There have been surefire signs of spring over the past fortnight, ever since I spotted the first almond blossom while cycling in the hills high above La Mamola. That was on 30th January, part of me cannot comprehend it. Really you have to let go of northern ideas about seasonal shift and simply accept the rhythms of an entirely different climate. Now the flowers are coming into their own with a vengeance, seemingly overnight. There were a few in bloom last week when we were walking in the Caldera volcánica Majada redonda. Two days ago I mentioned the cherry orchards were blossoming as we drove toward Agua Amarga. However the roadsides looked wintry. These same roads 48hrs later are now covered in yellow and purple flowers growing in such profusion that clumps spill over onto the chipped asphalt on the side of the road.
The effect is spectacular, especially as the desert scenery on each side of the road remains empty and scrubby looking. It is an odd sensation, driving across a desert road edged by flowers. The only explanation that I can come up with is that when it does rain here the run-off from the road surface makes the verges more fertile than the surrounding countryside; come spring - the roadsides bloom but the arid desert doesn't.
We were heading for Mohácar. The springtime theme continued, but not entirely in a good way., one We decided to stay at Camping La Quinta because it was was possible to walk into Mojácar pueblo from there. It is a small, attractive site, the generous pitches situated in an orchard which at this time of year were in full flower.
The place seemed to be German run and almost entirely occupied by over-wintering pensioners, half of them German, the others British. They were a friendly enough bunch, a British guy came to advise us about the place in the absence of anyone in reception. There was only one pitch free, all the others taken by the regulars, one of whom boasted that this was his twentieth year. I realise the fact that most of the British males seemed to bear a distinct resemblance to Harold Shipman was merely an unfortunate coincidence, nevertheless it was a tad un-nerving.
After some hours, in the small hours to be exact, we discovered the downside of all this burgeoning spring malarkey. All evening I had been suffering from itchy eyes, which I had put down to the bright light and road-glare. Then sometime in the middle of the night Gill woke-up, a bit wheezy and a lot sneezy. Hay fever is the last thing we imagined suffering from in southern Spain, but if you are parked in an orchard in full bloom with roof lights wide open no matter what month it is the pollen count is going to be sky-high. Cue a two in the morning hunt for the antihistamines.
Mojácar pueblo remains much as we remembered it from a visit about twelve years ago. It's an ancient pueblo blanco with Moorish roots perched on a high volcanic plug a couple of kilometres from the sea.
The setting is spectacular: the sea to the south, inland a range of craggy peaks, dark and foreboding, and immediately surrounding the town a fertile plain dotted with conical volcanic outcrops. Neither the coastal low level sprawl, nor the development of 'Place in the Sun' suburbia in the nearby town of Garrucha can entirely ruin the grandeur of the place.
Oddly enough, though I remembered the white town clearly the magnificent scenery came as a surprise. I do wonder how much you actually do take-in on family holidays, especially with adolescents. Most of the time is spent trying to ensure everyone is being catered for and feels included. Time to simply stop and stare is limited. It is one of the joys of how we travel now, unlimited time to stop and stare.
We stayed for two days in total, walking into Mojácar twice. On the first visit I noticed a touristy looking café advertising a range of interesting looking 'tostas'. Sarah had introduced us back in the autumn to the delights of Portuguese 'Quiosk' tostas; how would the Spanish ones compare? Not quite as filling as the ones we had in Lisbon, more pinchos sized than tapas. Delicious though - Gill's concocted from capraccio of three kinds of fish on an aoli base; mine was called a Siciliana - anchovies and grilled red peppers on a mildly spicy tomato base.
It was late afternoon by the time we had finished exploring Mojácar's tangled streets. As we headed back down the hill towards the campsite the ghost of the waxing moon was just visible in the dark blue sky, hanging there above the almond blossom. It was very beautiful.
It was good to be able to walk into the town from the campsite, it was that convenience that led us to use it in the first place. I am not sure we would do that again if we returned. It is an unusually pretty site compared to many in Mediterranean Spain and it has an intimate ambiance. We used it because the owners claimed it was €20 per night - equivalent to the top notch ACSI discount rate. She failed to mention EHU was extra and with local taxes the rate had mysteriously increased to €27 per night when we came to pay. At that price the fact that there were only four toilets and showers to serve the whole site, the plumbing was ancient, and motorhome services are minimal begin to become issues. No, we would have been better to use the free beach parking in Mojácar Playa and taken the bus to the pueblo....and we would have avoided the nocturnal wheezes and sneezes.
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