empty, rolling coun- try and forests of pink cork oaks, breathing in heady wafts of mint, lavender and rose- mary.
A few hours later, we crossed the Gaudi- aro river and there ahead of us, on a small rocky hill under leafy oak trees, was our campsite. This wasn't camping as I remem- bered: leaking tents, damp sleeping bags and something unidentifiable out of a tin. Dinner was creamy almond soup, marinad- ed lamb and local cheeses, and, after liqueurs around a roaring fire, I found my way to my roomy tent (with bathroom and verander), and into a proper bed complete with duvet and hotwater bottle. Only the grunting and squealing of inquisitive piglets reminded me that I was in the 'bush'.
The day we left the camp it poured and we skidded our way over the sierra into the Llano de Libar, picnicking under cover on cold quail, jamon serrano and partridge, and arriving at the spectacular fortified town of Zahara de la Sierra several hours later. We explored the church and castle ruins, dropped in at a local olive mill where there was an outbuilding full of Hemingway memorabilia — and travelled by minibus on to Grazalema.
Tapas in the town square — tortilla de patatas, rinones al Jerez, caracoles, albondi- gas, calamares — was followed by a swim and a siesta. By midday on the seventh day we had reached Ronda, which towered over us from an isolated ridge on the sierra against a backdrop of stark, black moun- tains. We stayed at the new Parador, soul- less but with magnificent views over the gaping river gorge and arched bridge which joins the city's two halves. An eccentric Belgian, Nicole, was our guide to Ronda; over the years she has befriended its strays which appeared in droves to receive titbits from her large handbag.
After a week's walking in this region of wild and mountainous beauty, unspeakable quantities of good food and smooth wine, it was time to board the express train to San Roque, Gibraltar and then home.
Andalusian Safaris can be booked through Abercrombie & Kent. The Ronda Safari sea- son runs from 1 May to 2 October.
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