The rugged terrain of the 'Parque natural de Cabo de Gata' looks the way it does because the entire area is the result of major volcanic activity which occurred about 12 million years ago. The sparse desert scenery lays bare a tortured landscape of deformed strata, and fossilised lava flows; ancient calderas confront you at every turn. It's Gill"s kind of place. Consequently the bucket in the garage has now been purloined as a receptacle for interesting rocks after Gill"s handbag became too heavy to lug about easily.
One reason why the coast is relatively undeveloped around here is there is no road by the sea connecting the small ports along the shore. To get from one place to another, sometimes just around a headland, involves a long detour inland.
The first time we came here was by car over a decade ago. We had rented a house in Mojácar during October half term week, flying to Almeria. Looking at the map the Salinas de Acosta and the Cabo de Gata lighthouse were not the most obvious place for a day out from Mojácar. Maybe our ancient AA guide to Spain, the only guidebook we had then, mentioned the lagoons as an area where flamingos flocked or the lighthouse as a notable landmark. Anyway, whatever the reason despite the 80km drive we ended up here. I was very taken by the area's stark beauty - the strange, lonely church by the sea at La Almadraba de Monteleva, the spectacular headland at the Cabin de Gata itself and the dazzling white salt heaps and blue lakes which appeared almost otherworldly. The whole area was deserted and falling into ruin, the church crumbling, the saltworks abandoned and the workers cottages empty.
The first time we came here was by car over a decade ago. We had rented a house in Mojácar during October half term week, flying to Almeria. Looking at the map the Salinas de Acosta and the Cabo de Gata lighthouse were not the most obvious place for a day out from Mojácar. Maybe our ancient AA guide to Spain, the only guidebook we had then, mentioned the lagoons as an area where flamingos flocked or the lighthouse as a notable landmark. Anyway, whatever the reason despite the 80km drive we ended up here. I was very taken by the area's stark beauty - the strange, lonely church by the sea at La Almadraba de Monteleva, the spectacular headland at the Cabin de Gata itself and the dazzling white salt heaps and blue lakes which appeared almost otherworldly. The whole area was deserted and falling into ruin, the church crumbling, the saltworks abandoned and the workers cottages empty.
We returned here on our first extended motorhome trip in February 2015. The place looked the same, but restoration had begun - the church repaired, the workers cottages now restored and occupied and some wooden walkways built to make beach access easier. Each time come back the place seems a bit more lived-in. Busier too, back in the noughties we were the only visitors; in 2015 Maisy was one of four vans overnighting in the small public car park at La Fabriquila. This time by late afternoon more than a dozen mohos had settled down for the night. The place's growing popularity is not just about the facilities being improved, it also reflects that snowbird style overwintering in the south is no longer a niche activity among Europe's retirees, now it's mainstream, a mass movement.
Nevertheless, in most cases it's only busy within 200 metres of the parking place. Today was no exception. We took a stroll along the beach towards the low rocky headland to the east. After a few hundred metres we more or less had the place to ourselves. The black rocks here are an example of the area's renowned petrified lava flows. When the waves break over them they glisten; though solid now, when wet they shine giving them the appearance of being squidgy, like blackcurrant jelly. I clambered down over some big boulders to the tiny shingle beach next the lava to take some close-up shots.
The rocks are 12 million years old, yet their liquid looking forms seem un-eroded. Of course the landscape has changed over time and will again. Six million years ago the Straights of Gibraltar closed and the Mediterranean evaporated into a series of salty inland seas like the Caspian. The so called Messinian Salinity Crisis lasted for a million years, these black rocks would have formed a lofty outcrop overlooking a shimmering salty plain stretching all the way to Africa. In a few hundred years time climate change may raise the sea level, then these same rocks will swarm with shoals of fish. Perhaps people will be around to catch them, perhaps not.
Next day we unloaded the bikes. In the morning we continued along the coast road towards its end point at the Cabo de Gata lighthouse. It is only a couple of kilometres but a steep climb over the headland. The gears on Gill's bike began to play-up so we decided to admire the 'cabo' from the top of the hill rather than go the whole way and risk having to push 26kg of dead ebike back up the vertiginous road.
While Gill was fixing lunch I employed my highly developed mechanical engineering skills by covering all the moving parts of Gill's bike in WD40,. I got fairly well covered too. It's miraculous stuff afterwards the gears seemed to be at least semi-functional and I am sure my arthritic left knee felt considerably better. too.
In the afternoon we pedalled down a dusty back road towards the Salinas de Acosta. The light over the past few days has been stunning. One benefit of winter travel around the Mediterranean is when the sun shines, because the air temperature is cool the heat haze dissipates, horizons become razor sharp and the colours deep and vivid.
While Gill was fixing lunch I employed my highly developed mechanical engineering skills by covering all the moving parts of Gill's bike in WD40,. I got fairly well covered too. It's miraculous stuff afterwards the gears seemed to be at least semi-functional and I am sure my arthritic left knee felt considerably better. too.
In the afternoon we pedalled down a dusty back road towards the Salinas de Acosta. The light over the past few days has been stunning. One benefit of winter travel around the Mediterranean is when the sun shines, because the air temperature is cool the heat haze dissipates, horizons become razor sharp and the colours deep and vivid.
We were hoping to see some flamingos on the lagoon. The majority of the flock had gathered on the far shore, mere dots on the horizon. Two birds were closer to us, one took off disturbed by our arrival, rising languidly on slow beating wings then wheeling westwards towards the rest of the flock. One solitary bird remained in view wading through the shallows, stopping regularly to dip its long snaky neck into the brackish shallows. It's a pity we forgot the binoculars we agreed.
I think one reason why so many motorhomers gather hereabouts is to watch the sunset. They are spectacular, drawing gaggles of people onto the beach clutching cameras, Ipads,. or smartphones in hand all hoping for a well loved Instagram shot.
The sea is always fascinating no matter what the time of day. There's a bit of pitch rivalry at the La Fabriquila parking, people vying for a first row spot with a sea view. Early on our second day we moved, and snuck into a prime spot vacated by the German van in front of us.
As we were having lunch Gill exclaimed, "Look at the sea!' I swivelled my chair around, the sea was a silvery blue close to the shore, however a thin dark blue stripe had formed at the horizon. The effect was uncanny, like looking at an abstract painting; I was going to say like a Barnett Newman, but I seem to recall he only did vertical stripes, anyway the seascape in front of us had the distinct look of some colour field effort from the early sixties.
Maybe the simpler natural forms appear, the more powerful their impact. Maybe not, that's all a bit neo-Platonic, and I don't really buy all that ideal forms stuff. I am not a fan of Plato - Epicurus was the man I reckon.
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