Throughout our stay at Camping Castillo de Baños we have suffered from a distinct sense of deja-vu. The previous time we were here in February 2015 there was a British caravan rally, albeit on a more modest scale than the one here now. We also were marooned for days by dangerously high winds. Clearly Groundhog Day is not confined to Westminster.
All was calm when we first arrived. We felt quite pleased with ourselves having bagged a pitch with a sea view, close to the sparkling Med, next to the wire perimeter fence positioned no more than a metre or two above a narrow strip of shingle. The windscreen was one big ocean panorama, blue throughout the day, flecked orange at dawn, distinctly pink at sunset. Beautiful.
Yes, beautiful until the wind strengthed from breezy to minor gale. Then the wild sea crashed towards the cab, spindrift streaming back from the wave-tops like a windswept veil. It was all somewhat disconcerting. The surf roared all night, sounding ever closer in the dark. Thankfully the low bank at the back of the beach meant there was no chance of us being swept off to Morocco, but it did not always feel like that.
Despite the annoying wind early onset cabin fever drove us outside. We took a blustery stroll into the nearby small village, our progress impeded not only by the wind but also by road-works. Most of the pavements seemed to have been fenced off, big trenches and piles of blue plastic pipes forming an obstacle course. Eventually we found the promenade and discovered a new cycle track running alongside the N380 towards La Mamola. We walked along it for a couple of kilometres pausing occasionally to take photos of the waves crashing onto the boulder strewn shore.
Overnight the gales subsided. We had removed the blinds from the windscreen since we were not overlooked at the front. When we woke yellow light streamed into the van. Moments later the sun rose above the horizon, the sea became flecked with gold.. Living in a 7 metre van has magic moments.
Our plan today was to move from Granada province to Almeria, parking for a couple of nights in a free beach side parking we had found on Campercontacts at Los Baños de Guardias Viejas. On the way we stopped at a Mercadona on the outskirts of Adra. Nice store, big car park with plenty of room and no tricky overhanging sunshades - all good.
The border between Granada and Almeria provinces signals a marked change in the coastal landscape. All the way from Malaga to Adra the mountains drop into the sea without much of a coastal plain. East of Adra there is big salt flat punctuated by small craggy outcrops, not that you can see much of the ground, here is the heart of Tomatoland, hectares and hectares of plasticulture.
From a distance it looks impressive in an otherworldly sort of way. Turn off the motorway and head towards the coast through the maze of greenhouses and it looks desolate and demoralising. It is a deeply unlovely agro-industrial landscape made worse because the scrubland between the plastic greenhouses is litter strewn and full of junk.
Is it an environmental disaster area as well as big plastic blot on the landscape? It looks as if it could be, obviously whatever grew there naturally before has been obliterated. Also Tomatoland must use an astonishing amount of water and the run-off and heaped-up spent compost could well be full of nitrates and phosphates. On the other hand you can never farm on an industrial scale without affecting the local ecology - a big wheat prairie is hardly environmentally benign.
It is difficult to look at the plasticised landscape without feeling aghast. Must we do this? However, with 7.2 billion humans on the planet and a further billion expected to be added within a decade, feeding everone is going to take more than a some picturesque allotments and a few organic small-holdings. When I first became interested in green issues back in the 70s books like Erlich's 'Population Bomb' predicted famines on a global scale by the end of the 20th century. Though there are millions of under-nourished people in the world even yet, and wars and natural disasters do still cause famines, generally we have managed to feed the burgeoning population by developing global transport systems, free trade and improved yields and productivity - partly by adopting mass-scale high intensity agriculture, like you find here. How do we square that with the need to look after the planet? It's probably the next generation's biggest challenge.
So, here we are camped by the sea among the plasticulture. Another unlovely, but thought provoking place.
The coast is ok even if hinterland is somewhat despoiled It's a popular moho spot. Lots of vans, twenty or more, parked among the scrubby bushes behind the beach. Quite a few monster trucks and cruise-boat sized mohos built to live off-grid for weeks. Some have very snazzy looking kit - including big roof mounted solar panels that tilt towards the sun. Most are German.
Almerimar is just along the coast. We noticed some lakes between here and the town so we pedalled there this morning. They were surrounded by apartment blocks, all empty. It looked like a post-apocalyptic version of Milton Keynes.
In the summer the area is probably quite lively. At the moment everything is closed, totally shuttered and locked-up. We had a similar experience on Calabria's Ionian sea coast in February a few years ago. Maybe around here it is slightly less poverty stricken and there are fewer mad looking stray dogs. More mohos too, in Calabria often we were on our own, adding a nagging sense of unease to the desolate ambiance.
There is an old fortress on a nearby bluff. It's the only thing of historical interest for miles around so we cycled there to take a closer look. It houses a small museum including finds from the nearby Roman baths. Sadly the museum was closed, but the fortress itself was impressive and the view of the coast and inland to the snowy Sierra Nevada memorable.
The area near the fortress gives an inkling of what the entire area might have been like before it was shrink wrapped. It probably felt wild, remote and desolate. Now it just feels desolate.
Tomorrow we are going to head to the ACSI campsite at Roquetas de Mar. After a couple of days there we will move on again so we can visit Almeria next weekend. Hopefully we can find some interesting tapas restaurants with a bit of an urban vibe. There is only so long you can spend days mulling over the environmental challenges of industrial scale tomato growing and pretend you are having a fun time.
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